Fire on the Island (15 page)

"Let's try
something easy." Taking the spoon out of the empty coffee mug that sat
beside him, he set it on the weather-roughened wood. Cool blue eyes stared at
the spoon for a few seconds, and slowly it started spinning. "Your
turn!"

Her eyes grew
huge, but they gleamed with excitement as she scooted closer. "What do I
do?"

"Imagine the
atmosphere around you as...a giant Jell-O mold. If you push on it, there is a
ripple effect that runs through it causing it to move in other places. Because
it's nearly solid though, it still returns to its original form. With me?"

"I
guess," Isla answered, frowning.

"You have
to empty your mind, create a stillness around you, to search for the right spot
to push to have the desired effect. Give it a try."

"Do I need
to look at the spoon to do it?"

"There is
no spoon."

From his patio
chair, Jeremiah snorted loudly, causing Marduk to flash him a wicked grin. He
had to bite his lip to keep from laughing when Isla sent him a sharp look. They
really needed to school her a little on pop culture, he thought. He waved his
hand in the air at them. "Sorry. As you were."

"Close
your eyes." Isla listened closely as Marduk continued. "You need to
create a shield in your mind from other energies that would influence your
thoughts. Imagine a deserted island in the middle of the ocean, or a fortified
castle. Anything that represents keeping unwanted presences out."

Slowing her
breathing, Isla closed her eyes and thought of where she would feel the most
isolated and still comfortable. In her mind's eye, she imagined herself on top
of Goat Fell, the highest peak on Arran, a sleeping warrior watching over the
island.

Alone on the
summit, a grey mist swirled around her to where she could barely see down to
The Saddle, the valley between Goat Fell and Cir Mhòr. Not wanting to break her
concentration, she gave Marduk a small nod.

"The next
part can't really be taught. You have to find your power. Concentrate on
finding the core of your energy, where your essence comes from. When you find
it, there will be something extra, a little burst of color, a little flash of
light. If you see that, grab hold of it. Wrap yourself up in it like a
blanket."

He paused as if
to allow her to follow his directions. Taking a deep breath, she imagined a
mirror image of herself standing on that mountain ridge. In her mind, her own
body was transparent, radiating a yellow glow from her heart. Reaching into the
opaque form, she closed her hand around the glimmering orb.

Power bloomed
like a cresting wave, up her arm and into her body. Her skin vibrated with it,
her gut clenched around it. "Open your eyes," Marduk whispered.

Blinking
against the hazy sunlight, she looked around. Everything was brighter, more
saturated with color, and radiated with tiny pinpoints of light.

"Try
pushing at the energy around the spoon, see what happens."

She tried
concentrating on the spoon, but nothing happened. "There is no
spoon," she muttered to herself, inciting another muffled bark of laughter
from Jeremiah. Reaching out with her mind, she bore down on the space around
the spoon.

It started with
a quiver. Then it shot across the porch, narrowly missing Jeremiah and nearly
causing him to topple out of his chair. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed,
leaping off the chair and staring wide-eyed at Isla.

"It
worked...sort of."

~~~

The Caledonian
MacBrayne was a massive vessel that ferried travelers back and forth from Arran
to the coastal town of Ardrossan, on the mainland. It was the first leg of
their trip to Glasgow to meet with Mhairi.

Jeremiah
thought back to his conversation with the stuffy Dr. MacLaren. The man had been
none too pleased when he'd requested another visit, but telling him he had
possibly found the woman's next of kin quieted him right down.

He looked over
at Isla as she leaned on the railing to look out over the bow, taking in her
wind-whipped curls, her delicate pixie face, the strong set of her chin, and
his heart tripped a little. They had been through so much together
already—insane adventures, amazing sex, terrible tragedy, and there was so much
more they had yet to face—and in that moment, he knew he would support and
protect her through anything.

It had only
been a few weeks, but the woman had him completely wrapped around her little
finger, and he was sure she didn't even know it. He loved her. He had never
loved anyone, save his family and the few friends he let close enough to see
the real him, but somehow he knew.

When she turned
and smiled at him, white teeth flashing against sun kissed skin, he knew she
loved him too. He just had to convince her that it was safe to feel what she
felt.

Drawing her into
the circle of his arms, he rested his chin on the top of her head and stared
out at the choppy waters of the Firth of Clyde. A hazy fog enveloped the coast
of Ardrossan, giving the grassy, rolling hills a bluish tint. White windmills
dotted the fields, reminding him of looming giants through the curtain of mist.

"You don't
have to do this, you know. I can meet with her myself, tell her all we've
learned, see if she has anymore advice for us."

Looking up at
him with brilliant jade eyes, she gave him a grateful smile and shook her head.
"Yes, I do. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't find out
for sure."

She stepped
back from him and squared her shoulders. "She could be family. My blood.
That matters. It's all I have left."

Taking her hand,
he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "No. You've got me too."

"That I
do." Raising up on her tiptoes, she brushed a kiss to his lips, lingered
there for a moment, and then turned back to the rolling sea.

When the ferry
docked, they piled into Jeremiah's rented sedan and drove down the ramp. They
spoke little during the hour long drive into Glasgow, each lost in their own
thoughts. When Jeremiah finally pulled into the long, tree-lined drive that led
up to the main building of Sacred Hearts, Isla let out a long breath she was
unaware she'd been holding.

Studying the
building, she thought it looked quite cold and stark. It caused her heart to
clench to think of the grandmother she had loved so much as a child wasting
away in an institution.

Jeremiah rounded
the front of the car to open her door, ushering her toward the looming building
with a supportive hand on the small of her back.

This time, Dr.
MacLaren was nowhere to be found. The receptionist behind the peeling Formica
counter and dingy glass window gave them directions to Mhairi's room, and then
swiveled around in her chair to turn her attention back to a soap playing on
the ten inch black and white.

Hand in hand,
they walked the dimly lit hallways that reminded Isla of a twisted imitation of
a rat race. When they reached the room indicated by the disinterested
receptionist, Jeremiah knocked softly. Receiving no answer, he turned the knob
and eased the door open slowly. It gave a tired creak, then flung wide to
reveal a drab grey room with sparse furniture.

This time
Mhairi lay on the bed, arms crossed over her chest like a corpse at a viewing,
face turned away from them toward the wall.

Jeremiah spoke
gently. “Ms. Mackay? Mhairi. It's Dr. Rousseau. Remember, we spoke a few days
ago? I've brought someone with me."

She turned her
head sluggishly, as if they may have drugged her. Her grey-streaked, red hair
was a wild halo around her head, eyes sunken and face deeply lined.

"Dr.
Rousseau," she said, with a voice that was much stronger than she looked.

"Afternoon,
Mhairi. Nice to see you again. I've brought you another visitor," he
repeated. He stepped aside to allow Isla to come approach.

Edging toward
the bed, Isla looked at Jeremiah briefly, eyes wide with apprehension as she could
feel herself start to panic. He gave her an encouraging smile, so she gathered
herself and turned to face the woman he believed was her grandmother.

"Hi,"
she said lamely.

The woman's
eyes rolled up to look at Isla's face, and her wrinkled mouth formed a small O
of surprise. "Eileen?" she asked incredulously, looking at Isla with
nothing short of blatant contempt. Isla knew in that moment that this was
indeed her Mhairi.

Pulling up a
chair, Isla sat by Mhairi's bedside and moved her face into the light from the
small window. "Not Eileen. Isla."

Tears pooled in
Mhairi's tired eyes, and she reached out a gnarled hand for Isla's. "My
girl," she whispered. "My beautiful girl."

A broken sob
escaped, and Isla felt Jeremiah's reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Eileen
told me you were dead."

Nodding, Mhairi
patted Isla's hand, clasped in her own. "She would have. She caught me
teaching you a spell, threw me out o' the house. I tried tae keep in touch,
found out how ye were doing, but she wouldnae tell me anythin'. Heard she'd
been carted off to the loony bin, so I called around to find out what happened
to ye. She'd already told everyone ye had no kin left."

"Yes, she
did get taken to a mental institution—after she tried to kill me when I was
eight."

Sucking in a
breath sharply, Mhairi's aging features grew fierce and Isla saw a glimpse of
the woman she had once been. "Crazy bitch. What'd she go an' do a thing
like that for?"

Rubbing the
back of her neck, Isla looked her in the eye when she answered. "It was
the night my
signa
appeared. She didn't take kindly to it. Claimed I was
the child of the devil."

Sitting up in
the bed, Mhairi shifted back so that her back rested against the headboard.
"Let me see it."

Obediently,
Isla twisted at the waist and lifted her thick hair off her neck. Mhairi tossed
him a scathing look over Isla's head at Jeremiah. "She is the one you were
telling me about. My Isla? When were ye going to mention that?"

Raising his
hands in submission, Jeremiah sat down at the foot of the bed to face Isla and
Mhairi. "I didn't put it together until Isla showed me the coin she
carries that her grandmother had given her. It has your name on the back. I'm
sorry, I wish I had found out sooner."

Seeming to
accept that reasoning, Mhairi looked back at Isla and pursed her lips. "I
hate to say it, my wee bairn, but there is a kernel of truth to Eileen's words.

Isla shot a
wary glance over to Jeremiah, who just shrugged and shook his head. "What
do you mean?"

Removing her hand
from Isla's grasp, Mhairi twisted it around to show Isla the mark on the inside
of her wrist. "This is what the
Vigilati signa
looks like."

Studying it,
Isla's brows drew together and she frowned. It was almost identical to hers.
Almost. It had the three nested circles, the three slashes forming points of a
triangle. But the center circle was empty.

Looking toward
the door nervously, Mhairi lowered her voice. "The outer and inner circles
represent the spirit world and the earthly world. The one in between represents
the barrier between the two, that which we are charged to protect."

When she
paused, Isla nodded to indicate she was following. "The three
perpendicular slashes represent the
locus
, the gateway. It is said that
the glyph is a representation of a set of standing stones, which were almost
always pathways for spirits and demons to pass through—although
locuses
can manifest in many different structures."

"Why is
mine different?" Isla asked cautiously.

Taking a deep
breath, Mhairi rubbed her temples before continuing. "I believe your
signa
is different because you are a
praeda
.
Praedos
are
Vigilati
who have the blood of a demon running through their veins. So they say, anyway.
I've never actually met one."

"I'm
sorry, what?" Isla said through clenched teeth, clearly losing patience.

Much to her
relief, Jeremiah took charge of the conversation. "How would that
happen?"

Mhairi shook
her head. "I'm no' sure. Like I said, this is all legend. My guess is that
the
lochrim
was able to hoard enough energy to not only take on
corporeal form, but to disguise himself with glamour. He may have come to your
mother with your father's face, seduced her, impregnated her. I hate to say it,
but if that's what happened to her, it's probably a blessing that her mind is gone."

"But why
do that? What does he gain?" Jeremiah asked.

"I don't
know," Mhairi said, her tone rising in frustration. "Why does evil do
anything? Maybe he believed he could destroy the
Vigilati
from the
inside out. This is an age-old war, one that has no lasting victory for either
side, only destruction."

Isla steeled
herself for what was coming. "What do I need to do?"