Hydra (3 page)

“Here ye are, then, Miss. This’ll be yer sittin’ hall.” Ed places our bags on waiting luggage racks with a gentleness the Glasgow baggage handlers would do well to study. “There’s bedrooms ‘ere, ‘ere, ‘ere, and ‘ere. Bathrooms en suite.” He flicks on lights as he speaks, reaching through doorways and bursting the darkness, obliterating the shadows with the flip of a switch. “Is there anything else ye be needin’?”

“Mr. Sheehy mentioned fire-roasted beef?”

“Aye, that’ll be ready any time. It’s in the courtyard.”

“Can you take me there?” The corridors we passed through were a complicated maze. I can hear my mother and sisters approaching through the halls, drawn to the light. Much as I love them, I’d like a break from their presence. Besides, I’m hungry, and fire-roasted beef is one of my favorite foods.

But more than that, I’m curious about this place and Ed. Neither are normal, but I need to observe more before I can figure out just what’s different about them.

“I can. Show ye a shortcut, even.”

“Perfect.”

I follow Ed through the doorway just as my mother and sisters round the corner to our hall. I explain where I’m headed. Mom and my sisters seem more interested in unpacking than eating, which is fine by me. I’m more interested in eating than changing out of my wet clothes because, let’s face it, in this weather, I’ll probably get soaked again the minute I step outside.

Ed leads me through a hallway and down some stairs, and just when I’m starting to think the cold stones of the back hall are a little too reminiscent of a dungeon, I smell fresh wood smoke and roasting beef, and we step outside.

There is the bull, gutted, skinned and sizzling, over an enormous fire whose flames are a warm welcome after the rain.

“Yum.” I reach my hands out toward the fire, but it’s a huge blaze, so I don’t have to get very close to feel the warmth.

“It’ll be a mite wild-tasting, Lass. Not such as yer used to, I’m afraid.”

“I like it that way. Is it ready?”

“Only if you like it rare.” Ed didn’t blink when I said I like wild meat. Most people, when I say something like that, look at me like I don’t know what I’m talking about, or like maybe I’m bluffing.

Ed looked, if anything, impressed.

I can’t help smiling. “Rare’s my favorite.”

“Mine too. Ye can wash up there and grab a plate.” He gestures to a hand pump. We’re in a stone courtyard surrounded by the castle on three sides and a stone curtain wall on the fourth. Wide eaves provide shelter from the rain around the three sides, but where the bull is roasting, the courtyard is open to the endless dark clouds above.

Fat sizzles from the meat, hitting the fire and sending sparks dancing toward the starless sky.

I wash up, taking the time to brush the mud and gravel from the knees of my jeans. Then I splash water on my hands again and grab a plate, turning back to the fire to see Ed cutting meat from the sizzling carcass, using a broadsword and a long-handled prong that looks more like a pitchfork than a kitchen utensil. He’s got his jacket off again, which I guess makes sense when you’re that hot.

I mean, working close to a hot fire.

The
fire
is hot. Obviously.

I’m standing here, plate in hand, watching him work, the muscles in his back rippling (did I mention he didn’t have a shirt on under that jacket? He didn’t) as he carves through the juicy beef. Maybe a vacation in Scotland isn’t such a bad idea.

“Here ye are.”

I step forward and he lowers an enormous cut of beef into my plate. It’s probably three pounds, more like a roast than a steak. “Perfect. Thank you.” I carry my plate over to a table under the eaves, where utensils are wrapped in cloth napkins in a basket. Sitting, I slice off a big bite, and let the moist deliciousness sit on my tongue for a second before I chew and swallow.

Glancing back toward the fire, I notice Ed has sawed off a chunk of meat for himself, but he’s eating it in the far corner of the courtyard, his back to me.

“You can join me,” I offer, feeling isolated. Who wants to eat such a fantastic meal all alone? And Ed saved me from the charging bull. He should not have to stand in the corner. Besides which, I want to learn more about him, the Sheehys, and this castle. I’m not going to shout that conversation across the courtyard.

“I’m not supposed to eat with the guests.” He looks startled, maybe even a bit guilty. “I havna got the good table manners, and all.”

“I thought your manners were exceptional when you saved me from getting gored by the bull.” I’m not going to push the issue, but he doesn’t strike me as a total caveman. I saw the way he handled our luggage. He’s considerate and careful, if brutishly strong.

With a palpable measure of hesitation, Ed settles his steak onto a plate and sits opposite me, off to the side, near the far corner of the table, where it’s darker, farther away from the light of the fire. Still, the table’s only about eight feet long, so he’s easily within talking distance, especially since the rain is falling like thick mist now, almost soundlessly, and the stone walls reflect our voices back to us.

For a few moments, there’s only the clink of knives and forks against plates. The beef is fantastic, and I was hungry. Conscious of my tablemate and his claim to crudeness, I peek his direction and watch him saw through his meat.

Indeed, he is a bit clumsy. There’s something wrong with his hands. I’d noticed it before, briefly, in the rain. I still can’t see exactly what’s up, but his fingers appear to be gnarled and stiff, more fitted to beheading the bull with a broadsword than slicing bites of meat with a knife. Still, he manages, and looks my way after swallowing.

“Ye here to see the loch?”

An involuntary shudder moves down my spine at the reminder of the fathomless depths of the famous lake nearby. “I—I suppose.”

Curiosity sparkles in his green eyes, and he leans closer my way. “Yer not afeared of the monster, are ye? Ye don’t strike me as the fearful type. Didna even seem afeared of the bull.”

How can I explain to Ed that neither bulls nor monsters scare me half us much as that deep water, where anything could be lurking, waiting to pull me down? Memories of what happened last summer threaten to surface, but I submerge them with a question. “Is there a monster? Nessie?”

Ed makes a face. “Don’t call him Nessie. He’s not a girl.”

Okay, now I’m curious. “So, the Loch Ness Monster is real?”

Ed shrugs noncommittally and saws off another hunk of his steak. Still, the twinkle in his eye says he knows something.

I press for answers. “Have you seen it?”

“It?” Ed corrects me. “
Him
.”

“Have you seen him?” It occurs to me that this local man might have insights into the matter that others, even the monster-sighting tour boat operators, may not have. Especially if he lives in a castle with dragons, as I suspect. We monsters tend to stick together.

“Would ye like to have a look for yerself? I could take ye out on the loch tomorrow.”

Me? Go out on that crazy deep lake?

No, no, no, no.

“Yes,” I answer in spite of myself. I’m afraid. Terrified, really. But more than the fear that makes me want to flee in the opposite direction, I want answers.

Are sea monsters real?

If so, that might explain what attacked me last summer.

Worse than the fear, is not knowing whether my fear is justified, not knowing my enemy or even being sure if I have an enemy outside of my own head.

Ed and I make plans to meet in this courtyard tomorrow at nine in the morning, then Ed finishes his steak moments before my sisters and mother arrive with the Sheehy men. Blair Sheehy, Malcolm’s wife, is right behind them, carrying a tray with tea.

Having finished my steak, I accept Blair’s offer of tea with thanks, and stand nearer the fire with the warm cup in my hands while Ed serves steaks to my mother and sisters. He tends to the roasting meat, rotating the spit to his satisfaction before slipping quietly away through the door in the curtain wall.

I watch him with curiosity. If it weren’t for his knobby knees and gnarled hands, he’d be the finest specimen of Scotsman I’ve seen on this trip, even accounting for the football team we saw go through the airport dressed in suit jackets with their kilts.

I can’t help wondering how old Ed is. He doesn’t look any older than I am, save for his thick beard which makes him seem older. But at the same time, something about him seems ancient. Maybe it’s the broadsword or the kilt or the centuries-old castle around us. I want to learn more about Ed.

My sisters, however, seem fully enthralled with the Sheehy brothers, and my mother announces their plan to tour the castle in the morning, then drive around the lake in the afternoon. She implies I’ll be going with them.

I inform her otherwise. “Ed’s taking me out on the loch.”

My mom looks shocked, probably because I’ve been avoiding deep water ever since I escaped from whatever it was that may or may not have attacked me in the Caspian Sea last summer.

Malcolm Sheehy clears his throat. “Ed doesn’t usually interact with guests.”

“Is it okay? I mean, he’s safe, isn’t he?”

“Oh, Ed’s one of the safest men I know, probably the best person in the world to take you out on the loch. He just…doesn’t usually interact with guests. Or people. Much.”

“Ever.” Angus coughs, the word half hidden under a snicker.

Magnus chuckles.

Their father gives them a stern look, and their mother leaps to her feet to offer another round of tea.

I accept the refill with thanks, and sip it slowly, mulling this newfound information. True, Ed was reluctant to interact with me. He’d made it sound like that was the Sheehys’ rule, though. Not his personal preference.

Being naturally reclusive, myself, I wouldn’t be surprised if Ed used the Sheehys as a mask to hide behind. If anything, the fact makes me feel more comfortable around him. My sisters and the Sheehy brothers can be sociable, while Ed and I slink off and be reclusive together.

Even my mother seems to resign herself to the fact. She’s a wise one, my mom, and she knows her daughters well. No doubt she’s reached the same conclusion I have—that if there are two Sheehy dragons, and the two of her daughters interested in getting to know them better are also the two who hope to find a dragon mate, then there’s no reason to force the introverted third daughter to be sociable.

The day has worn on Mom, as well, and she finishes her steak quickly, excusing herself to return to our rooms. Since my sisters are lingering, spending more time chatting up Magnus and Angus than eating, I figure this is my chance to find out what Mom’s up to. She’s more likely to confess if it’s just me, especially if she’s already given up on hooking me up with anyone.

Between the two of us, we find our way back through the halls and up the stairs to the warm light that shines from the open door of our suite. I close the door behind us and, not knowing how much time we’ll have before my sisters return, I waste no time asking questions.

I try the indirect approach first. “Nattertinny Castle seems really cool. How did you find it?”

“They have a website. You saw it.”

“But how did you find the website?”

Silence. And utter lack of eye contact as my mom suddenly becomes absorbed in rooting through her bag.

I press further. “Do you know the Sheehys?”

“Hmm?” Mom picks up the bag and all but sticks her head inside, muttering something about her contact lens case.

“Isn’t it with your other toiletries? Did you put it in the bathroom?” I’m reminded that my eyes are pretty itchy, too, after long plane rides with my contacts in. We dragons have startling jewel-toned eyes, so when we’re out among other people, we wear color-dulling contacts to keep our true identities a secret. I slept in mine on the last plane.

Itchy, indeed.

“Oh, that’s right. Thanks.” My mom heads through one of the bedrooms to a bathroom, which is spacious and sparkling white with Carrera marble, and well-lit with chrome fixtures, which gives the room a much brighter feel than the other parts of the castle we’ve ventured through.

Mom plucks out her contacts while I stand behind her, jealous of the relief her eyes must feel, but unwilling to abandon this conversation until I’ve gotten answers.

Considering how much my eyes itch, I’m no longer willing to take the indirect approach. “Are the Sheehys dragons?”

Mom fumbles the contact case, spilling lenses and lens solution onto the marble floor. “Oh, bloody hell. Wren?”

“What?” I crouch down beside her to find the fallen lenses.

Her amethyst eyes look guilty. “Why would you think…?”

“Why else would you bring us here? We’re turning twenty this summer. Older than you were when you married dad.”

“That was a long time ago.” She plucks up a lens and rinses it carefully over the sink.

“Not yet twenty-two years,” I note matter-of-factly, finding the other lens and holding it out to her, standing patiently behind her, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “So, are they?”

“I dunno.” Her Scottish accent is plenty strong. “They’re contenders. The strongest contenders I know of in the world. But I don’t know if they’re dragons and I can’t figure out how to ask, without, you know—”

“Giving away that we’re dragons?”

“Aye.”