The Children Of The Mist (24 page)

Celeste wiped a trickle of blood off her lip and glanced at Morven defiantly. ‘I was looking for my earrings.'

Morven stared in amazement. Earrings? Really? Just how stupid did she look?

Caractacus, perhaps sensing another round of fisticuffs, interceded. ‘Celeste, I think an apology is in order. Don't you?'

Celeste looked like she'd rather drink a cup of cold sick.

‘Celeste.' There was no amusement in Calix's tone this time.

Morven tore her eyes away from Celeste and looked at him. The look on his face chilled her.

Celeste must have felt the same. ‘I'm sorry,' she said through clenched teeth. And with that, she pushed past her brother and disappeared out the door.

Caractacus made a small, apologetic smile. ‘Er, sorry about that. Did you sleep well?'

Morven blinked but automatically responded. ‘Yes, thank you.'

Calix nodded. ‘If you want to join us, breakfast is ready.' He went over to one of the long drapes and pulled them apart. ‘It's been snowing. We've planned a hunt tonight, if you want to join us.'

They left then, closing the door softly behind them. Morven waited until the sound of their footsteps receded and got out of bed. She padded across the floor and looked out of the window. She let out a soft sigh of delight. The world had turned into a winter wonderland while she slept.

When she finally dragged herself away from the window, Morven began to dress. Which returned her to the embarrassing question of who had undressed her. And that led to a tidal wave of questions that Morven felt impatient to have answered. After all, she hadn't come here to hunt.

Dressed, Morven checked herself out in the mirror. She smiled and felt a fizz of awe at the sight of those lovely pointy teeth. Truly — she was awesome. Also she noted that her clothes looked a bit worse for wear. Hopefully she could get to a shopping centre soon and buy a few more. She picked up her backpack and looked at it fondly. It seemed like a bit of home. And then, unable to resist, she fished out her mobile phone and looked at it. How she longed to phone home. To hear a familiar voice. Her fingers tapped out a text to Zest.
Arrived safely. In a castle! Freakin freezin. How's it hanging?
But then deleted it. It was too dangerous. They might have tapped into it somehow.

She sighed and put the phone back into the bag and pulled out the Campbell tartan and the coat of arms. It was then that she realised the gun gifted to her by Zest was gone. True, the two soldiers could easily have confiscated it while she slept, but she didn't think so. Thoughtfully she stowed her mobile in her pocket. It was time. Time to get the answers she'd travelled a long way to find.

Unfortunately, she was frustrated in her endeavours by the simple fact that she had no idea how to find breakfast. The draughty corridor outside her room offered no suggestions. In the end she went right, and decided it had to go somewhere. Hopefully she'd meet someone on her travels. Ten minutes, several corridors and two sets of stairs later, she found herself back down at the huge entry. Voices guided her to a closed door. For a moment she hesitated and then knocked.

In response to the several ‘Come ins' Morven entered. It was a small, but cosy room. A fire blazed and the family were all crowded around a table beside a wide window.

Caractacus waved a piece of toast at Morven. ‘Have a seat.'

Morven settled herself beside him, mainly to be as far away from Celeste as possible. The aforesaid ignored her. Morven was disappointed to see her nose had returned to normal dimensions. The only sign of their altercation was a bit of bruising over the bridge. In fact, she looked pretty chipper, dressed in brilliant pink ski pants, shirt and vest. Even her perfectly painted nails were pink. Morven felt exceedingly shabby and loathed her even more. As Celeste continued to snub her, Morven smiled sweetly and bid her a good morning.

Celeste cut up a piece of steak with an enthusiasm that bordered on the sadistic and managed a curt nod.

Calix grinned. ‘What's your poison? There's bacon, sausage, steak, eggs and toast.'

Morven felt famished. ‘Everything please.'

The Mater smiled. ‘Becoming is a hungry business. I remember it well.'

Celeste snorted. ‘I doubt that,' she said.

The Mater's aristocratic features froze for an instant but she ignored her daughter. ‘I trust you slept well, Morven?'

Morven could feel her cheeks heating up. ‘Yes, thank you. I don't know what came over me. Falling asleep at the table like that. Honestly, it's never happened before.'

The Mater smiled. ‘Don't fret. It's a part of the process. You'll get over it, and although your sleep will always be deep, it will become controllable. It's the same for us all. And it could be worse, look at poor Sleeping Beauty. We despaired that she'd ever wake up!'

Morven didn't know what to say. Was she taking the piss?

Caractacus tapped her on the arm. ‘Foods on the bureau, help yourself.'

Glad for the diversion, Morven hopped up and filled a plate with food. The bacon was cooked, but the sausages not so. God, it smelled good. Despite her best intention to begin a serious interrogation of the family, her concentration dissolved. Yummy.

Conversation revolved around her. She listened with interest. To be honest, it was all a bit disappointing. Calix banged on with his parent about business. There was an office in Edinburgh apparently. And London. And New York. And Hong Kong. Celeste wanted her allowance increased. Caractacus was silent, buttering several slices of toast and loading them with what looked like plum jam.

He must have caught Morven looking for he picked up the jam jar. ‘Home-made plum jam. Made it myself. I've got an orchard in Hereford. There's apples, pears and quince too.'

Celeste looked over. ‘Oh, please Cracked-acus, don't start banging on about your fruity ideas. You'll give our cousin entirely the wrong idea.' She looked at Morven. ‘Poor Cracked-acus, he's a bit of a throwback, I'm afraid. A surgeon short of a scalpel, as we say.'

Caractacus put the jam jar down softly onto the table and looked pointedly at his sister. ‘At least I don't have MacGregor hair.'

Celeste's reaction was volcanic and to the point. Literally. In a movement so rapid that Morven's eyes could scarcely follow, her cousin lifted a knife from her place setting and flicked it across the table. Morven's breath caught in her throat, but she need not have worried. In slick style, Calix leant over the table and plucked the weapon neatly out of the air. He sat down and glared around the table. ‘Pack it in, you two. What the hell will our guest think?'

To his credit, Caractacus looked sheepish. Not so Celeste, who snarled, her teeth bared.

As to what Morven thought, well — it put a whole new slant on sibling rivalry. And, frankly, Celeste's attitude was getting right up her nostrils. She looked around the table. ‘Who are the MacGregors?' She knew she was being provocative — but what the hell. It was time Morven Smith took the initiative. There was silence. A bit of shuffling and shifting of bodies in seats. But that was okay, Morven had all night.

It was Calix who finally picked up the gauntlet. ‘The MacGregors are an ancient Scottish clan. Once they were closely allied with the Campbells, but in the 1600s they betrayed us, turning against King and Country. Subsequently they were crushed. Their lands were seized and their name rightfully dishonoured. They became nothing more than a pack of thieves and vagrants. Today they are nothing. The only one of their kind of any note is Rob Roy MacGregor.' He paused and glanced at a sulking Celeste. ‘In translation, Rob Roy simply means Red Robert. Due to the unfortunate colour of his hair. Of course, Rob Roy was not the Robin Hood hero portrayed in the movies. He was an ill-bred thug, whose birthright still remains questionable.' Calix paused and stared across the table, as if at the past. He blinked and looked at Morven. ‘Ironically, the MacGregor motto is ‘Royal is my race'. Rather inappropriate. In fact, it is we Campbells who can legitimately lay claim to Royal blood.'

Morven was fascinated. ‘So, what's the Campbell motto then?'

This time it was Caractacus who responded. ‘Do not forget.'

‘Forget what?' said Morven. She looked curiously around the table, but not one pair of eyes seemed able to meet her own.

The Mater interceded. She shrugged. ‘Nothing specific. Mainly, you know, not to forget our history. Our birthright.'

Morven wasn't convinced but let it go, for the woman's words reminded her of her earlier determination to get some answers. She looked at The Mater. ‘Talking of birthrights, where are my parents?'

The Mater slowly put down her knife and fork, picked up a snowy white napkin and dabbed delicately at her mouth. She managed to look at Morven. ‘My dear, I hardly know how to tell you…there seems to be no easy way, so I'll just be blunt. Your parents are no longer with us. They are dead.'

Dead. The word seemed to have no real meaning. Morven did not feel grief, just a sense of frustration. ‘Dead? Both of them? How? When?'

Calix cleared his throat. ‘Morven, they were both assassinated shortly after your birth.'

Morven stared at him. ‘Assassinated? By whom? How?'

Calix looked across the table at his mother, as if seeking approval. She nodded a fraction. He cleared his throat again. ‘Radiation gun. And as to who — we're not absolutely sure. We have many enemies. The powerful and wealthy always do.'

Morven's head was spinning. So much to formulate. Thoughts ricocheted around her head like billiard balls. Finally she managed to pick up a thread. ‘But why was I adopted out then? If you're so rich and powerful?'

‘You weren't,' said The Mater, softly. ‘You were taken from us. We did not know where you were. But believe me, Morven, we never ceased searching. We rejoice that you sit at our table today.'

Her words echoed true to Morven's ears. But it seemed that the answers were incomplete. She felt exhausted but there was one more thing she had to ask. ‘How did you find me?'

Caractacus laughed. ‘We got lucky! We've got people everywhere. When you were hospitalised word got back to us. We were on our way to you when you broke out.'

Celeste looked up from her plate for the first time. ‘How did you escape? Exactly?'

While her cousin's expression was politely bland, there was something in Celeste's tone that made Morven wary. She didn't know why, but she felt a great reluctance to tell them anything about Zest. When she knew them better — perhaps. She shrugged. ‘I guess I'm just great at kicking butt. Maybe I got lucky, too.' All of a sudden she didn't want to be there. She felt claustrophobic. Restless. Her head felt like an overripe watermelon about to bust. And then she knew exactly what she needed. She stood up and pushed back her chair. The clock on the mantelpiece told her it was early evening, just on six o'clock.

‘Where are you going?' said The Mater.

Morven met her eyes steadily. ‘I'm going shopping. I gotta buy a board.'

Not interested in any further conversation, Morven excused herself and headed up to her room. It was only as she picked up her bag that she remembered she had no idea where the nearest shops were. Damn. Maybe she'd just head out anyway.

A knock on the door brought her out of her reverie. Reluctantly she opened it. It was Calix.

‘Morven, I'm heading to the Edinburgh office. Wondered if you'd like a lift?'

Morven decided she did. Minutes later she found herself in a black Lamborghini. Holy crap, Calix must be loaded. As the car cruised down the tight country lanes Morven admired the sleek leather interior, and wished Zest was with her. He'd spin out. The white world flew by, the cold an uncomfortable memory in the insulated interior. Thankfully Calix seemed utterly absorbed with the car, and Morven was spared the stress of polite conversation.

As the kilometres ticked by Morven began to sift through her newly-found knowledge. If her parents were dead, where were they buried? Where were all their belongings? Was there a family album? Family heirlooms? Anything at all? Perhaps not after all these years. Which bought her back to her own beginning. Kidnapped, apparently. But by who? And why would they take her and then just give her away again? It was seriously strange. And then there was the radiation gun that killed her parents. What was that about? Which reminded her —

‘Excuse me Calix, but could I ask you something?'

Calix nodded. ‘Sure.'

‘Well, I was wondering if it's true, you know, that sunlight kills…vampyres.' She had been going to say ‘us' but it didn't really ring true in her own ears as yet.

Calix glanced at her. ‘Well, yes and no. Yes, in that too much exposure to UV is potentially lethal. But no, in that you won't shrivel up and evaporate.'

Well, that went a long way to explaining how her parents died. Nasty.

They pulled onto a six-lane freeway and Calix shifted the gearstick up a notch. ‘Mortals,' he said, ‘believe it, of course. Well, those who believe at all. Of course, it's reinforced by our nocturnal habits. Once we Become, we're hard-wired to sleep in the day. And we are well adapted to darkness. As you've probably discovered, darkness is no handicap. In fact, quite the opposite.'

He subsided into silence. Morven mulled it all over. It was a relief to know she wasn't going to get fried, crisped and dried in the sunshine. Although, she felt really guilty about all her bitchin' over her mum's stringent sunscreen campaign. Seems her mum had been right. Which was a bit irritating. But then a wave of homesickness swept over her. She felt dislocated. Like she'd inadvertently lost a limb. Once she got herself a board, she'd feel better. More like herself. Wouldn't do to get home and find Zest out-skating her. That'd be the pits.