Isla snorted
indelicately, nearly choking on a sip of wine. "Hell, no! Well, not that I
know of any way." The last part was said sarcastically, but it set
Jeremiah's wheels turning. Now we're getting somewhere, he thought.
"So what
if you were?" he asked casually, watching her from beneath his lashes. She
looked at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head.
"Are you
havin' me on? There's no such thing as witches!"
"Isla, I'm
from New Orleans, arguably the supernatural capital of the US. I've seen a lot
of crazy shit that most people don't believe in. All I'm saying is that
everything happens for a reason. A tattoo doesn't just appear on your skin one
day without having some sort of explanation. Magick doesn't seem too farfetched
when it comes to something like that, now does it?
"Jeremiah."
"Isla,” he
said, emphasizing by drawing out the word.
"You are a
highly educated, rational, sane human being. You can't possibly believe in
witches!"
"I'm not
saying I do," he hedged, "but I'm not saying I don't. What I am
saying is that it doesn't hurt to examine some of the inexplicable things that
have happened to you, not the least of which is the locals' suspicion. When you
were having your nightmare this morning, the whole house was shaking."
She seemed
startled at that, wouldn't quite meet his eyes, but didn't comment. It led him
to believe strange things like that had happened to her before.
"There are
always animals around you, from your freakishly human-like cats”—she gave him a
genuine grin at that—"to wild animals that follow you on your hikes. And
then there's that wolf. I'm no wildlife expert, but that was definitely not
normal alpha dog behavior—let alone the fact that there aren't supposed to be
wolves in Scotland at all."
Isla pursed her
lips and set down her wine glass with a thud. She scraped back her chair and
rose to stare, unseeing, out the window. She rubbed her arms with her hands as
if she had caught a chill, and suddenly Jeremiah was afraid he had pushed her
too hard.
Taking her
hand, he led her to the couch and gestured for her to sit down, and then
returned to add another log to the stove.
He heard her
draw in a long, shuddering breath and let out an exaggerated exhale. "You
know," she said, "while whether you are in possession of all your
marbles remains to be seen, it is nice to have someone to talk to who doesn't
think I'm a freak.”
Barking out a
laugh, Jere came back into the living room and flopped down beside her and,
just like that, the tension dissipated.
Jeremiah found
that he really enjoyed her company. They talked easily about movies and music
to outdoor adventures. He even thought at one point he had agreed to a kayak
race at which he was quite sure she would kick his ass.
Sometime during
the course of the conversation, things began to change. Jeremiah found himself
watching her mouth, that beautiful bee-stung bow, while she talked—it was
driving him to distraction, to the point where he'd had to ask her to repeat
herself several times.
As she talked,
she began unconsciously fiddling with the zipper to one of his cargo pockets,
zipping it back and forth. His thigh muscle tensed and bunched under her pseudo
touch, while his brain was wishing like hell that he could feel her hand on his
skin.
"Jeremiah."
Tearing his eyes away from her hand and how close it was to touching him, he
forced his hazel eyes to meet her feline gaze. Slowly, so slow he had to wonder
if it was deliberate, her tongue snaked out to moisten her lips and she caught
her bottom lip in her teeth, causing her dimple to wink at him.
Taking what he
hoped he hadn't misinterpreted as an unspoken invitation, Jeremiah reached for
the back of her neck and dragged her to him with a growl. They met with an
explosion of passion, tongues pushing and wrestling, teeth scraping.
The scent and
the feel of her were so intoxicating that Jeremiah's head swam. Her hands had
crept up his neck to bury in his shaggy hair, causing him to shudder. Leaning
back to lay longways on the couch, he pulled her down on top of him and began
pressing open-mouthed kisses to her neck.
He hoped he
wasn't moving too fast for her, but the small mewling sounds she made deep in
her throat were an encouragement. He slipped his hands under her shirt to
caress the small of her back and captured her mouth again, feeling her respond
deliciously.
Unhurriedly,
his hands massaged and kneaded her back, and then slid down inside her yoga
pants to grasp her curvy backside and pressed her against his nearly painful
erection. They both groaned in unison.
Jeremiah lifted
his hips, pushing himself more firmly against her, and she squirmed, sending
shockwaves straight to his groin. They stayed that way for a few minutes, just
moving against each other, engulfed in a heated kiss, until Jeremiah noticed the
lamp beside him flickering.
In his daze, he
thought it must be a bad bulb. Realizing there was more important business at
hand, he focused his attention back to the beautiful woman in his arms. He
broke away from her lips to lick a trail up the side of her neck, from the
hollow of her shoulder to her ear, and then he latched on to her earlobe and
sucked.
All around the
room, lights began flickering violently, and the light bulb in the lamp beside
them shattered with a loud pop. Isla jumped away from him like she had been
caught stealing and stood there in the middle of the living room, chest
heaving, eyes searching the room wildly.
"What just
happened?" she asked, her voice high and tinged with hysteria.
While Jeremiah
was shaken up as well as still painfully hard, he didn't want to alarm her, so
he forced himself to remain calm.
"Isla,
come sit down," he said in a gentle voice.
She sat,
doubled over, with her face in her hands. "What the hell is wrong with
me?" she murmured, voice muffled through her fingers. Leaning back, she
took a coin from her pocket and began swiftly weaving it through her fingers.
"Listen to
me." He waited until she turned to look at him. "Nothing is wrong
with you. But there is something strange going on, and we're going to figure it
out."
"I
can't...you know. Not now."
Jeremiah
nodded, understanding that she was too shaken up to pick up where they left
off. He looked at the silver coin glinting between her fingers.
She handed it
to him so that he could have a closer look. "It's the only thing I have of
my grandmother's. I don't know what it says, but it always makes me feel better
just to have it close."
Inspecting the
coin, Jeremiah saw a crude engraving that was written in Latin. "I can
translate it, if you want."
The brilliant
smile she gave him was worth more than translating a few lines of a dead
language, but Jeremiah was glad to have it. He looked back at the etching on
the coin.
Quae signo
gerit opposita inter virum et monstrum.
Filia
deorum, mater hominis, protector omnis vitae.
Jeremiah
sighed, knowing the translation would raise more questions than answers, but he
told her anyway. "It says: She who wields the mark is the barrier between
man and monster.
She is the
daughter of gods, the mother of man, protector of all life."
Isla just shook
her head and rubbed her eyes, looking worn out and scared. Jeremiah looked back
down to the coin, and flipped it over to check out the opposite side, and what
he saw there shocked him to his core and made his blood run cold.
Vigilati Usque
Ad Mortem
Mhairi
Siobhan Mackay
Glasgow,
1961
Isla slid
between the covers of her bed, hoping for the quick, blessed oblivion of sleep.
But it was not to be. All of the bizarre happenings of the past few days played
across her mind like a movie reel. She found herself wondering if Jeremiah
might be right. Not about witches, necessarily, but about the events being
caused by some metaphysical or preternatural phenomenon.
Or she could
just be going crazy like her mother. God knew it probably ran in the family.
Sighing, Isla rolled over to face Atticus curled up on the pillow next to her.
She smirked at him. "Do
you
think I'm a witch?" Atticus almost
appeared to roll those huge slanted eyes at her, and then he went back to
grooming himself.
Clearly not
finding any wisdom of the feline variety, Isla turned her thoughts instead to
Jeremiah. She knew it was stupid and risky to get involved with a tourist,
especially an American who had no ties to Scotland other than University, but
he was slowly but surely charming her until she couldn't seem to remember why
it was such a bad idea.
Bringing a
picture of him into her mind, she imagined his ragged mop of sandy hair that
begged for a cut, his subtly arched brows over twinkling hazel eyes. She
thought of his straight patrician nose and his supple, full lips over a dimpled
chin. And that smile, that wolfish shit-eating grin that she was coming to
love, caused delicious shivers to ripple under her skin.
Sighing
contentedly and in a much better mood, Isla floated in the twilight state
between wakefulness and dreaming with the image of Jere's smiling face fresh on
her mind. Just as she was starting to surrender to sleep, the face slowly began
to morph into something else entirely. Features sharpened, eyes and skin paled,
hair turned jet black, and a small eye appeared in the center of the forehead.
As she felt a familiar paralysis sink into her bones, her mouth locked into a
silent scream and she realized with horror that she was no longer looking at
Jeremiah at all.
Jeremiah had
made his pallet on the couch just as he had the night before, but he had fallen
asleep sitting up with his feet propped on the coffee table. He was dreaming
about Isla, her skin, her hair, her killer curves.
He began to
feel hot kisses on his neck, a warm tongue dragging from his collarbone to his
ear. Still unable to open his eyes, he felt the delicious weight of Isla
straddling his lap, grinding on his erection. In the haze of half-sleep, the
thought crossed his mind that while she was an independent woman, this was
definitely forward even for her, but then it flew out just as quickly as her
hands found the hem of his shirt.
She tugged at
his shirt, and he sleepily raised his arms to allow her to pull it over his
head. Her nails kneaded the muscles of his chest like cat's claws, causing his
hips to buck involuntarily under her. Laughing seductively she captured his
mouth in a savage kiss, her tongue delving deep into his mouth, her hips
rocking against him.
Shockwaves
rippled through Jeremiah's body, and he dimly thought that he hadn't been this
close to coming in his pants like a damned teenager since he was, well, a
teenager. Her fingers reached between them to unbutton his trousers, to draw
the zipper down tantalizingly slowly. When Jeremiah finally pried open his
heavy lids, he took in the sight of her. She was wearing nothing but an
oversized t-shirt and panties, straddling him like a cowgirl, hair tossed and
wild, bangs hanging down over her eyes, face flushed.
He'd never seen
a more erotic sight. Gripped with the sudden urge to see her face clearly, to
look into her eyes, he slid his hand across her full breast and up the column of
her throat to her cheek. Pushing aside the curtain of her long hair with one
hand, he swept her bangs back with the other and looked up into her eyes. In
place of her jade green gaze were soulless opalescent orbs that swirled with
darkness, and a glyph of an eye had emerged on her forehead.
"What the
fuck!
"
he shouted, jumping up like he had been electrocuted and dropping her
unceremoniously on the floor with a thud.
He stood in the
middle of the living room shirtless and panting, pants opened and hanging down
to reveal the tops of his boxers, and hands buried in his hair. Isla dragged
herself off the floor and onto the couch, hugging herself and rocking back and
forth.
Although his
body was still vibrating and his mind was still scrambled with a huge helping
of WTF, his heart lurched for her. He walked back to the couch and pulled her
into his arms, squeezing her tight and tucking her head into the crook of his
shoulder. She was shaking like a leaf and sobbing so hard that all that was
coming out were little hiccups.
She looked as
if she was trying to speak but couldn't. She took a shuddering breath and tried
again. "I-I don't know what's happening to me. I'm really afraid,
Jeremiah."
Not wanting to
reveal that he was too, he just stroked her hair and murmured encouraging words
against her ear. "I know, baby, I know. We'll figure it out. You're going
to be okay."
She pulled back
slightly to look up at him, her eyes—they were hers again—were huge and
haunted, shimmering with tears.
Without a word,
Jeremiah lifted her into his arms and carried her back into the bedroom. Laying
her on the bed, he drew the covers up to her chin and kissed her forehead.
"You need to try and get some sleep. We'll figure this out tomorrow."
She nodded, but
when he started to leave, she reached out and snagged his wrist in a
surprisingly strong grip. "Stay. Please? Just...I don't think I can be
alone."
Not wanting to
her to feel pressured, but also not willing to sleep in his two-day-old
clothes, he stripped down to his boxers and got on top of the covers, pulling
the throw up to cover his legs. He turned on his side and stroked her hair
until he felt her finally relax into sleep.
Jeremiah
snuggled farther into the warmth of the bed, smelling sweet lavender and
spices. He was again dreaming of Isla. She was wrapped in his arms and he had
her pinned with one of his big thighs across her legs. He nuzzled into the
crook of her neck and breathed deep of her unique scent. He felt delicate
fingers winding into his thick hair, felt them tug slightly on the strands.
Giving a grunt of approval, he squeezed her closer and scraped his teeth across
the side of her neck, savoring the enticing little shudders that racked her in
response.
A chuckle
rumbled through her throat against his ear and those fingers in his hair gave
another tug, this time hard enough to hurt, causing him to blink into
awareness. It wasn't a dream. He was draped across her, their bodies entwined,
with his face buried against her neck.
He slowly
disengaged his arms and legs from her but didn't move away. Instead, he lay
facing her, looking into those bright eyes. "Hi."
"Hi,"
she whispered with a small smile.
"How'd you
sleep?"
"Good
actually. Better," she said, looking at him shyly from beneath her lashes.
"I'd love to stay here all morning, but I've got to go to work."
Jeremiah
captured her lips in a brief but electrifying kiss. "Work? What kind of
slave driver do you work for?" he asked with a laugh. "I'm sure
Callum wouldn't mind if you take the morning off. He seems like a pretty laid
back boss, and you work all the time."
Isla toyed with
a curl and her eyes darted away before returning to his face. "Actually,
I'm his boss," she said after a long pause.
"What? I
thought Callum owned Expeditions."
"He
manages the day-to-day operations, and we let everyone assume he's the owner.
It keeps the locals' mistrust of me from affecting the business
negatively."
"Wow,"
Jere said, astonished. "That's amazing. And convenient. See, I happen to
know your boss, and I think she has a soft spot for big, clumsy Cajuns. Now I'm
sure you can get the morning off.”
"Nice try.
But I've got two tours booked this morning, and you have that appointment in
Glasgow today, remember?"
"Worth a
shot," he shrugged and tackled her, causing her to break out with
uncharacteristic giggles. "Guess it's back to reality."
~~~
As usual, Isla
arrived at Expeditions an hour before her first tour. She'd decided to go in
early that morning to do a little internet research on the odd things that have
been happening to and around her.
She had her own
laptop, although she kept it at the office since she didn't have an internet
connection out at her cabin. Taking the sleek, compact machine with her, she
settled at the breakroom table, flipped it open, and connected to the internet.
First, she
pulled up the Arran Daily News website to skim it for happenings on the island.
It was always good for Expeditions to keep up on current events so the guides could
inform tourists of interesting facts and events around the island.
Frowning, Isla
read the first headline that had caught her eye. It said in bold lettering:
Honeymoon
Couple Disappears While Hiking.
Isla was astonished when she went on to
read that the missing couple was Ethan and Katherine Redding, the same
honeymooners who had been on her hiking tour.
Skimming the
article, Isla learned that they had left word with their landlord—smart
kids—two days ago, that they were going walking on Machrie Moor. When the older
woman didn't hear from them the next day, she went to check on them at the
one-room cottage she rented to them. They were gone, and she found no sign that
they had been there recently. The investigation was ongoing.
Isla made a
note to herself to call the chief of police after her tours that day to offer
her services in the search. As an expert tracker, Isla often assisted the local
police in locating missing hikers.
Opening a new
browser window, Isla started to do a search on paranormal activity, but instead
she typed Jeremiah's name in the search bar—she came to find out the two were
more closely related than she ever would have thought.
The first link
was a
Wikipedia
article on Dr. Jeremiah Rousseau. Smiling to herself,
Isla clicked on it and dug into the article. She perused the basic background
information that he had already told her— grew up in New Orleans, son of Paul
and Esme Rousseau, younger brother Matthieu, attended Tulane and then the
University of Edinburgh.
That's when it
started to get weird. According to the article, Dr. Jeremiah Rousseau had
earned his PhD in psychology with a concentration in
parapsychology
.
Curious at the unfamiliar term, Isla opened a new search page and typed
define
parapsychology
.
Parapsychology:
a field of study concerned with the investigation of evidence for paranormal
psychological phenomena
.
She went on to
read about Dr. Rousseau's numerous successful investigations, proving and
disproving popular paranormal myths and ghost sightings across the world. He
had written several research studies on his investigations and several fiction
novels as companions. His last known project was an investigation of the Archer
Avenue ghost in Chicago, IL.
Well, fuck.
Isla stared at the screen in disbelief,
unsure of what to think or what to do. Was this why he came? Did he make up the
whole vacation story? Is that why he brought up the subject of witches and the
locals opinion of her? Isla began to wonder if somehow he had heard of a
supposed
witch
living on the island and had come to investigate.
The idea that
he had lied to her and she had bought it caused a knot of fury to boil in her
gut. This is what she got for letting her guard down. You just couldn't trust
anyone. No one.