Legend Of The Highland Dragon (19 page)

She’d written down the wrong word. Again.

Mina swore quietly into the silence of the library and swiped her pen through the offending line. Far more forceful than it needed to be, the motion carried her arm past the paper and into the inkwell, which tipped over. Black ink poured over the desk, the record Mina had been working on, and her skirt.

“Oh,
bugger
!”

She grabbed the inkwell and righted it, then mopped frantically at the pool of ink, first with the now-ruined page of notes and then with her handkerchief. Most of the ink came off the table, thank goodness. She didn’t wish to spend her hundred pounds replacing it, and she had a feeling the entire sum wouldn’t go very far.

Her skirt was a lost cause.

“Ah, hell,” she said in more resigned tones and wiped the remaining traces of ink from the desk, then wiped off the inkwell itself. At least she could manage that much without disaster.

This was what came of losing her temper, Mina told herself in an inward voice that sounded remarkably like her mother’s. Now her skirt was ruined. She’d have to buy another, and although this one hadn’t been anywhere near her best, it hadn’t come cheaply. Getting out to buy clothing wouldn’t be easy in her current situation, either, and at least one of the MacAlasdairs was likely to do something stupid and chivalrous and embarrassing like offer to buy her another, which she couldn’t accept, and they wouldn’t understand why she couldn’t accept without even more embarrassing conversation. She could have avoided all of that if she’d just taken a little more time and care with her work.

The lecture didn’t help. Mostly, it gave Mina the urge to kick something, an urge to which she would have succumbed except that everything in the room would cost more money to replace than she’d had in her entire life, and hadn’t she done enough property damage for one day?

Instead, she sank back into her chair and sighed.

What was wrong with her tonight? Her accounts and her typing had been full of mistakes, and she’d taken none of her usual satisfaction in sorting out a jumble of unordered books or finding a new and interesting volume.

She’d finished the rest of the diary, which hadn’t been very enlightening. Toward the end, George the dragon
had
talked about his namesake a little and about the other dragon’s possibly tragic end.

Some do speak of other ways to mend such cases, he wrote, such as might be witchcraft, or the sacrifice of a white deer, and others yet say that having true affection among men may yet draw a man whole from his monstrous shape, but I think, as I have been taught, that there is no change and nothing for such unfortunates but death or exile.

Cheerful stuff.

She could have chosen another book from the shelves. There were plenty that looked interesting, and even a few that might deal with magic, but Mina couldn’t muster enough interest to get past the first page of anything she’d tried. She kept finding reasons to put her work aside and walk across the room or to go look out the window.

It wasn’t as if there was even anything—or anybody—to see out there.

Stephen and Colin would come back to the house in dragon form, the same way that they’d left. Unless something went horribly wrong, they’d be far too high to see from the window. But nothing was going to go horribly wrong.

They were dragons, after all. And they were
flying
—what was going to attack them, a flock of angry pigeons? The image did make Mina giggle, but it didn’t change her mood. She still felt aware of every second that passed.

Right, then. She wasn’t getting her work done one way or the other. Maybe a walk and a bite to eat would settle her mind. Mina stood up, glared down at the ink spot on her skirt—which had helpfully taken the form of some two-headed beast—and headed out into the hallway.

With the servants away and the lamps economically turned down, the hall was very empty and very large. Mina’s footsteps echoed on the floor, steady counterpoint to the light brush of her skirt. She shivered.

She
was
in a mood, and that despite getting to see the exhibition that evening. Mum would have had a bit to say about ungrateful girls with the vapors. Mina knew she herself would have said similar things if she’d been looking on from outside.

Darkness and empty houses made a good mood hard to keep, though. So did waiting up to hear news.

From the foot of the stairs, the clock ticked steadily, like a heartbeat. Its face was pale in the gloom.

Mina swallowed, told herself that she was being silly, and opened the kitchen door.

She screamed.

She didn’t mean to, and she felt completely foolish even as the sound died away, but Emily’s shriek had jarred her, for a moment, out of all pretense at rationality. She leapt and yelped just as readily as the scullery maid.

“Miss Seymour!” Emily gasped, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you—”

“Likewise, I’m sure,” said Mina, getting her breath back herself. She had to laugh a little, too. “Not really an evening for calm, is it? What are you doing back so early?”

“I came away before I thought I would,” said Emily, looking down and biting her lip. “People I was going to visit were busy. I thought if I was just in the kitchen, it wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“And it won’t,” said Mina, as cheerfully as she could manage. She could read enough of the girl’s face. Either some youthful suitor had thrown her over, or a friend had left her out in the cold. Either way, the girl needed cheering up. “It’s good to have company. Put the kettle on, will you? I’ll see if there’s any jam left.”

Searching in the pantry helped her mood a bit, but the restlessness didn’t go away entirely. It just sank down to the back of her spine.

“I was going to ask,” said Emily. “You haven’t seen Gussie tonight? Only I saw on my way in that he hadn’t touched his milk.”

“I haven’t.” Finding a pot of orange marmalade, Mina emerged from the pantry. “I wouldn’t worry. He’s probably just found another place—or a lady cat.” In London, a cat’s actual fate was likely far less pleasant, but there was no point bringing that up. “I bet he’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Hope so,” said Emily. “I know it’s foolish, but I like having animals around. My gran kept a dog back home. Mostly for the rats, but she was a nice little thing.”

“Is this your first place?” Mina asked, but she didn’t hear the answer.

As sudden and illuminating as a gas flare, the uneasy feeling she’d had before came back and swamped her, turning to real fear in the process. Mina couldn’t name the threat, but she knew that there was one—and that it would likely be deadly.

“Miss Seymour? Are you all right?”

“No,” Mina said, because she surely didn’t look it. The blood had drained from her face, and every object in the room stood out in sharp relief. “When will the others be home?”

“Not for another hour at least,” said Emily. “Mrs.—Mrs. Baldwin said she and her husband were going to have a good dinner, and Mrs. Hennings is—”

“Good.”

“What’s happened? Do you need to lie down? Are you sick?”

“No. There’s about to be trouble.” Mina met Emily’s eyes. She put every bit of force she’d ever learned into her voice, every atom of command she’d mastered dealing with younger siblings and cheeky grocers and Professor Carter’s visitors. “Go to the pantry. Get into the corner.”

“Why?”

“I can’t explain. Please.”

Mina leaned forward, taking the other girl’s shoulders in her hands. “Please trust me on this. If nothing happens, you can make fun of me later or be angry, but please go now.”

Now Emily’s face was white and her hands shook, but she nodded. “And you?”

Mina picked up the largest knife from the butcher’s block. “I’m coming too.” Then, as an afterthought, she grabbed a second knife and held it out, hilt first. “At least there’ll be two of us.”

Once again, night stretched out above Stephen, and in dragon form he soared over the rooftops of London. This time, with a destination in mind, he could watch the streets below or the stars above. This time, he also had company, as Colin flew beside him, blue scales shimmering in the moonlight.

“It’s been a while,” said Colin, in the wordless speech they used when flying. At such heights, the wind would have taken away all sounds. “I think we were at Loch Arach the last time we flew together.”

“No, it was Italy,” said Stephen, laughing at the memory. “Aunt Elizabeth’s house. I remember we came in just before dawn and interrupted one of her spells, and she threatened to turn us both into frogs.”

“And then said it wouldn’t make much difference. Quite a blow to the pride for a young man.”

“A young man as drunk as you were shouldn’t have
had
much pride left.”

“I’d matched Alessandro drink for drink. Considering his bloodlines, I thought my pride was well-founded, thank you. And I hadn’t noticed you abstaining.”

“You weren’t in a state to notice much,” said Stephen.

The two of them banked and curved, coming around over the Thames and then making for the east.

“She always did have a temper,” said Colin absently. “And she never did understand why Mother married as she did. As though she had any grounds to talk.”

“Tiberius was human enough,” said Stephen, “after his fashion. And he looked human all the time, which was the important thing to her, I expect.”

“I expect so,” said Colin, rolling his eyes. “Knowing her.”

“Be fair. Most women wouldn’t want a husband like one of us,” said Stephen.

“In my experience, most women want a husband who’s wealthy and not around often. As long as you don’t track mud on the drawing room floor, old boy, I expect the next Lady MacAlasdair won’t care
what
you turn into.”

“That’s a nice romantic view of the matter.”

Colin laughed. “Even most humans are wise enough to be cynical about marriage.” He craned his head around to peer at Stephen. “And you’re brooding on the topic. Thinking about the succession, are you?”

“No,” said Stephen, which was true.

He peered down at the buildings below. They were rougher now, crumbling brick and stone, and the streets were smaller and darker. Had Mina grown up here? What had her life been, always in the city, always surrounded by people? Had she come to like it?

Would she ever want to leave?

“Don’t worry,” said Colin. “There are half-breeds to go around, and I’d imagine you can even choose yourself a tolerable one. The title alone will give you your pick.”

“Thank you very much,” said Stephen. “Take a look below, will you? I think we’re almost there.”

Finding Brick Lane required flying closer to the ground than Stephen had done for most of his previous excursions: a risk, but one that the fog again lessened. He folded his wings and came in closer. Still unable to read the street signs, he pictured the map he’d done his best to memorize on short notice and tried to match the buildings to the clusters of numbers he’d seen.

In this form, they all seemed much alike and fragile. With very little effort, Stephen could have broken through any wall he saw. Any of his bloodline could, when full grown. It was why Loch Arach had rooms lined with blessed silver and chains forged with magic. The houses and offices in front of him would crumble at one blow—at least, as far as Stephen could tell.

He could sense no significant magic. Perhaps somewhere on this street a crone told fortunes with real accuracy, or a spirit truly did linger near its loved ones, but Stephen felt nothing of the power that even his own private room, slapdash as it was, gave off. Neither did he feel the sense of inhumanity that had hung about “Mr. Green’s” part of town or the chill that accompanied the manes.

There was still something wrong. Restlessness prickled beneath his scales and down the length of his spine, making Stephen lash his tail and wish, in the darkest chambers of his heart, for either enemies or prey. Below him, though, he couldn’t find any trace of magic large enough to stand out.

He looked over at Colin, who’d always been better at occult matters. “Have I missed aught?”

“No,” said Colin, with no trace of doubt. “Wherever your man keeps his creatures, it’s not here. That means—”

Like a sudden gust from the still air, a wave of terror sent Stephen reeling sideways. Snarling, he whipped his head around to confront the new threat, his teeth bared and his body ready to lunge.

Nothing was there.

His eyes registered blank night as his mind caught up to the true situation.

“What was
that
?” Colin came up to him, keeping a careful distance.

“We have to get back,” Stephen growled. “There’s danger at home.”

***

Not much light got in under the pantry door. Mina could make out the outlines of the room, but the pots and pans on the walls were only vague shapes. If Emily hadn’t been wearing a light dress, Mina never would have seen her where she huddled in the corner.

Mina stood in front of the scullery maid, trying not to clutch at her knife. How did one hold a knife properly? She’d never had occasion to find out. All she knew was that it felt much heavier than any knife ever had when she’d been chopping meat for dinner at home, and that she kept having to wipe her sweating palms off on her skirt.

She and Emily had tried to move the big table in front of the door, but their combined weight had budged it all of two inches. Besides, Mina had said, they might need to get out in a hurry.

Now she wished there was something more substantial between the door and the two of them. At the same time, she was beginning to feel silly. She wasn’t sure how long they’d been in the pantry, but so far, everything outside had been calm. Fear still twisted its way through her body, though. She bit her lip and tried to decide how long she wanted to heed it.

Then she took a few steps forward and bent down to peer under the door. The kitchen floor spread out smoothly in front of her. Nothing moved across her field of vision. Mina let her breath out slowly and felt her face burning.

“I think everything’s fine,” she murmured. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

A shadow brushed across the room outside.

Mina stumbled backwards, away from the door, bringing her knife clumsily upward. She didn’t let herself breathe, but she shook her head frantically at Emily:
I
was
wrong, I was wrong, don’t move, don’t speak, don’t do
anything.

She seemed to get the message across. At least, the girl froze in place. Mina snapped her gaze back toward the door.

Nothing came through, but…were those footsteps?

Yes and no, Mina decided as she listened. They were definitely steps, but she didn’t know that
feet
were making them. They sounded too big and too…squishy.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to be sick. She made herself breathe quietly and slowly, and listened to the steps cross the room, then fade.

Then they paused.

Then they charged, running back toward the pantry with a sound like slopping jelly.

A huge blow hit the pantry door. The wood buckled in front of what looked like a fist the size of Mina’s head. Emily whimpered behind her, and Mina glanced backward. The pantry window was too small and too high to get out.

She might have chosen very badly.

The next blow splintered a hole in the door. The hand came through, except it wasn’t really a hand. Half of it was shadow, and the fingers were blurred or melted, vague around the edges and boneless. Mina’s stomach hitched, and she wanted to look away.

She darted forward and slashed at the hand, putting her back into the blow. Flesh, if it
was
flesh, parted and fell to the floor with a
glop
. The rest of the hand pulled back.

Mina knew she hadn’t won. The thing on the other side of the door probably had two hands, and it—she looked down at the puddle on the floor—didn’t bleed. There might be more than one. She swallowed a sob, conscious of Emily behind her, and waited. She couldn’t even close her eyes.

From farther off in the kitchen, she heard a snarl.

The thing at the door made more squishing sounds as it turned, and then there was a mighty crash and it hit the door again. This time, though, it was not under its own power. This time, the door held against its weight, spread out as it was, and Mina heard a boiling-water shriek. Now she heard crashing from upstairs, too, and the great roar of an angry dragon.

The cavalry, as the saying went, had arrived.