Moon Cursed (32 page)

“Huh?”

“Black magic. From Jamaica. Involves sacrifice for power. I thought that maybe she was killing people as a sacrifice to Nessie, but Edward didn’t agree.”

“Sacrifice involves blood,” Marty murmured.

“And, according to him, a ceremony, which we don’t have evidence of here.”

“Even if Jamaica isn’t sacrificing people to her god, she could still be the watchdog ancestor. Who’s to say one of the original witch’s children couldn’t have emigrated, had kids, and then one of them come back here.”

“Anything’s possible,” Kris agreed, and Jamaica
had
been pretty secretive about her past. Although she had mentioned one of her ancestors was a Scot.

“Let’s go see her.” Marty stood.

“Okay.” Kris headed for the bathroom.

“I meant now.”

“I’m not going anywhere without covering up this bruise.” Kris pointed at her cheek. “I’m sick of explaining where I got it. You might want to make use of my paints and powders, too.”

“I’m a man.” He puffed out his chest comically. “No paint. No powder. Besides…” He lifted his arm and made a muscle. “You should see the other guy.”

“The one without a mark on him?”

Except for that damn tattoo.

Marty just scowled, which should have hurt his nose but apparently didn’t.

Five minutes later Kris and her brother headed for Drumnadrochit. Both of them were deep in thought, trying to put together the pieces of two different puzzles.

“Hold on.” Kris paused. Marty did, too. “Where’s the shape-shifting come in?”

Her brother gave her nothing but a blank stare.

“A kelpie is a shifter,” Kris explained. “Usually a horse that becomes a … whatever. But you said our kelpie is a handsome man or gorgeous woman who seduces the unsuspecting into giving up their goodies, then drowns them.”

“Right.”

“Where’s the shape-shifting? Horse became whatever. But the human became…?”

“Oh!” Understanding spread over his face. “The legend said
nathair.
”

“Which means?”

“Snake.”

Kris winced. This was looking worse and worse for Jamaica.

“Except…” Marty’s brow creased. “The picture in the book wasn’t of a snake.” He glanced toward the loch. “It was Nessie.”

Kris followed his gaze. The water rolled merrily to the opposite shore, broken by nothing but boats, the odd log and beady-eyed stone. “So the gorgeous human transforms into a cold, ugly, snake-headed lake monster.”

“You see why this legend caught my attention?”

“Certainly caught mine.”

*   *   *

The same kid who had been behind the counter before was there again, and he had the same answer to Kris’s request for Jamaica.

“She willnae be back for a few days.”

“You said that yesterday,” Kris pointed out. “So shouldn’t she be back tomorrow?”

The kid only frowned and repeated, “She willnae be back for a few days.”

“You’re confusing him,” Marty said, and after ordering a cup of coffee for them both urged her out the door. “Now what?”

Kris hadn’t wanted to tell him about Jamaica’s snake tattoo, which had closely resembled Nessie’s head when combined with all the other Nessie parts Kris had seen on other bodies, but she kind of had to. Jamaica was missing. Either something had happened to her or she was the one who’d pushed Kris off the cliff, not to mention conking Kris over the head and burying Kris’s knife in the chest of an innocent woman.

And Lord knows what else.

“She’s got a tattoo,” Kris blurted.

“Who does, and why should I care?”

“Jamaica has a tattoo on her ankle of what I thought was a snake but—” Kris took a deep breath and told him the rest.

Marty’s face went from curious to concerned. He pulled out his cell phone and began texting.
He
appeared to have no trouble getting reception near the mountains. “I’m having a check run on this woman. Jamaica Blue can’t be her real name.”

“I don’t think it is.”

“That, combined with the tat, her background in witchcraft, and her disappearance, means trouble. We just have to find out what kind.”

He hit
send,
then pocketed the phone. “Show me the other tattoos.”

The Camerons’ place wasn’t far away. They’d go there first.

“Problem with the door?” Rob asked as he opened his.

“No. It’s—uh—great.” Now that she and Marty were here, Kris wasn’t sure how to get a gander at Rob’s forearm.

Marty elbowed her in the ribs. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“Oh yeah. “This is—um—” Was she supposed to say he was her brother? An agent with Interpol? Or the reincarnation of Bonnie Prince Charlie?

Lying? Never her strong suit.

Marty handed his half-full coffee cup to Kris, who’d already finished hers, then stepped forward, arm outstretched. “I’m Marty Daniels. Kris’s brother.”

He shook Rob’s hand heartily; then as if seeing something disturbing, he pulled up Rob’s sleeve to reveal … the tattoo of a pair of flippers.

And nothing else.

“Sorry.” Marty released Rob, who scowled mightily and appeared as if he might just pop Marty in his already much-maligned nose. “I thought I saw a spider, but it was just your tattoo. Interesting choice. What’s it mean?”

“I like ducks,” Rob said, then slammed the door in their faces.

“Who’s next?” Marty asked.

Kris didn’t mention Effy. She didn’t want to know, or even think, about what Marty might do to get a peek at her landlady’s tattoo. Besides, knocking on the door again after Rob had just slammed it … probably not the best idea. Instead, Kris handed Marty his coffee, then led the way to the station. Moments later they found Alan Mac in his office.

Pleasantries were exchanged. “Meet my brother.” Smile. Nod. “Did ye walk into a door?” Nod. Smile.

Marty attempted to switch his cup from right hand to left so he could shake, and muffed it so badly the coffee went flying into the air … landing all over Alan Mac’s clean shirt.

Kris contemplated her brother with new respect. He was really very good at this.

She waited to see how Marty would finagle his way into the locker room or the men’s room or whatever room Alan Mac would retire to in order to change his shirt.

However, the coffee must still have been hot enough for discomfort, because Alan Mac yanked off the shirt in a great big hurry. With him left in what they called a wifebeater in the states, his tattoo was clearly visible. It looked like a tail.

Just that. A tail, winding around his ample biceps before curling up at the end like the head of a question mark.

“Let me buy you a new shirt,” Marty said.

“I’ve got another right here.” Alan Mac reached into a lower desk drawer and pulled out a crisply folded shirt. “Since I get into all sorts of muck, I keep a good supply.”

“That’s an interesting tattoo.”

Alan Mac, who had been shaking out the clean garment, glanced up at Marty, then down at his biceps.

“What is it supposed to be?”

The constable quickly shoved his arms into the sleeves, covering the object in question, then got busy with the buttons as if they were the hardest puzzle he’d solved in years.

“I’ve never seen one like that,” Marty continued.

For an instant Kris thought Alan Mac would ignore Marty until he went away. But the constable finished the last button and lifted his head. “I was in the Queen’s Own Highlanders.”

“Military.” Marty nodded. “And they all have those?”

Alan Mac’s eyes narrowed. “Aye.”

“What is it?”

“Circle of trust,” the constable said.

“All for one, one for all,” Marty replied.

Alan Mac tilted his head and said nothing.

The silence became oppressive. Kris began to feel uncomfortable. Alan Mac was obviously lying. They knew it, and he knew that they knew it.

“What exactly are ye doin’ in our fair village?” Alan Mac asked.

“Visiting my sister.”

“Mmm,” Alan Mac said. “Strange place for a family reunion.”

“Isn’t it?” Marty returned amiably.

The constable was clearly suspicious. Since he’d been the one who’d investigated Marty, he had good reason. Which only gave him grounds to throw her brother into a cell if he was so inclined. Maybe he’d throw Kris in there, too, just for fun. And if Alan Mac was up to something nefarious, no one might ever find them.

Marty’s phone chimed an incoming text message. He took a glance at the display and nodded to Alan Mac. “Nice to meet you. Sorry about the shirt. Kris?”

He walked out and kept walking. Kris scrambled to keep up. The constable’s gaze followed them all the way out the door.

Her brother scooted around the corner of the building, then leaned against the wall and read whatever was displayed on his phone with a growing frown.

“What is it?” Kris asked. “Is Jamaica wanted for murder in ten other countries?”

“No.” His frown deepened as he peered at the screen. “Maybe. I don’t know. This.” He lifted the phone. “Isn’t about her specifically.”

“What is it about?”

“When I asked for the check on Jamaica, I also asked about tattoos. What they’re used for. Other cases where they’ve been found. Someone in my division had an interesting case not too long ago that involved body art. Long story short, there was a creature and there were those who watched over it.”

“Guardian cult,” Kris guessed.

Marty blinked. “How did you know?”

“Edward got there ahead of you.”

“If you knew what they were,” Marty muttered, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know. It was just one of many theories. Why do you think that what your colleague encountered was the same as what’s going on in Drumnadrochit?”

“Because the guardians all had tattoos.”

“A lot of people do. That doesn’t mean they’re protecting a big squishy monster.”

Marty cast her an annoyed glance. “Let me finish, Squirt. The tattoos were the same as they are here.”

“Flippers and tails?”

“No, because this creature had fur and fangs and two heads.”

“I don’t even want to know what that is.”

“No,” Marty agreed. “You don’t. When I said ‘the same,’ I meant each guardian was tattooed with a different part of the monster. Separately they are nothing, but together they are invincible. Like that monster.”

“Interesting,” Kris murmured as her mind added two and two, then her heart began to thud fast and loud as it whispered,
Four.
“You’d think that maybe their … leader—”

Please let it be their leader.

“—would have the entire monster tattooed somewhere. Kind of like a lieutenant’s stripes.”

“No. The tattoo of the whole monster…” Marty paused to pocket his phone, and Kris had to clench her hands to keep from grabbing him and shaking the rest of the words out. “That’s only found on the monster itself.”

Kris’s thundering heart seemed to stop.
Bam.
She couldn’t even breathe.

“You see anything like that?” her brother asked.

Her heart started. Kris tried, and managed, to take a breath. Then she looked her brother right in the eye and said—

“No.”

*   *   *

Kris got rid of Marty. Later she wasn’t sure exactly how.

It didn’t matter, as long as he was gone and she was alone.

Somehow she made it back to the cottage. She was in shock. She knew that. Yet still she couldn’t snap out of it.

Only talking to Liam would do that.

Maybe.

More than likely talking to Liam would make her brain explode and then shock would be the least of her worries.

She waited all day and into the night. Dawn was only a short time away when her inertia broke. Obviously he wasn’t going to come to her. She’d have to go to him.

Except she had no idea how to find Liam. No idea where he lived or if he even had a place.

Beyond the loch.

“Fine.” She pulled on a sweater and boots. “I’ll just walk around and around and around the damn thing until he shows up.”

Or someone else tossed her in.

Hand on the door, Kris paused, remembering that day, the huge, black beastie with the oddly familiar eyes. Certainly they’d been gray instead of blue, but a mere change in color could not take away the soul inside.

If a shape-shifting, cursed kelpie even had a soul.

Kris yanked open the door and stepped into the night. She couldn’t believe she was accepting this …

“Insanity,” she muttered, tromping across the road, then down to the loch.

But was it insanity?