Renegade (31 page)

I knew that what he was saying made sense, but I felt my blood rush through me. Hard. I couldn’t imagine sleeping or studying at that moment. The sword case felt heavy in my hands, and I wanted to act.

After securing a room for ourselves as husband and wife, we spent the evening studying the map. I felt more practical about our planning. I pulled out the bowie knife and two of my old tournament knives from Dublin. They were a bit rusted, but still gleamed sharp in the dingy room’s light.

I took the sword out of its case. It was a thin blade—Parisian. The hilt was ivory, solid to the touch. I saw, almost with revulsion, the Conclave’s symbol engraved upon the hilt.

A Posse Ad Esse.

“This was their sword,” I said, almost to myself. “I’m not used to swords.”

“Take it.” Simon said, not even looking up from the map, which he had spread out at the desk in front of him. He had brought several books along for the journey, too: one about the Orkney Islands and another about mythical creatures. He had also brought Charles Darwin’s
On the Origin of Species
. He had all of the books open before him on the desk. “We don’t know what we’re up against. We should take everything—the knives, the sword. I brought a revolver.”

I walked behind Simon, stepping over Hugo as I peered at the open books. Simon’s usually smooth-as-marble forehead wrinkled as he studied. I saw that he had written notes in nearly all of the margins of his books.

“Abbie. How large was the lamia in your visions?”

“I think about eight or ten feet. Significantly larger than a tall woman.”

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair as I returned to inspecting the weapons. “We can’t be certain of her traits at all, at this point,” he said. “We keep calling her a lamia, but we cannot assume that she is like the literary or mythological lamia at all. If she has a mix of species in her structures, which she might, considering Robert Buck’s extensive travels and studies, she likely has some undiscovered species, possibly even extinct species, within her.”

“You mean, like dragons or dinosaurs?” I asked as I began sharpening my bowie knife.

“I do.” Simon closed the book and stood. “Most mythological creatures have been based on real, actual creatures. Many share similarities to fossils. I am not aware of any current ten-foot lizards that can swim or stand on two legs, but as I have stated, it is possible that Robert Buck used the essences of extinct creatures. I simply don’t know. I’m only theorizing. And frankly, I’m infuriated by our lack of information. In light of this, we must consider all possibilities.”

“I feel as if we might be walking into an ambush. We are up against an enemy that we do not fully understand,” I said wearily.

“We are,” Simon replied. “We’re going to have to be sharp, figure her out quickly as we go—second by second. Is she venomous? How far can she leap? Can she see better in light or dark? What are her weaknesses? We must continuously figure out these sorts of questions once we see her.”

“What we need to do is to find somebody not just to take us out to the island, but someone who knows something about the nature of these attacks,” I said quietly.

Simon rubbed his eyes. I knew my heart was more into this than his, that Simon probably blamed William for getting himself into this mess in the first place. In his inebriated state, William must have been an easy capture for Max.

“I wonder … ” Simon’s voice trailed off wearily. Evening had begun to set in and the room had darkened. He stood up from the desk and paced a little, near the window. “I wonder why, although she’s been in service to them for almost a century, she would feel the need to go on a killing spree now. What spurred her to do this?”

“It could be anything,” I replied. Through a nearby window, I scanned the horizon, out over the roofs of the village homes that blocked our view of the sea. I recalled the rage I had felt when William told me about his past, about his dalliance with Jane Morris. I felt almost ashamed of it now, even though my feelings of anger at the way he had treated me persisted. I then remembered my conversation with Christina as we stood in my closet. “Of all the mysteries about this creature, we can be sure of one thing … ”

Simon lifted his head to look at me. His hair became a halo, caught in the bronze light of the setting sun.

“She is part woman,” I said. “Of that we can be certain.”

Simon suddenly stepped toward me, caught my hand, and lightly kissed my fingers—the shock of his gesture felt lovely to me. He had never done that before, and I realized that I had still not sorted out my feelings for him. I felt my heart upon the bough again.

He looked quickly away, his pale face reddened slightly; I couldn’t take my eyes off of him in that moment—he was so beautiful in the sunlight. “You are correct about that, Abbie. But her woman-ness will make her all the more unpredictable.”

We walked to Bromwell’s only tavern to take dinner that evening, hoping to learn something, if anything, about the attacks and to secure a reliable guide. Then we could go across the waters to meet Seraphina. I had insisted that we leave for her island tonight.

As we approached the pub, I saw a large man seated near the doors, his hat pulled over his face. I noticed longish gray tufts of hair hanging out from under his hat. I signaled for Hugo to sit, and he lay down near the entrance.

If it hadn’t been for our long journey, Simon and I would have looked very out of place. But my hair had fallen from its prim knot and felt ratted and tangled; my dress, which I had worn since yesterday, was untidy and wrinkled now, with mud splatters from when Simon and I had stepped off the ferry. Simon was not dressed in black, as usual; he wore only a white shirtsleeve and muddied brown trousers. Even so, he maintained the angelic aura about him.

“We should fit in,” I said, quietly. “We look as if we’ve been fishing all day.”

Simon glanced down at me, amused. “We don’t fit in at all,” he said, holding the door open for me. I saw immediately that we were Londoners. My dress, even with the wrinkles and mud stains, seemed overly prim and formal, and sported far too many buttons.

The place was small and crowded. As we stepped inside, the smell of ale, grease, and dirt assaulted my nose, and I felt at least fifty pairs of eyes upon us—probably half the population of the town.

Simon and I seated ourselves, and I felt my face turn scarlet.

“Whit will ye be havin’ tae eat?” the tavern keeper asked when she came over to greet us. Even though I had worked in a charity hospital for prostitutes, I had never seen a dress so low. While I gawked, Simon calmly told her what we would be eating.

When our food arrived, I found that I had no appetite. I knew we were supposed to behave naturally, but my heart pounded. My ears rang and my stomach twisted upon itself. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t conduct a normal conversation knowing that William was near death somewhere not very far from us.

The tavern keeper eyed Simon and me carefully when she brought out our ales. I watched, amazed, as Simon charmed her, bringing the conversation around to the curious sketches of the monster displayed on the buildings of the town.

I saw the woman’s lips tighten at this, and I wondered if the people of Bromwell were touchy about their local monster. Her gaze became unfriendly and she stopped speaking to Simon immediately. We noticed, after our meals came, that the gazes from other Bromwell natives became steelier. Although Simon masked his emotions well, my nervousness continued to mount and I felt as if going to this pub had been a futile and disastrous endeavor.

We are wasting time.

I think Simon felt the same, because very soon, we left, calling Hugo to come with us; we walked away as quickly as we could. The cool night air had set in, and I could see our breaths puff out in the shadows.

I was about to ask Simon about their strange reaction, but I heard footsteps behind us—steps in the dirt. Just as Hugo began to growl, I turned around, immediately on my guard and thinking that it might be the ash-haired stranger. But I saw then that our follower was the gray-haired man who had been seated near the door of the pub.

Hugo continued to growl, but Simon calmly silenced him with a wave of his hand.

“Whit is yer interest in th’ monster?” he asked. At first, I thought it was a threat, but his tone did not seem threatening. It seemed merely inquisitive.

Unsure of how to answer him, we said nothing.

“Coz ah saw ye Londoners git off th’ ferry today. We don’t git many visitors like ye.”

“Our reasons for being here are personal.” Simon said quietly. Then I saw Simon pause and gaze thoughtfully at the man, assessing him. I knew that he was trying to read the man’s character.
Please Simon,
I thought.
Think of a way to get him to help us.

“One of our friends, from London, stayed here recently, on vacation,” Simon began. “He disappeared, and we’re trying to find him.”

The man said nothing, and I believed now that he was trying to discern our character.

Simon continued, knowing that we would need to provide more information. “More specifically, from what we have learned, our friend went out into the waters in a boat. He never came back.”

“Yer friend is dead,” the man said quickly.

I started to retort, but Simon laid his hand on my back and asked the man quietly, “Why are you here?”

The man’s nervousness increased. “We don’t loch talkin’ abit it. We hav’ enough jokes abit us believin’ in monsters in our lochs and aw ’at.”

I saw, in the moonlight, that he was not as old as I had first thought. No older than perhaps his late fifties. He seemed hardscrabble, as if he had been out in the sun every day of his life, but there was also a vulnerable nervousness about his demeanor in this moment.

He looked sideways, back in the direction of the tavern. “Ah wuz watchin’ ye baith through th’ window, and ah think ye know mair than yoo’re sayin’.”

Simon’s expression must have brought affirmation to the older man, because he continued talking.

“That thing out thaur in th’ waters killed mah granddaughter. She was aroond yer age,” he said, pointing one thick finger in my direction. “If yer friend was here, and he disappeared in those waters, it’s likely she got ’im.”

Perhaps it was impetuous, but I said quickly, “We think we know where the creature is.”

The man’s eyes widened. “That so?”

The three of us stood in awkward silence for a full minute. The man was the first to speak.

“Neil MacDiarmand,” he said quietly. After Simon and I introduced ourselves, as husband and wife of course, Neil glanced around to make sure no one was nearby. “Come wi’ me, and we’ll talk.”

His house, nearby, looked like so many of the other houses in town—small, cottage-like. His wife, like the man, had a sunburned face. Her grayish red hair reminded me quite a bit of Ellen’s, but the resemblance stopped there. She seemed so melancholy, so bleak. As she stood in the kitchen, wiping her hands on a rag, her eyes appeared so dark and void that she seemed almost dead. I thought of the grief she must have experienced, losing her granddaughter.

Still, she greeted us politely and brought us steaming cups of tea; she even took a bowl of water outside for Hugo.

At the table, Simon pulled the folded map from his pocket. “We believe she’s here,” I said, pointing to the specific island Max had marked.

Neil took a long sip of tea and studied the map. “Whaur did ye’ fin’ this?”

I glanced at Simon, feeling slightly nervous, not knowing how we could explain it. Simon, however, seemed unalarmed and spoke confidently. “We have researched the area, the geography. Based on the locations of the murders, we estimate that her lair would be in this place.”

“We want to go there, to this place, to see if she’s there,” I said firmly. My impatience had mounted to the point of being unbearable. “We want to go there to find her and possibly find our friend, but we don’t know these waters, so we need someone who does know them to take us there.”

I felt almost like a madwoman, speaking so bluntly, and I knew Simon would have eased more smoothly into asking Neil for his help. Neil eyed me sharply, his eyes a lovely glassy gray, bright against his tawny skin. We were all quiet, around the table. The room was lit only by the nearby fireplace and a few tallow candles. I heard Hugo bark from the front porch.