Mack's Rousing Ghoulish Highland Adventure, page 15
Four hours. I looked around at the room and the protections that I couldn’t trust and thought of my defenseless lover lying comatose upstairs.
I found myself praying, as I never had before, that we had four hours.
I ate dinner, then made up something for Mack I could easily reheat if he chose to wake tonight. I wasn’t betting on it, but I did it anyway because I had too much nervous energy and nothing to expend it on. Then, out of things to do and with another two hours to kill, I retreated upstairs to Mack’s side.
He was still out for the count, flat on his back, breathing deeply. I shucked off my shoes before climbing into bed with him, cuddling in close with my head pillowed on his chest. I just needed a second with him.
This man had courage. No one ever questioned that. Sometimes, though, I wished he wasn’t quite so quick to throw himself into the path of danger. Seeing him outside tonight had put my heart in my throat, and it hadn’t crawled back down yet. Me being in danger was one thing. Him, another.
It probably sounded really hypocritical to anyone outside of my own head. Why was it okay for me to be in danger but not him? But that was kind of how the Havili instincts ran. Anyone in the family—including my cousin Alan, who was the bookworm of the family—would choose to be in danger themselves and have their loved ones safe. I’d thought when I first joined up with Mack that I’d have it easier than Donovan. Mack’s job was spooky but not really all that dangerous. It turned out to be a naïve thought. Our first two cases were this dangerous already. I was a little nervous about what it signified for the rest of our careers.
I must have stayed up there a good two hours, just holding Mack and trying to settle my anxiety about the whole situation. I didn’t know if I could do anything to help deal with the sluagh once and for all. Surely there had to be something, though. Something aside from just sitting here worried half to death.
A commotion started downstairs, and I could hear a car coming in hot into the back parking lot. I scrambled out of bed and to the window, confirming that someone had just pulled up in the back, driving a large black SUV. Lachlan McTavish, I hoped.
I dove for my shoes, jamming them back on my feet, and was down the stairs in a hot second.
Eli met me at the foot of the stairs, speaking rapidly, “He’s here, just drove up. I’m going to step out to help safeguard him in, can you help him grab his bags?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Quinn was already at the back door, his hand on the knob, waiting on us to catch up with him. Once we were close enough, he opened the door and immediately was out, all of us quick to exit the building and get the door closed behind us. I had no idea where the sluagh even was and it really wasn’t possible to get a visual on it right now. Midnight in Scotland meant it was pretty dark. If not for the back lights on the building, I’d not be able to see anything.
Once out, the SUV’s door opened, and a man stepped out.
Hello, Romance Novel? Your hero is missing. Got him right here.
I smacked myself mentally for the irreverent thought. The impression didn’t fade any, though. He had long, flowing hair that fell past his shoulders, looking a soft brown in the light, a neatly trimmed beard close to his face. The light freckles on his face suggested ginger genes somewhere in his makeup, and the way he was dressed, with the knee-high black boots, slim fitting black pants, and grey Henley, made him look like he’d stepped out of some kind of Highland festival.
“Bag?” Eli asked, already moving to a slightly defensive position, her eyes on the sky.
“Just the two, with me swords in the back. Gentlemen, get the bags, I’ll get the swords.”
I was quick to round the back of the vehicle to the two bags there, one a duffel that weighed enough to carry around part of King Tut’s tomb, the other a larger rolling suitcase. Quinn grabbed the suitcase, and we barely got the doors shut before we were skittering back inside.
McTavish was quick on our heels, and as soon as we were in, he shut the door and locked it with a breath of relief.
“I do hate bein’ around at night with a known beastie lurkin’ God knows where.” He looked us over, and in the brighter lighting of the hallway I could see he really did edge toward being a redhead. His voice went a little rough around the edges. “And ye all look a bit done in. All right, who be who?”
“Eli,” she introduced herself with a hand to her chest. “This is my husband, Quinn. This is Brandon.”
“Ah, the one that called me. Pleasure, lass and laddies. Introduce me to the rest of yer team, and then we can discuss just how we’re goin’ to tackle this thing, aye?”
I perked up at these words. “You have a game plan?”
“Had four hours to think of it, didnae I?” He winked at me, his confidence reassuring as nothing else could be.
“Thank god. We really didn’t know what to do.”
“Well, that be why they pay me, isna’t?”
Man made a good point. I turned and showed him into the main room, letting his bag down at the foot of the stairs. Quinn parked the suitcase next to it, but I noticed that the bag holding McTavish’s swords stayed with the man. I honestly felt better about him being armed.
Eli handled the round of introductions to everyone. McTavish shook hands, greeted them all, then turned to me with a furrowed brow.
“And where be yer medium, then?”
“Upstairs, still out of it,” I answered with a grimace. “When we said that it takes a toll on Mack to force a passing, we mean that it exhausts him completely. He’s out for the count for another twelve hours at least.”
“Ah. Good God, man, were things that bad he felt the need to do such?” McTavish shook his head, expression sympathetic. “And ye havin’ to watch him do it. Damn sorry the flight delayed me gettin’ here. I might have spared ye that if I’d gotten here a little sooner.”
I really appreciated that he was sympathetic to how I felt about all of this. It showed he was good people. “It’s water under the bridge now. But thank you.”
“Well, we’re in a wee bit of a fine pickle. I’ve read the reports and the emails.” He smiled and nodded to Graeme. “I thank ye for those, they helped me keep track of what’s goin’ on here. Me plan be simple—slay the sluagh.”
I liked simple plans, but… “Are you just going to rush it?”
“Naw, a bit of bait and pinch seems called for. Ye seem certain it be goin’ to come here again, and I have no reason to doubt it. Yer logic be sound enough. If we know it be comin’ back in, I say let it come in. But let’s be smart about how we fight it. I brought a few handy things with me.” McTavish pointed to the duffel bag. “That’s got some lovely ammunition in it. Bullets packed with iron shavings.”
I looked at the bag with renewed interest. Oh-ho.
“Which means I can arm quite a few of ye and ye can shoot at either sluagh or the ghost-crows, as ye please.”
Rowen’s expression was filled with fierce delight. “I would like the iron bullets very much, please and thank ye.”
“Aye, more than enough to go around, and I expect ye to lay down cover fire if nothin’ else.” McTavish gave them a wink. “Most weaker beasties will die as soon as they get iron in their system, makes the fight easier. The sluagh will take more than one hit, I think. Which be why I be askin’ this.”
He turned and looked directly at me and Quinn. “I’ve two broadswords, both iron, that will work wonders on yon brute. Takes a man with a significant amount of strength to wield them for more than ten minutes. Would ye like to kilt up and join me?”
Quinn looked as delighted by this offer as I felt. “I’m all for going out and swinging a sword around, but I don’t have much experience with sword fighting.”
“Pointy end goes in the beastie,” McTavish said helpfully.
“Right,” Quinn responded with a laugh. “I think I can manage that. Kilts, though?”
“Tradition, man. Ye cannae fight a monster and nae wear a kilt.”
Quinn didn’t offer another protest, just nodded. “Sold. Brandon?”
Swords? Kilts? “I’m in.”
I woke up to the sight of my lover standing next to the bed, dressed in a Scottish kilt, sans shirt. It was a perfectly lovely sight. I’d fantasized more than once about getting Brandon into one and taking alllll the pictures.
That said, in my groggy, not quite awake state, I wasn’t so sure about him. “Mon cher, if you’ve died and gone Highlander as a ghost, I will never let you hear the end of it.”
He snapped around, looking at me in delighted surprise. “You’re awake? Thank god.” He hurried the three steps it took to reach me, leaning down to kiss me gently, like butterfly wings against my lips. “And I’m still living, love. How are you?”
“Groggy,” I admitted, then pulled him back in for another soft kiss.
He released me with a sigh, eyes searching my face. “You do seem a little out of it still. Are you awake enough to get up?”
“Yeah.” I would honestly rather roll back over and return to dreamland. I was tired enough that I felt tenderized, like someone had worked me over with a meat mallet. However, I could see morning light coming in through the windows and that meant things had probably happened. I didn’t think I could keep lying here. “The sluagh?”
“Didn’t attack again. Our expert arrived, though, and he has all sorts of fun toys for us. I’ll fill you in over breakfast.” Brandon slid an arm under my shoulders, helping me sit up. Then he eyed me in the weighing way he had again. “I really don’t think you’re up to getting out of bed yet, are you?”
“Pretty exhausted still.” Just sitting up had drained me of energy. The idea of getting out of bed and doing something energetic, like putting on pants, sounded like climbing Mt. Everest. Then doing it again for kicks. I wouldn’t have even contemplated it, but…I had no idea what was going on. No idea if I could sleep some more or not. “What time is it?”
“Barely nine in the morning. Tell you what, stay awake long enough for me to get some food in you, okay? Lachlan filled us in last night a bit more on the sluagh, and he’s adamant that it won’t even think of attacking until sunset. It might be safe for you to sleep most of the day.”
That sounded possibly good. “Double-check with him and the team if I can do that. Wait, is he where you got the kilt?”
Brandon winked. “And a sword to play with tonight. I’ll explain later. What sounds good for your tummy? Scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, bacon?”
“That sounds amazing.” My stomach gave a hopeful rumble.
“All right, hang tight.” He smacked a kiss against my lips, threw on a shirt, and was out the door in three shakes of a lamb’s tail.
I got up long enough to visit the bathroom and brush my teeth, trying to rouse myself enough to stay awake for breakfast. Even that was exhausting. Ugh, I hated forcing anything to pass. I really and truly hated it. As much of a rush as it was in that moment, the cost of it was hell afterward.
I climbed back into bed, checking my phone to see that I had text messages from my mom, so I answered those. I absolutely did not tell her I was facing down some Scottish monster that we could barely put a name to, much less fight off. My survival instincts were awake enough to avoid that clash of wills, at least.
Brandon returned with a tray that smelled delicious—and a man who looked just as delicious.
I blinked at him, quite sure that he was corporeal, too, but I had some doubts. He was dressed like a Highlander—kilt, white shirt, black belt, and boots. His hair had a reddish tint to it and flowed over his shoulders, as smooth and silky as any hair model. A handsome man, no doubt. My eyes appreciated the candy in front of me.
No idea who he was. None.
“Mack, you up to talking?” Brandon asked as he came around the bed, putting the tray on my lap. “This is Lachlan McTavish.”
“Oh!” Now it made sense who he was. I gave him a smile. “Enchanté, Mr. McTavish. I do appreciate you coming.”
He smiled in return, holding out a hand which I promptly shook. “Glad to come. Sorry it wasnae sooner, damn plane was delayed. Tell me, where be that accent from?”
“The deep southern end of the United States,” I responded easily. “We Creoles are French speaking, more or less.”
“Ahh. It be lovely to listen to. One of the perks of bein’ me—I travel all over and listen to very fun accents.” With concern, he looked me over. “I do see why yer anchor isnae sure if ye’re up to talkin’. I can delay it for this afternoon, if ye would rather sleep.”
I immediately shook my head. “Please fill me in first. I won’t be able to relax enough to sleep otherwise.”
“Fair enough.” He took a seat on the edge of the mattress, getting comfortable. “So, to be candid, I’ve nae faced a sluagh before meself. But me grandda has, and I spoke with him on the way in, and he gave me a few tips.”
I bit into my eggs, interest piqued. This was hereditary, this line of monster-hunting? Or at least in his family it seemed to be. Mm, good eggs.
“Grandda warned that the sluagh is very much nocturnal. Which be good and bad for us. Means we winnae get good visibility on this thing with it bein’ as bright as the inside of a sheep out here. He suggested puttin’ up new wards that will help trap the sluagh in once it enters. We cannae have it flyin’ off again on us, after all.”
Brandon settled on the other side of my legs, toward the foot of the bed. “We had that problem on the last case. We had to herd a malevolent into a specific area so we could trap and destroy it.”
Lachlan nodded at him. “Then ye know what I mean. Once we have it trapped inside, we turn on every light we have, keep good visibility on it at all times. The sluagh itself be weak to iron—I’ve armed all of yer colleagues with iron bullets. They work like buckshot, in a sense. Every bullet they can put in it or a crow, it’ll weaken it. The trick for us three—and by that I mean Brandon, Quinn, and meself—be to get it weak enough that it cannae fly. Then we can jump the beastie and get a foot of cold iron in it. We do that, it’ll die a quick death.”
“This game plan sounds simple enough, and I’m certainly up for it. But how hard is this going to be in practice?”
“Have ye heard the poem, ‘The best laid plans of mice and men aft go awry’ by chance?”
“Robert Burns,” I answered.
“Ah, we’ve a well cultured gentleman in our midst.” Lachlan was pleased I knew the Scottish poet.
It was part of the curriculum in school systems, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. “I take it to mean that you don’t know if this plan will survive first contact?”
Lachlan shrugged, but there was a sort of amused resignation on his face. “Been at this business damn near fifteen years, if ye count the apprenticeship under my grandda. Never had a single case where me first plan went off without a hitch. I armed Brandon and Quinn to hedge me bets. Someone will get iron into that thing, one way or another.”
That was fair enough. I was glad he was the sensible type, one that would work with people and not try to do it all himself. “Okay. So is it safe for me to sleep a bit longer or do I need to get up?”
He waved me down. “Sleep, man. Sleep. I’ll have yer man wake ye for dinner, yeah? He’s got a gun with yer name on it. Ye can help us shoot crows or the sluagh, if ye can line up a good hit.”
After what I’d done yesterday, I didn’t have the psychic energy to even carry on a full conversation with a ghost. Shooting things was about all I was good for. “I can shoot with the best of them.”
“I can vouch for that,” Brandon threw in. “He’s quite a good shot. Mack, you want more orange juice?”
I’d drained the glass and still had half a plate to work my way through. “If you would, cher.”
“Sure thing.” He plucked my glass off the tray and headed out of the room.
After he’d left, Lachlan regarded me steadily for a moment. “That be a good man ye’ve got there, Agent. When I asked if he’d wield a sword, he didnae so much as blink. Not many would join in like that.”
I snorted. “Brandon’s Tongan. He’s from a warrior culture. Trust me, that whole family doesn’t blink at danger.”
His eyebrows rose a little. “Really?”
“Also, you offered him a kilt and a sword. That’s like offering shiny toys to a little boy. There’s no way in hell he would have refused.”
Lachlan laughed outright, a warm, deep chuckle that came from his chest. “I see yer point. A warrior culture, eh. I dinnae know much about the Tongans.”
“The more I learn about the culture, the more I love it. They’re very family oriented and loving. Oh, say, does your grand plan include baiting the sluagh inside by antagonizing it?”
Lachlan gave a nod, expression saying well yeah, why?
“Get Brandon to do a Sipi Tau,” I encouraged eagerly.
“Why do you like that so much?” my lover asked of me as he returned, orange juice in hand. “You’re constantly finding reasons for me to do a Sipi Tau.”
“It’s incredibly cool to watch,” I defended myself, grinning from ear to ear. “And damn effective.”
“What be this?” Lachlan asked, still intrigued.
Brandon pulled out his phone, no doubt searching for a good video on YouTube. I ate the rest of my breakfast as he handed his phone over to Lachlan and let him watch a clip.
Lachlan’s brows rose steadily as he watched. “Aye, aye. I can see why that would antagonize man and beastie alike. Brandon, if yer up for it, that would definitely bring the sluagh inside.”
Brandon shrugged. “It’s honestly fun to do. I’m always up for it. It’s going to look strange with me doing that in a kilt, though.”
I waggled my eyebrows mischievously. “Not at all, cher. Not at all.”
“One of these days you’re really going to have to explain this to me.” Brandon shook his head, amused more than anything. “A Sipi Tau is meant to scare your enemy and raise fighting spirit.”
