The Reckoning, page 18
part #50 of The Ghosts of Culloden Moor Series
But they would wonder.
It was true she could pop wherever she needed to go—and with Wickham’s help, she could pop through time--but she had to save her strength for more important things than simple travel, so she never popped to the moor. Since the summer solstice, her parents had become accustomed to her leaving the house once or twice a week, just about the same time they were getting into bed. After a while, they’d stopped waiting up for her. Months ago, they’d stopped looking at her with their puppy-dog eyes and that worried pucker between their brows. But she knew they didn’t sleep until they heard her come in again.
It was cruel to keep torturing them, but she had no choice now. She had to finish what she’d started. They could sleep all they wanted next February, after her 17th birthday when her project was complete.
After.
Through the summer and fall, they’d believed her uncle when he’d promised she was protected every moment she was on the Culloden battlefield. He’d given the pair a vague description of her “project” and told them she was helping the family right some wrongs committed back in 1746. Her parents hadn’t wanted to hear more details, and Wickham hadn’t wanted to give any. It was best for everyone.
When her father had first realized his small daughter was speaking to someone he couldn’t see, he hadn’t overreacted for fear of scarring a child who was clearly disturbed. But before he and DeAnne could consult with professionals, her biological uncle had shown up at the door. Wickham had broken the news as gently as possible, expecting the worst. But the Blakeburns were simply relieved Soni wasn’t seeing things, and even more grateful Wickham hadn’t come to take their precious daughter away from them.
Whether or not they were still as grateful likely depended upon which night of the week they were asked, and whether the black cloak was lying across the back of that frumpy brown chair.
Her mother stuck her head out of the kitchen to summon her again, then clapped her lips shut when she noticed the cloak.
Soni shrugged. “Sorry.”
Mother shook her head and forced a smile. “Breakfast.” Once they were seated across from each other, the tension didn’t abate. In fact, it grew worse. Finally, Mother put down her spoon, took a drink of juice, then folded her hands in front of her, on the table. “Ye understand why we’re upset, don’t ye?”
Soni made it a point not to try to read the minds of either parent unless she considered it an emergency, which this was not. “No. What’s going on?”
“Wickham told us ye’ll no longer be alone on the moor.” The woman’s brows rose slowly and froze there, halfway up her forehead, waiting for a reply, though she’d asked no question.
Soni began to nod, then stopped when the truth registered. She was in deep trouble.
“We never knew…” Her mother’s voice rose sharply with each word. “…that you’d been alone in the first place!” Those folded hands came apart and the woman scrubbed her face a few times before grasping the edges of the table. “Ye’re sixteen years old—”
“Alone only sometimes,” she said in defense. “Some nights Wickham was with me so I could send one of the ghosts into…the…past.” She winced, not knowing what her mother’s reaction would be to too much information. And while the woman gaped at her, she thought of yet another defense. “Besides, I was never alone. There were 79 men…” She pulled her lips into her mouth to stop the words from falling out.
Oh! I shouldn’t have said that!
“Men and women,” Soni amended. “A little boy named Rabby, and his dog, though they are gone now—”
“Shut it!” Mother’s hands slapped the table top at the same time she yelled. For a long time, they both stared at each other and breathed heavily, like they’d been running up stairs—a lot of stairs.
“I’m sorry,” Soni said, meaning it. She hated accidentally sending her parents into shock because she’d let some supernatural detail slip off her tongue. And though she knew Wickham could erase such memories from her mother’s mind, if she asked him to, she would never. Maybe, subconsciously, she wanted Pat and DeAnne Blakeburn to know the real her, not the edited version. What else could explain how often little things slipped off her tongue?
Mother took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Ye must know how important it is to us that ye tell us the truth, whether or not we can handle it.”
“Yes. And I expect the same.”
Mother nodded. “So, since we’re being honest, ye want to tell me the truth about those weeks ye spent travelling with the Muirs, when ye came home peelie-wallie?”
Soni’s stomach dropped at the mere memory of the day, not long ago, when she’d tried to use time traveling powers that weren’t hers to use. She’d blacked out and ended up in the hospital, but it was her great aunts who came for her before anyone contacted the Blakeburns. They’d taken her home with them and nursed her back to health after asking her parents’ permission to take her on a family trip, to buy her time.
“I can only tell ye,” Soni said, preparing her mother for disappointment, “that when I came home, I wasnae ill. I was recovered.”
“That was recovered?”
Soni nodded her head slowly. “We didn’t travel. The sisters took care of me after I fell ill—with an illness no doctor could have treated. Do ye understand?”
My poor baby was written all over her mother’s face, but after a few seconds, the look was gone, replaced by something much sadder. A distance grew between them like a sapling transforming to a tree, in a time lapse. And there it was. Rooted. Permanent. Nothing would be the same again.
Sadness, however, was something she dealt with every day. Something to be pushed aside and attended to only when she had no other choice. So, while her mother stared into the distance, Soni wondered how late she would be for school if they kept talking. Once she was marked present, it was easy to step out of time for a few minutes and check on a Highlander or two as they fumbled about in human form.
Luckily, there was no man who needed watching that day and so she could actually attend her classes. Chisholm’s and Dallas’ quests had ended well, but after the emotional reckoning with Ethan Moodie and his woman, she had needed a few extra days of normalcy to get past it.
“Ye know,” her mother said, bringing Soni’s attention back to the breakfast table, “I would have been terrified every day for the past sixteen years if I’d been told that magical illnesses were possible.” Her lips eased into a smile though her eyes remained heavy with melancholy. “I guess I should be grateful, eh?”
Soni smiled with relief. Her mom was going to be okay. Sadder, maybe, but didn’t all mothers get morose when they realize their child was getting too old to control? DeAnne Blakeburn had been hiding that look, on and off, since her daughter had walked out the door, late in the evening, on summer solstice.
Either her father hid it better or didn’t suffer those thoughts.
Soni got to her feet and stuffed half an egg inside her mouth, then snuck a sausage into the center of a roll. “So… I’ll just eat this on the way, then.”
“Ye’re not going tonight.”
The pronouncement stopped Soni mid-chew. She watched her mother calmly sip her coffee while staring into her oversized cup, the side of which read I will probably spill this. She swallowed what was left of the egg, but thankfully, didn’t choke. “Pardon?”
Still just as calmly, her mother raised her gaze, as if they’d been discussing the weather. “Ye’re not going tonight. I don’t care if ye leave that cloak on the chair all day. Ye’re grounded. And after I speak with your da, I’ll let ye ken how long it will last.”
Soni held her roll and her keys in the air and shook her head. Her mother couldn’t mean it! “You can’t—”
“I’m yer mother.” The woman got to her feet and braced her hands on her hips. “Ye will respect me in this one thing—the one thing I have a say in. What ye do outside this house I clearly have no control over. But I am invoking my universal right as a parent to ground ye. Ye may call Wickham and ask him to fill in for ye, if it’s so urgent that it cannae wait a week—”
“A week!”
“But ye’ll come directly from school and not set one foot oot o’ this house until I give permission. Ye ken it?”
Once again, the clock and school bells were forgotten while they stared at each other. But now, the sadness in her mother’s eyes said something altogether different.
I know ye’re going to go, that ye’ll find a way. But give me this one delusion. I beg ye.
“Fine,” Soni said with all the belligerence she could muster--which wasn’t difficult--in order to maintain her mother’s self-deception and protect her from the truth once more.
On her way to the car, she regretted the need to lie again. But after looking back, she realized she’d been protecting them, deceiving them--though less blatantly--for years. This was nothing new. And hopefully, when they learned everything she’d been keeping from them, they wouldn’t be too hard on themselves for the delusions they’d been clinging to.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Soni was careful to leave the black cloak exactly where she’d laid it that morning—and wore her green one instead.
The roads were slick with rain, so she drove slower than usual. Guilt made her paranoid. If she wound up in a ditch, she’d be found out. She’d been feeling tough that morning, but the later it got, the more she’d regretted what she had to do. But what choice did she have? Martine and Fisher were going to be perfect for each other, and everything was arranged. They had to meet in Paris, and it had to be tomorrow. She just had to nudge him forward a few hours.
Poor Fisher needed someone tender to gentle the truth out of him. And Martine needed a push…
It was a habit now, to look in her rearview mirror as she turned left in front of Kingsmills Hotel. It was both a comfort and an annoyance when a pair of headlights appeared behind her. Did Wickham really think she wouldn’t notice he was having her followed? Why didn’t he just come out and admit that he didn’t trust her to drive 15 minutes alone?
By the time she crossed over the A9 on Culloden Road, the car had taken up its usual position, about a hundred yards back. They knew where she was headed. No need to stay close. But in the middle of the night, on a Tuesday, in the rain, did they really expect to blend in with traffic?
Give me a break.
Soni took a deep breath and tried to relax a little, to look farther down the road so she could quit freaking out each time she got close to the dotted lines. With so few cars out at that hour, she had plenty of room and no need for little corrections.
It was hard to concentrate, however, when her mind kept bringing her back to her own bedroom, where she’d left a shadow of herself lying under the blankets. If her mum peeked in, she’d believe Soni to be obedient and asleep. If she expected conversation, though…
All she could do now was pray her mom wouldn’t need another heart to heart. The poor woman would probably faint if she sat on the bed, jostled the illusion, and watched it disappear. She’d probably do something much worse than try to ground Soni for a week—or a month. That emotional distance that had grown between them that morning would turn into The Great Glen.
Nothing I can do about it now. Out of my hands. Why worry until I need to?
Her phone lit up and her stomach flipped. But it was Wickham’s ring tone, so she relaxed and answered. “Hello?”
“I’m here, lass. My sisters are up to other mischief tonight. Ye’ll have to settle for me.”
“I’m seven minutes out,” she said. “Took a little longer to get away tonight.”
“No worries. I’ll wait in the truck where it’s warm.”
Wickham met her at the end of the path that led to the clan stones and the memorial cairn where she usually summoned the fire that would, in turn, summon the spirits of Culloden’s 79. He hadn’t been waiting in his warm car after all, and due to the sweat forming along his dark hairline, she suspected he’d been running around the battlefield. But why?
She tried nudging his mind, but it was closed tight.
“Good even, Uncle.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and kept her expression innocent.
He tilted his head and gave her a look she read clearly--if he wouldn’t allow her to peek at his thoughts, he wouldn’t be answering questions. “Green tonight, eh?” He nodded at her cloak.
“Long story,” she said. “I had to lie to my mother, then I left a shadow in my bed. I worry she might try to check on me before I get back.”
Wickham shook his head. “It doesnae make ye a bad person, lass. But I’ll help ye all I’m able.”
They turned together down the path. He held onto her arm to lend support on the wet pavement that might well be hiding ice. “How many tonight?”
“Just the one. I thought I should be spare with my energy when I can.”
“Not feeling unwell again?”
“Naw. Just being cautious. No worries.”
“I assume ye would have given me warning, had ye needed m’ help with the sending?”
“Aye. I would have. But not tonight. Fisher is headed for Paris, current day. Just a little nudge needed, so he arrives tomorrow.”
“Quick work, then. I’ll wait by the cairn.”
“Aye, so quick I reckon I’ll only summon the warrior I need this time, not force the others to witness.”
Wickham headed toward the tall memorial where he usually stood to keep out of the way. “Summoned or not, I reckon McLaren will stand witness.”
He was right. Simon wasn’t watching from afar. He was standing between her and the spot where her bonfire continued to burn, attended or not, hidden from mortal and immortal eyes until she revealed it to the lads. Only then were they forced to gather, whether they wished to or not.
Simon stood in her way a’ purpose, to be sure she noticed him before she could get on with her work. But how could she not? Even if she hadn’t drawn his attention, her heart would be skipping beats left and right just knowing he was there. She played it cool, all the same.
“Aye, Simon. I see ye fine. But I’m not calling the fire tonight. Number 4 will be the only soul leaving the moor...” So I can hurry home and replace my shadow, before it ruins my family life.
She caught the sneaky glance he shared with Wickham. If they’d been speaking, it explained why her uncle hadn’t been waiting in his truck, but she couldn’t imagine what they had to discuss. In fact, she didn’t know that Wickham had ever needed to speak to one of the 79, except when he’d been taking them through time.
Another movement caught her eye and she noted that half a dozen ghosts were standing at different points along the perimeter of the battlefield—facing away, watching for what, she couldn’t guess.
She waved Wickham back to her, then put the question to him, watching for another glance between him and Simon. “What are they looking for?” She pointed to the spirit sentries.
Her uncle smiled. “Surveyors were at Culloden today. They didn’t care to be measured, I suppose.” He was trying to make light of it.
“What good is a soldier,” Simon grumbled, “if he doesnae take his turn on guard duty?”
“Ye’re both lying.” She folded her arms and waited for confessions.
Wickham rolled his eyes. “I promised yer ma I’d make certain ye were better protected. We are but keeping that promise.”
Simon’s nod punctuated Wickham’s explanation. They were still keeping something from her.
“Ye’re lying. Both of ye. Shouldn’t I be let in on the secret, since it obviously concerns me?”
Wickham sighed and filled the air with a cloud of frozen breath. He took a cap from his pocket and pulled it onto his head and over his ears. “Fine. I will tell ye just what I’ve been thinking, even though Simon dreads the thought.”
Dread was getting the best of her too, but she nodded for him to go on.
“Ye should send yer ghosties on their way and have done. All at a go.”
Simon avoided her gaze, so she couldn’t quite tell how he felt about the suggestion. But either way, it wasn’t going to happen, and she said so. “None of them will be cheated, uncle. Besides, I have plenty of time, if I want to finish by my birthday.” She turned her head and widened her eyes, to remind Wickham that Simon wasn’t aware of the deadline—and what was going to happen on that deadline. “21 days left in January. And 17 in February. That’s 38 days—”
Wickham shook his head. “It isn’t the time, it’s the danger.”
“Danger?” She would have laughed if her uncle didn’t look so serious. “What are ye talking about?”
“Someone is watching the moor. McLaren has seen too much for it to be coincidence. Men coming at night—"
“McLaren worries too—"
“He’s no fool. Even as a ghost, his feelings for ye give him more substance than the rest. He has a bit more focus. Enough to ken when something is amiss and speak up.”
Her big Highlander put his chin in the air, ready to defend whatever he’d reported to Wickham, but there was no need. She was wrong to say he worried too much.
“Whoever this intruder might be,” Wickham continued, “they have honed in on this place, I fear. And no matter how much ye’re able to cloak from mortal eyes, it has drawn the attention of someone…perhaps…not so mortal.”
Soni searched his face, trying to read his emotions without actually intruding on his thoughts, but he glanced to the side, clearly avoiding her probing.
“Uncle?”
“Aye?”
“Why do I suspect that ye ken who this intruder might be?” She chuckled. “I admit I never imagined any Muir could frighten ye—”
“But that is just it.” Wickham grabbed her hands up in his and stared down into her face, baring all his worry to her. “I am afraid, lass. And ye must be as well.”
“Who? Tell me,” she whispered, not quite brave enough to demand, only to ask, half-hoping now that he wouldn’t tell her, because she was afraid. He’d succeeded.
