A low humming filled the air as the fire crackled and popped ever higher. The wind picked up, swirling around the reflecting pool with increasing force. Graham strained to see through the debris filling the air, struggling to watch the women and hear their words.
May the gods help and protect me,he silently prayed. The mystical haze filling the clearing shielded the women. All he could make out were their shadowy silhouettes and their musical singsong chanting as they passed back and forth on the other side of the burning ring.
The reflections of their torches and the crackling circle of fire danced and flickered across the water. The din filling the air became louder. The bone-shaking hum finally exploded and the flames solidified into tall, frozen, curving spikes straining upward. The water of the reflecting pool popped, then hardened, its surface turning black as ebony.
Graham tensed. It had to be time. With a glance at Angus, he nodded and crouched with his arms outspread. He watched the torches raised high over the women’s heads. The hollow rush of his own blood pounded in his ears. The torches fell. A bloodcurdling battle cry burned free of his throat and he launched forward. A higher-pitched roar sounded behind him as Angus followed.
Spiraling through the darkness, Graham clutched both hands around the amulet at his chest. He locked into a tight tuck and roll around his shield and bow, squeezing his eyes tightly shut against the wind howling in his ears.
A constant stream of high-pitched Gaelic cursing came from slightly behind him and to the left. Angus. Graham hugged his weapons tighter to his chest and clenched his teeth harder. He would save his cursing for whenever they escaped this strange roaring hell.
An ear-splitting pop shook him. He flinched and rolled forward even faster. The ground rushed up at a nauseating speed then he hit with a bone-shaking thud.
“Arse-swiving sons a bitches!” Angus crashed down beside him, rolling out of control across the grassy hillside.
Graham finally stopped tumbling, then slowly teetered to one side and cracked open an eyelid. A gentle breeze wafted through the tall clumps of grass and brushed a calming touch across his flesh.
The stars were not as bright here. ’Twas the first difference he noted. The night not as dark. A strange, orange glow settled across the horizon before fading up into the deep blues and eventually the blacks of the star-spattered sky. What strange magic could it be that made the city at the base of the hill flicker with such an unholy light?
He sat up, propped his shield under his arm, and scanned the city below. Lights.Lady Trulie had said the candles with no flame that lit the night were called lights.
“Think we be in the proper time?” Angus scurried over to him on all fours, pausing every few feet to stretch up and glance around the hillside like an oversized rat. “This time...” He paused, his nostrils flaring as he looked around. “This time has an odd stench to it.”
“Aye,” Graham agreed. This place did not smell of the sweet heather from whence he’d come. “What think ye the stench might be? ’Tis worse than the garderobe cesspit.”
Angus shook his head, still kneeling as he peered across the waving grasses covering the hillside. “I dinna ken. I see no carnage nor scrap piles. Mayhap this time just smells like shit.”
Graham reached inside his tunic and withdrew the hand-sized leather flask tucked into the fold of his shirt. He uncorked it with his teeth and took a long fortifying swig, welcoming the burn in his gullet. Thank the gods.At least that had not changed in this time. “Here.Uisge beatha.’Twill give ye strength.”
“Aye to that, my friend.” Angus snatched the flask out of his hand and upended it over his mouth. The golden stream of whisky poured down until Angus uprighted the skin and recorked it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rolled back on his heels. “There’s barely enough in this to properly wet a man’s gullet. Methinks we best be finding that pub the old woman told us about.”
Graham slowly stood and studied the glaring chaos of lights and noise at the base of the hill. It was a damn sight more confusing than the simple map Lady Trulie and Mother Sinclair had sketched out on the bit of parchment tucked safely inside his belted tunic.
“Aye,” he said, snorting at the uncertainty he heard in his own voice.
He attempted to wet his lips even though his mouth had gone suddenly dry at the prospect of diving headlong into the melee below. He shook free of the indecision and foreboding like a dog shaking free of the rain. Enough of this.He waved Angus forward. “On to the pub.”
CHAPTER4
Edinburgh, Scotland
Twenty-first Century
Three perfectly white crisp tickets slowly rose behind the screen of her laptop, bouncing back and forth just beyond the edge like dancing cardboard puppets. A teasing singsong voice kept time with the hopping tickets. “Lookie what I’ve got!”
“I’m busy, Vivienne. Go pester Alberti.” Lilia rubbed the corners of her weary eyes, then resettled her black-framed reading glasses back in place. She had to get the marketing campaign nailed down for store number three before the projected grand opening. Something fresh. Something new. Something spectacular.Those words haunted her every waking hour, even bleeding over into her dreams—they constantly hummed in the back of her mind like a demented mantra.
Carefully targeted marketing plus word of mouth around her all-natural line of cosmetics and skincare had boosted sales and built a large enough following to easily support a third store but nothing could be left to chance. It had taken a full year to recover from the gross error she had made when she trusted the wrong person to help her make her dream a success. She had to make sure this was right—absolutely perfect.
She closed her eyes and thumbed her pounding temples. After countless hours of staring at the computer and studying demographics, she very much doubted she would recognize something fresh and new if it bit her on the ass.
Maybe that should be store number three’s angle:Want your sweetie to nibble you straight to ecstasy? Vanilla-scented argan oil will guide your sexy bee straight to the honey pot.She massaged her aching neck. Coming up with unique marketing and ad campaigns sucked balls.
“Here. Drink yer coffee, my wee grumpling. Have ye bothered eating today or do I need to bring ye a biscuit?” Vivienne slid a steaming bright pink mug toward her, then plopped down in one of the art deco steel chairs, wiggling in the seat until the black leather padding squeaked in protest.
Lilia curled the chunky ceramic mug between her hands, breathing in the blissful caffeine-infused aroma. Vivienne knew her well and took excellent care of her. Thank the Fates for the day that Vivienne had burst into the first natural-beauty boutique Lilia had opened. The way her friend’s shriek had split the air that day, Lilia had thought someone was trying to kill her. But then she had spotted Vivienne’s hair and face and understood completely.
Lilia immediately suspected a botched home color job as the culprit. She had never seen quite that shade of greenish purple before—except maybe in a Godzilla B-movie. Vivienne had also sported an inch-wide stain of bile green crawling down out of her hairline. The lizardy shade had striped her forehead and zigzagged down the back of her neck as well.
