Page 6 of The Last Kelpie

“After this, I'll give you a tour.” Julian cut a potato in half. “Show you the grounds, introduce you to a few more people. Then we'll get you settled in your quarters.”

“And after that?”

“After that, we'll discuss your first assignment.” He sipped his coffee and set it down. “But one thing at a time. First, you need to understand what the Velasca actually is. Not the theory you learned in Switzerland—the reality.”

I nodded as I looked around. It was already more than I'd expected. Being taught by someone or learning from a book was all a secondhand experience. You didn't truly know something until you lived it yourself. Whether that be applying a skill or exploring a place, that was when the lessons turned into knowledge.

After we finished eating, Mateo collected our plates with a satisfied nod, as if he was personally responsible for our continued survival. Julian led me outside, behind the main hall, and to the left. We took a path that circled an enormous garden full of flowers that perfumed the air. The other buildings on the estate gathered around the outer edge of the path, facing inward like children around a campfire. A massive oak tree grew on a low hill in the center of the garden, presiding over the estate like a king on his throne. As we followed the path along the back of the main hall, the tree and its wide branches, full of summer leaves, drew my gaze. Nature, on the whole, preferred things wild, unsymmetrical. But the oak had perfect proportions. It had to be the oak Julian had mentioned—the one Caelum planted over Velas's grave.

We came to the cottages I'd glimpsed from the front of the estate. There were more of them than I'd expected, stretching back from the path, with paths of their own. It was an entire neighborhood, going back to a treeline.

“We have these for married couples who prefer to live on the estate.” Julian nodded at the cottages and then led me past.

The cottages gave way to a wedge of land. Rows of vegetables stood closest to the path at the narrow end while orchards of fruit trees stood at the wide back. A man with weathered bronze skin and moss-green eyes worked among the vegetables, his hands moving with confidence that comes from decades of practice. He wore worn boots, a flannel shirt, and an old leather hat.

“Owen Taylor,” Julian said. “The groundskeeper. Some people think he's secretly magical. He claims he's just good with plants.”

“What do you think?”

“I think everyone has a little magic in them.”

I looked over, expecting to find him smiling, but he was serious.

Following the curving path, we went past the vegetable beds and came to a building that, even though it was set back from the path, radiated enough heat that I felt it. The front portion was open, with low walls, sort of a patio workshop. Brannoc stood inside, hammering a piece of metal on an anvil, his movements precise and powerful. Someone else worked nearby, and Brannoc shouted instructions at him that sounded more like insults.

“Lower on the handle. Your grip is terrible! No, worse than terrible—it's embarrassing! Did no one teach you how to hold a hammer?”

“The smithy,” Julian said unnecessarily. “Brannoc makes everything from horseshoes to machine parts. He's also the Velasca's primary weapons master, though we rarely need them.”

“Rarely is not never.”

“Sometimes, myths get attacked by monster hunters or paranormal investigators. They get scared when they actually find what they're looking for.” He shrugged. “We usually just frighten them off, but sometimes we've had to be more aggressive.”

“I assume you take their cameras.”

“No, we let them post their videos.” Julian chuckled. “Everyone thinks they're fake, but they still remind people of the myths. The more people believe in a myth, the better. But seeing, as they say, is believing. When a human sees something, they store it in their memories. Even if they think it's a trick. Those memories strengthen myths.”

“Ne obliviscaris,” I murmured.

“Yes, remembering is enough. Most people don't believe in myths. But they believe in the stories. Those videos people take of real myths remind people of the stories they knew. So, we let the hunters and investigators post their creepy videos because it works out well for us. Ah, here's our clinic.”

The clinic was closer to the path, in the most modern building on the estate. Through the front window, I saw Ravi sitting at a desk with Marina in the chair before him, gesturing wildly,

“Ravi treats everyone.” Julian watched the doctor a moment before continuing. “Human or myth, it doesn't matter. He documents remedies that myths share with him.”

“I assumed the myths were immortal.”

“Immortal doesn't mean invulnerable. They can still get hurt. They usually heal fast, but sometimes they need a little help. Last month Ravi performed surgery on a dragon who had cut its foot open on some train tracks.”

“How do you perform surgery on a dragon?”

“Very carefully.” He winked at me.

As I looked away, a stone structure up ahead caught my eye. I would have called it a cottage, but it looked too strange, sticking out in all directions as if the builder didn't have a plan but stuck on rooms randomly. Smoke billowed out of an open window at the front of the building. Purple smoke that smelled sweet, like burnt sugar and roses. An old woman emerged from the workshop, waving her arms to dispel the smoke. Her ruffled skirt had a colorful scarf draped over it. Combined with her full blouse, it gave her the look of a carnival fortune teller. Wild white hair frothed around her weathered face, her brown skin wrinkled, but her black eyes were as sharp as broken glass.

The charms hanging from her many necklaces clicked together as she came to a stop and noticed me. Her gaze went from my face to my hands to my feet and back again. Then she sniffed in my direction.

“Hmm.” She narrowed her eyes. “Too much caffeine. Not enough sleep.” Then she stalked back into the building, now cleared of smoke.