Fire on the Island (10 page)

Chapter
Ten

Jeremiah
entered Sacred Hearts Assisted Living through tall oak doors that were probably
as thick as his forearm. The hallways were lined with worn, peeling wallpaper
circa 1965. Dr. MacLaren, who met Jere in the lobby, was a short, affable
looking man in his seventies with thick, white hair and a full mustache that
brought Col. Sanders to mind.

The two men
introduced themselves, shook hands, and Dr. MacLaren gestured for Jeremiah to
follow him down one of the dimly lit hallways.

“You’re in
luck. Ms. Mackay has actually been quite lucid today. More so than usual. Even
so, I must warn you that it takes very little for her to become agitated. She
also tends to slip back and forth from present to past, or even to unreality,
so you’ll want to fact check anything you get from her.”

“Of course,”
Jeremiah answered, not bothering to mention how little
facts
there
actually were on the subject.

The older man
gestured to the left down an intersecting hallway. “Of course, we do try to
limit visitor contact to fifteen minutes or less so as not to overwhelm our
patients.” He stopped in front of a dingy door labeled 517. “And please, do try
not to upset her,” the doctor said sternly, eyeing Jeremiah skeptically from
under bushy eyebrows.

“I’ll do my
best,” Jere said, giving the man what he thought of as his good ol’ boy smile.

Dr. MacLaren
opened the door and motioned Jeremiah inside. The room was small, spartan, and
sparsely furnished. There was a twin bed with a wrought iron frame, a crucifix
mounted on the wall above, a writing desk, and a small dresser. There was one
window with a mesh cover across it that obscured most of the sunlight.

A tiny,
frail-looking woman sat almost curled in a rocking chair, halfway facing the
window, her profile visible to him.

Dr. MacLaren
cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, Mhairi. You have a visitor.”

She didn’t move
a muscle. If she heard him, she gave no indication.

“This is Dr.
Rousseau. He is here to ask you some questions regarding his research that he
thinks may involve your family lineage.”

When again she
made no response, Dr. MacLaren nodded to Jeremiah and left them. When they were
alone, Jere waited a few seconds to speak. Then a few seconds more.

He had finally
gathered his nerve, when she slowly turned her face to him and pegged him with
a sharp, extremely lucid, and knowing stare. “What took ye so long?” she asked
in a thick Scots brogue.

Unsure of how
to respond to that, Jeremiah crossed the room and took a seat on the bed
opposite her. “Ms. Mackay—”

“Mhairi, lad.”

“Uh, Mhairi. I
had planned on coming here to ask you about the
Bruixi
. I have been
researching them for quite some time, and I traced one of the family lines here
to you. I think you know what I’m talking about. But now I need your help. The
situation has…escalated.”

“Escalated?”

“Yes, ma’am.
I’ve met a young lady I believe to be
Bruixi
, but I don’t think she has
any idea. I’m afraid she may be in danger.”

Mhairi nodded,
tapping a finger to her chin once, then again. “Aye, if she is
Bruixi
by
birth but has no' been taught how t'use and control her power, she could very
well be in grave danger.”

Jeremiah was
glad that she didn’t waste time pretending she didn’t know what he was talking
about, but he was even more afraid for Isla. “Tell me about the
Vigilati
.”

The brief
widening of her eyes told him he’d surprised her, but she recovered quickly.
She regarded him silently, head cocked to one side, as if deciding how much she
should tell him.

“She has a brand,”
he said, hoping to encourage her to tell him the truth. “Just here.” He palmed
the back of his neck.

Mhairi rolled
up her sleeve and presented him the inside of her rail-thin wrist that bore a
brand remarkably similar to Isla’s. “It is called a
signa
. Is hers like
this?”

Jeremiah
nodded. “Exactly like that. Except hers has a symbol inside the circles. He
rose to approach the writing desk, finding a pen and paper there. He scratched
out a quick sketch of the symbol and handed it to her.

Glancing at the
paper, Mhairi hissed in a breath and dropped it like a snake. "
Alastore.
The baleful eye."

"Who? The
what?" he asked, returning to his seat on the bed.

Leaning
forward, Mhairi lowered her voice and spoke excitedly. "Listen, we hav'nae
much time. All o'er the world there are
locuses
, or gateways between the
spirit world and the world of man. There are harmless spirits, those we know as
ghosts, and then there are malevolent spirits, those we know as poltergeists.
Then there are the
auchrim
. They are sort of a cross between an evil
spirit and a demon. They are'nae in possession of a corporeal form, but they
can channel energy t' materialize and interact with the human world."

"But they
have to pass through a
locus
to do so," Jeremiah interjected.

Nodding
gravely, Mhairi continued. "These
locuses
are located at
spiritually charged points in our world called ley lines, or the intersection
of several landmarks or monuments. These spots genuinely possess an
overabundance of energy on which the
auchrim
feed."

"So what
does the symbol mean?" Jeremiah asked, gesturing to the piece of paper on
the floor.

"I'm
gettin' there, boy! So there isn't enough energy tae support all these beings
in a corporeal form, so they are led by more powerful demons called
Lochrim
.
The others channel energy into the
Lochrim
so it may enter our world
through the gateway, often by luring humans in an' draining them.

"The
Vigilati
are a family line of the
Bruixi
that are charged with monitoring the
locuses
and keeping the
Lochrim
from getting through. While a
vigile
does
no' have the ability to kill the
Lochrim
, she can keep them from
stealin' energy—and if one gets through, she has the ability to trap him.

"Every
Lochrim
has a symbol that is unique to it, called a
seal
. I've heard tell of a
phenomenon where a
vigile
is born with the symbol of a
Lochrim
inside her
signa
. This woman, called a
praeda
, will be more
powerful than any of us, possibly even havin' the ability t'kill the
Lochrim
.
But the price is steep. This ability comes from being of the blood of the
Lochrim, therefore leavin' her more susceptible to him. An
embulibruixi
—a
repressed witch, one who is not aware of her heritage—could easily be possessed
and even killed by the
Lochrim
."

"Damn,"
Jeremiah breathed, raking a hand through his hair. Mhairi reached down to pick
up the scrap of paper with his drawing on it.

"This
symbol belongs to
Alastore
, one of the most evil
Lochrim
that
exists. If yer lady friend bears this
seal
, she is in mortal
danger."

"How can I
help her?" Jeremiah's voice was tinged with desperation, and he still
sounded calmer than he felt.

"You must
bring her t'me. I must speak wi' her immediately. Also, you will need t'find
her
feradux
. He will be able to assist her."

On information
overload, he gave an exasperated sigh. "What the hell is a
feradux
?"

Mhairi looked
at him as if he were a schoolboy who was always two steps behind. "An
animal spirit guide. A protector. Each
vigile
will have one. They are a
race within the
bruixi
who have great power and the ability t' take the
form of an animal. They serve as protectors for the
Vigilati
.

“However, those
who've committed misdeeds or betrayals are given the chance to redeem
themselves. If they're able t'protect their charge and assist in defeating the
auchrim
,
the
vigile
will regain the ability t' stay in their human form, t' give
them another chance at life."

"So I'm
looking for an animal."

She quirked a
wry smile at him. "Try t'keep up, Dr. Rousseau."

"Well, she
has cats."

"A witch
who has cats?" she exclaimed in mock surprise. "And ye call yourself
a scientist? Think of something that would'nae normally belong."

"The
wolf!" he exclaimed, pleased with himself. He glanced up at Mhairi, only
to see her staring out the window with vacant eyes as if they had never spoken.

Assuming he had
gotten everything he would out of her, and grateful for it, he rose to his feet
and turned to leave.

Her hand snaked
out to grab his wrist in a punishing grip, and he turned back to her. Her eyes
which had once been coal grey were now a milky white. With her other hand, she
grasped his shirt to pull him down close to her face. "
Ne t'effraie pas
,"
she whispered, drawing back a little to wink at him.

His mind was
immediately seized with the memory of that Halloween when he was twelve, every
harrowing detail became crystal clear from the face of the creature that had
stalked him to the gypsy woman and the mark on her face.

"Motherfucker!"
he shouted tearing from her grip, stumbling back away from her, heart pounding
and hands shaking. She simply turned back to the window and sighed.

~~~

Isla was still
seeing red when she got the text from Jeremiah that evening.

Meet me at
the pub. Need 2 talk!!

"I'll meet
him at the pub, all right," she growled through gritted teeth. Grabbing
her purse and keys, she ran out the door and headed for her truck.

Jeremiah sat in
the same booth as he had a few nights ago, anxiously waiting for Isla to arrive
so he could tell her all he learned. He hoped she would trust him and let him
help her.

He felt her
presence before he saw her. It came in the form of an overwhelming pressure
wave of fury and hurt. It spread through the room like wildfire, and he could
tell the other patrons felt it when they began to fidget nervously, some even
physically jerking in their seats.

And then she
was there, stomping into the room like a tempest, and once again, the crowd
parted for her. He stood up when she approached him with hands fisted at her
sides, eyes flashing.

He never saw it
coming. She smacked him with a vicious right hook in the mouth, so hard that
his head snapped back to send him stumbling backwards into the booth, seeing
stars. The large ring she wore on her middle finger had cut into his lip and he
tasted blood.

He sat there on
the old leather bench, panting and staring up at her with astonishment and not
a little awe. She'd sure rung his bell but good.

"You…first...rate...bastard!"
she ground out through clenched teeth, anger reaching a fever pitch. "Did
you think I wouldn't find out?"

He scrubbed a
hand over his face, still unable to string two thoughts together, but he had a
sinking feeling he knew what she was talking about. "Listen, Isla, it's
not what you think."

"Shut up!
You've no idea what in the hell I'm thinking! Did you think that because I'm
some small-town Scottish island girl that I didn't know how to use a computer?
I can spell Google!"

"Of course
that's not what I think," he said, willing his voice calm so as not to
aggravate her even more.

"So what,
did you hear a rumor about some crazy witch living on the island and come to
check it out?" she spat. He winced, her words hitting too close to home.
"Well I'm not going to be anyone's science project," she hissed and
turned on her heel to storm out, slamming the door in her wake.

Heedless of the
blood streaming down his chin, Jeremiah jumped up from the booth and ran after
her, catching her just as she was getting into her car. He grabbed her and spun
her around to face him.

His voice
remained calm but his bright hazel eyes were fierce with determination.
"Alright, you got your shot at me," he said, licking at the blood on
his lip. "You had your say. Now it's my turn to talk." He could tell
she wanted to argue—she was still fuming—but she wisely held her tongue.

"I'm sorry
I didn't tell you about my profession up front. At first, I honestly didn't
think we would get this close. I never know how much to tell people about what
I do because, as Callum said to me, people fear things they don't understand. I
take a lot of heat from nonbelievers, and some react very strongly."

"Do you
deny that you came to the island to investigate the rumor of a witch living
here?" she accused, poking a finger into his chest.

"No, I
can't deny that. I was honest with you about my publisher demanding I take a
vacation. I did choose this place because of the rumors. But I swear, I had no
idea the rumors were about you until you told me last night."