Sign of the Throne: Book One in the Solas Beir Trilogy (5 page)

“M³. Michal and entourage.
She
wants me for sure.”

“Which is why she always leaves you hanging, pool boy? I think you’re suffering from delusions of grandeur. Or maybe too much sun,” Abby teased, playfully elbowing his arm. Apparently he
was
that oblivious—still, it was better to play along. She rationalized that saving his feelings was better than crushing him.

“No, seriously. Every rich
, little daddy’s girl has a fantasy about a ‘pool boy.’ It is a well-documented fact,” he insisted.

“Really? Interesting,” Abby said. “But tell me this—do you hear voices? Maybe see things that aren’t really there? I ask only because I’m concern
ed about your mental health—loving you like I do.”

“Mental health?” asked a petite woman approaching the guest services cabana. She looked to be in her late thirties, with auburn hair and a puckish sparkle in her hazel eyes. Behind her trailed two small boys and a girl. “I hope, Jonathon, that you are discussing your finished psychology paper?”

“Oh absolutely,” Jon replied. “I was just explaining Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, in fact.”

“Is that so?” The pixie of a woman smiled mischievously, amused at Jon’s creative attempt to cover the glaring fact that he’d been engaged in a far more interesting topic than psychology theories. “Excellent. Because I’m
really
looking forward to reading your paper—it sounds fascinating. So, are you going to recruit your friend for my class?”

“Class?” Abby asked.

“Yes,” said the woman. “Jon is getting a head start on college. He’s enrolled in my evening class at the university.”

“Wow,” Abby said. “Why didn’t you tell me, Jon? That’s great.”

Jon shrugged. “Eh, you know me—gotta keep people guessing. Anyway, Miss Abigail Brown, allow me to introduce you to the ever brilliant Dr. Cassandra Buchan, Professor of Psychology and Statistics at the University of Santa Linda.”

Cassandra Buchan smiled. “Kissing up won’t help you on that paper, Mr. Reyes.” She turned to Abby. “I’m pleased to meet you, Abigail, and there’s no need for formalities—just Cassandra is fine. And this is the Buchan brood: Ciaran is five, and my twin
s, Siobhan and Rowan, are two.”

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Abby said, waving at the children. “And I just go by Abby. I’m not much for formalities either.”

Ciaran, a towhead with his mother’s eyes, waved back shyly. Siobhan, a miniature of Cassandra, and Rowan, a sturdy toddler with dark hair, were indifferent, more interested in watching a sparrow hopping near the pool’s edge.

“Don’t let Jon fool you,” Cassandra said. “I know he has this reputation of being a slacker, but he’s actually one of my best students.”

“Hey, I’ve worked very hard on that reputation,” Jon said.

“Well
that
is definitely true,” Abby grinned.

Cassandra laughed. “You know, Jon, since I have you captive at the moment, tell me about your paper—your
real
paper, I mean. How’s the class going for you so far?”

Abby let them talk, excusing herself and dutifully returning to folding towels.

Suddenly, Abby felt a strange sensation of vertigo. The world around her snapped into focus and she saw the scene unfolding, as if she were viewing it from a distance and in slow motion. Ciaran and Siobhan stood next to their mother, the little girl obediently holding her older brother’s hand. But Rowan, clutching a plastic toy triceratops in a chubby fist, was tottering dangerously close to the deep end of the pool, having wandered away unnoticed during the conversation.

In a flash of intuition, Abby knew he was about to fall in. She raced around the service counter, moving faster than she had ever imagined she could, like a bullet speeding toward the child. He was leaning toward the water, his little bare feet perched on the edge. Then he lost his balance. Lightning quick, Abby reached out…and caught him under his arms. Rowan looked up at her with wide blue eyes and let go of his dinosaur. With an audible
plop
, it dropped like a stone, drifting lazily down to settle on the bottom of the pool.

“Cerapops,” he said simply.

Abby nodded. “Yeah. Cerapops.”

“Way down,” he explained, craning his head to peer into the pool.

“Yep, waaaaay down,” Abby agreed. She scooped up the boy and turned to see that the conversation had come to an abrupt halt. She brought Rowan over and handed him to his mother.

“Wow. Good save,” Jon said.

Cassandra looked from Rowan to Abby and held the toddler close. “Oh my goodness…I didn’t even notice he was so close to the edge. If you hadn’t been watching…Rowee—didn’t Mama say to stay close? You are not allowed to go near the pool without an adult—do you understand?”

Rowan just nuzzled her shoulder with his forehead. “Cerapops?” he asked.

“I’m on it,” Jon said, and dove into the pool. Within a few seconds, he bobbed to the surface, flopped up poolside, and sauntered back over, plastic dinosaur in hand. “Here ya go, buddy.”

Cassandra rubbed her forehead and sighed. “This one will be the deat
h of me. I’ve developed more gray hair since he was born…honestly. Thank you Abby—I appreciate your quick response.”

“It was nothing,” Abby said. She felt embarrassed and a little bit impressed with herself at the same time.

“On the contrary—it
was
something. You’re good with him. Can I interest you in a babysitting job? Starting this Friday? Good hours, and I’ll pay more than they pay here,” Cassandra said.

“Well, sure. That would be great,” Abby said. “I could use a second job—I haven’t saved as much for college as I need to.” She had originally hoped to save enough money for college and a car, but after learning that college was going to be more expensive than she’d thought, she’d decided all the money she saved from working had to go toward tuition and books. She couldn’t even afford a clunker, not if she didn’t want to take out a loan. And it wasn’t like her parents could help her out in the vehicle department—not when they were trying to help with college
and
pay all their regular bills. It didn’t matter how hard they all worked—somehow it was just never enough.

THE BOY AND THE SHADOWS

T
hat night, Abby had a more vivid dream than she’d had in a long time. She stood in a mirrored hall with a glass-domed ceiling. Sitting on the polished hardwood floor in front of her was a chubby toddler with pale blue eyes set in a round face, framed by jet-black curls. The boy was playing with a silver hand mirror, so entranced by its shine that he was oblivious to a pressing darkness gathering around him. The shadows began to undulate like smoke, taking on wraith-like humanoid forms with long arms and reaching fingers.

Abby knew she should be terrified at the looming danger, but those hungry, lusting, blood-red eyes angered her. She made a decision to protect the boy, no matter the cost, and felt no fear. She planted her feet, straightened her shoulders, and prepared to fight for him. She felt a weight in her shoulder blades and realized she had pure white angel wings. She could feel the wings unfolding, stretching, with a muscular tension that made her feel strong and powerful. She heard the soft rustle and snap of the feathers catching the air like a sail as the wings stretched to their full span. Protectively, she stood over the child, the wings shielding them both from the rising darkness. Then she woke.

Abby liked the Buchan family; the children were sweet, imaginative, and well behaved, and it was easy to engage them in activities, especially anything involving animals. The children begged her to draw countless animals from exotic locations—Kenya, Thailand, Tasmania—and would educate her with all of the facts and trivia they knew about their favorite subject. They also had a passion for sticky paste and a shimmering rainbow of glass bottles filled with glitter (
faery dust
, according to Ciaran) and spent a great deal of time improving Abby’s drawings with these. Together they explored the great Victorian’s maze of rooms and passages, pretending they were on safari in distant lands.

Abby was enamored with Cassandra and romanticized her role as a professor. She admired Cassandra’s unconventional approach to the world, and thought she was brilliant, beautiful, witty, and sophisticated. She learned something new with every interaction: theories about abnormal psychology, myths about statistics, insider tips for applying to college, and how to dress for various social gatherings.

She even adored the quirkiness of Cassandra’s husband. Riordan Buchan was a self-confessed obsessive admirer of all things Gaelic. He was madly in love with the British Isles, tracing his ancestral roots to Ireland and Scotland. Early in their marriage, he had whisked Cassandra off to stay in a castle turned bed-and-breakfast in the highlands of Scotland. He
had written several books pertaining to the history and folklore of the country, and taught evening courses in history at the University of Santa Linda. It was not uncommon to find him wearing a kilt, sitting at a desk avalanched by books, and muttering to himself as he scribbled in a leather-bound journal.

Lying on his desk was a silver-plated, dagger-shaped letter opener that bore the family crest. It was little more than a Scottish novelty item, but the Buchan clan motto was inscribed on the hilt
—
Non inferiora secutus
—“not having followed the inferior.” It was a philosophy he took to heart as he diligently pursued his interests. Abby could see where the children got their insatiable thirst for knowledge.

The only dark cloud appeared when Riordan introduced Abby to his aunt. Aunt Moira was not terribly gracious about the introduction of a babysitter to the household, and Abby was convinced the woman despised her.

The trouble started one afternoon when Abby and the children were playing in the dining room. Cassandra was teaching at the university, and Riordan was editing his latest book, so he’d sequestered himself in his office. Abby had taken the children downstairs to give him a quiet space to work. She borrowed the quilt from Ciaran’s bed and draped it over the dining table, transforming it into a fort. She was inside it with the kids when she heard someone knocking on the top of the table.

Abby crawled out to find Moira standing there, looking none too pleased. She held her arms crossed over her thin frame, and her long, white hair had been pinned up in a tight bun, pulling the skin around her dark eyes tight, making her features seem more harsh than usual. “Is it really necessary that they play down here?” the old woman asked.

“Oh—are we disturbing you?” Abby asked.

“I would say so. They are quite loud,” Moira said, narrowing her eyes. “I can hear them from my room.”

Abby looked back into the fort. The kids
were
chattering quite a bit, and the youngest two were pushing the chairs across the floor to make the fort bigger. “I’m sorry,” Abby said. “We’ll play upstairs.”

Moira nodded and, without another word, returned to her room. Abby watched her go, shocked at what had just happened. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts.

“All right guys. Let’s take the fort to Ciaran’s room, okay?” She folded the quilt and returned the chairs to their proper places. Then she scooped up the quilt and the children’s toys and carried them upstairs. Ciaran followed with his brother and sister in tow.

A half hour later, the kids were happily playing in the reconstructed fort when Abby heard a knock on the doorframe of Ciaran’s room.
Not again,
she thought. She crawled out of the fort, surprised to find Riordan standing in the doorway.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“Good,” Abby replied. “We’re not bothering you, are we?”

“Oh no,” Riordan said. “Sounds like you’re having a lot of fun in here.”

“How’s the book coming?” Abby asked.

“Take a look. I just got an email on the artwork for the cover.” Riordan held out a piece of paper he had printed. On it was the title,
Legends of Monsters and Ghosts: Tales from Scotland
. Below that was Riordan’s name and an illustration of a castle ruin, shrouded in fog. It looked as though there were glowing eyes in several of the castle’s windows.

“That’s
really
cool,” Abby said. “I didn’t know you were into ghost stories. I thought you were more of a history guy.”

“I
love
ghost stories!” Riordan exclaimed. “I love history too, of course, but when you start exploring the mythology linked to all these historical sites—it’s just fascinating.”

Abby smiled. “I’ll bet. I’d love to read the book when you’re done.”

“Thanks—I’d love to hear what you think after you read it. I even included a few legends passed down from my family,” Riordan said proudly. He turned his attention to the fort. One corner of the quilt had come out of where Abby had tucked it between Ciaran’s dresser and the wall. “I thought I heard you guys making plans to turn the dining table into a fort.”

“Oh,” Abby said, “well, we did, but I think we got a little too loud. Moira asked us to take it upstairs.”

“I see,” Riordan said. “She can be kind of abrasive—I hope you don’t take anything she says personally.”

“Oh no, not at all,” Abby said. “It’s fine.”

Riordan gave Abby a look that said he didn’t quite believe her. “Well, if she gives you a hard time, I hope you’ll tell me so I can intervene.” He laughed to himself. “Not that she’s all sunshine and rainbows with me either. She wasn’t too happy when we wanted to move in, but this house belonged to both her and my mother, and before she died, my mother made me promise that I’d help care for my aunt, since she doesn’t have any children of her own.” He frowned. “Moira thought I was motivated by the inheritance. She didn’t quite accuse me of wanting to do her in, but things got pretty hairy there for awhile.”

“What happened?” Abby asked.

“I worked really hard, doing repairs on the house and cleaning up years of clutter. And Cassandra and I both took over cooking and cleaning to make life easier for Moira, so I guess she finally decided our intentions were pure,” Riordan said. “Still—Moira’s always been fiercely independent and never shies away from sharing her point of view. But she doesn’t really mean to be obstinate. She’s got a good heart, and she’s given a lot to this community over the years. People respect her. I think it’s been tough for her to take a step back because of her health. It’s hard for her not to be in the middle of everything—she feels disconnected from people.”

Abby tried to imagine what life must be like for Moira, to have been a central figure in Newcastle Beach, and to be forced to slow down when her body could no longer keep up with her spirit. She thought maybe she could understand why Moira was frustrated. Even so, she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of the woman’s wrath. She decided to keep the kids out of Moira’s territory downstairs.

After several weeks, Abby hit her stride, spending her days at school, some afternoons and occasional evenings at the Buchans’, and weekends at the inn. She mastered avoiding Moira and enjoyed her time with the Buchan clan.

But then, strange things started happening in the old Victorian. Abby first noticed it one evening when Cassandra and Riordan went out to dinner. She was bathing the twins with her back to the bathroom door when the lights flickered. She felt something strike her back and heard it clatter to the floor. She turned, expecting to catch Ciaran giggling in the doorway, but no one was there. A baby lotion bottle, which had been on the sink countertop on the opposite side of the room, lay at her feet. Not wanting to leave the toddlers unattended in the tub, she quickly looked across the hall into Ciaran’s room. He was already tucked under his blankets in bed, leafing through a picture book, and there was no sign of anyone in the hallway. Puzzled, Abby returned to her task.

Around the same time, she began dreaming vividly almost every night. Many of the dreams centered around the same figure—a handsome young man wi
th pale blue eyes and curly jet-black hair. The first time she dreamed of him, he was standing in a garden in the shade of a large tree. The place felt familiar, as if she had been there before. Their eyes made contact, but he said nothing; his face remained expressionless and impossible to read. She had a very clear sense of his spirit, his intelligence, and she found herself irresistibly drawn to him.

Upon waking, she felt a terrible sense of loss. It was as if she had met her soul mate and lost him in an instant. The sense of grief was almost as deep as she would have felt in losing a member of her own family, but the emotion felt like it originated outside of her, as though she were caught in someone else’s nightmare. She tried desperately to fall asleep again, hoping to return to him, but the dream was gone.

In another dream, she found herself at the entrance to a labyrinth of overgrown hedges. A pure white doe stood motionless before her. The doe stared straight into her eyes, unafraid, and then turned and entered the labyrinth. Abby followed her through the maze of towering, twisting emerald walls, trotting to keep the deer in sight. She caught a glimpse of the doe before the animal disappeared around a corner, but when Abby turned down the corridor, the doe was gone. Instead, she saw a beach and waves framed by an evergreen arch. Exiting the labyrinth, Abby saw the young man looking out to sea, his back to her. He turned, their eyes met, and she woke.

Abby kept her dreams secret, sharing her thoughts only within the journal where she kept sketches, but she found herself thinking about the young man often. The dreams felt real, and they always left her with a sense of longing. She was so drawn to the young man that she began to call out to him in the dreams, but he remained out of reach, and she always woke just as he turned and met her gaze. She was powerless to change the outcome.

Then, everything changed. Amid the tedium of folding pool towels, lost in a daydream, she became aware of a familiar presence. She looked up and saw him—he was walking along the patio at the opposite end of the pool. He moved with the fluid grace of a lion, with powerful but restrained steps, a thin veil disguising strength. He was beautiful.

A
lthough he was dressed casually in a black leather motorcycle jacket covering an understated white T-shirt and jeans, he emanated charisma. Abby was awestruck; a sensation of warm electricity tingled through her veins. Her heart raced and she felt the whole world move in a wash of dizziness. She steadied herself, taking in a long, deep breath. Irresistibly compelled, she left her post and followed the young man as if in a trance, through the garden toward the hotel lobby. She walked out the front entrance, but he was already gone. Disappointed, she returned to the pool where Jon was waiting for her, leaning against one of the carved wood columns supporting the guest services cabana.