The Curse: Touch of Eternity (The Curse series) (6 page)

The legible letters were identical. My necklace was much more delicate and expertly crafted than the one I’d snagged off the souvenir stand, but I was convinced the words were the same. Still, I had no idea what they meant.

The shop had largely emptied out, and I looked for a salesperson. A young woman with flaming-red hair was standing at the cashier’s desk, looking bored while leafing through a magazine. I assumed she was resting after the siege of tourists she had just survived. Patiently, I waited for her to look up from the magazine, but she ignored me.

“Excuse me,” I said.

She glanced at me briefly before looking back down at her magazine.

“Yeah, what?” she barely managed to utter.

“This coat of arms—”

“Twelve pounds.” She turned to the next page. The cover of the magazine read “Brangelina wedding, at last?,” and I could imagine that for the clerk, answering a thousand
questions a day from annoying tourists was not nearly as intriguing as reading about the love lives of movie stars.

Still, I didn’t give up. I put my hand holding the souvenir necklace smack in the middle of her magazine, right on top of the photo of the radiant Hollywood couple.

“You don’t understand,” I said. “I don’t want to buy it. I want to know what this writing means.”

“Oh yes, I do understand,” Ms. Flamehair said snootily. She yanked the magazine away and put it under the counter. “But unfortunately, I’m not a linguist, I’m a sales assistant. If you want to translate that Gaelic writing, then I recommend you get one of those dictionaries.” She motioned toward a table behind me, where several dictionaries, tour guides, and maps were laid out. “Or have a look at the books on the history of the clans.”

With that, I was dismissed, and Cathy—her name was on the name tag pinned to her shirt—began to sort out the cash-register drawer.

“By the way, we’re closing in five minutes,” she cheerfully called out.

There was no way I’d be able to find what I was looking for in five minutes. I leafed through the Gaelic dictionaries as fast as I could, but apart from learning how to ask for a bed-and-breakfast, I didn’t find a thing.

Cathy cleared her throat behind me. I ignored her for another minute, but then I gave up. Discontentedly, I paid the twelve pounds for the souvenir Cameron necklace and stepped out into the fresh air.

The parking lot was deserted. Cathy came out a minute later and locked the door. She glared at me, opened her car door, and drove off without a second look. It was starting to
sink in: I was completely alone at the ruins of Urquhart Castle. Where the hell was my tour group, I wondered. Where was Baldy the Tour Guide? And where was the damn bus? Shit! The wind got stronger and a cold blast invaded my jacket. All right then, I decided. I’d have to call Roy and Alison and ask one of them to pick me up.

I rummaged around in my backpack for my cell phone. Then I remembered that I’d mindlessly tossed my phone into my suitcase after typing in all the important numbers for Scotland. Great. No cell phone. And I didn’t see a pay phone anywhere.

I was starting to feel a little panicky. I paced back and forth and considered my options: I could stay where I was, hoping the bus would turn around when someone in my tour group realized I was missing. I could wait for Alison and Roy; surely they’d find me eventually.

There was a roll of thunder. Night was beginning to fall and a mighty black wall of clouds had pushed itself across the sky. The castle was illuminated with spooky greenish lights, which only added to the ominous atmosphere. A bright stroke of lightning flashed across the water.

I added it up. I was alone, at night, in a storm, on the shores of Loch Ness, next to a ruin and all its ghosts, waiting for help when no one knew I needed it. That was too much for me, and I wasn’t just going to stand there. I grabbed my backpack and pulled the hood of my jacket down over my face as far as it would go. I walked briskly along the street in the direction of the last town I remembered passing. I figured there was bound to be a phone booth somewhere along the way.

But soon I started to second-guess myself: How far had it been to the town? Was I going the right way? Should I—or shouldn’t I—hitchhike?

More than ten minutes later, not a single car had passed. I was freezing. I mumbled swear words to keep myself company.

Suddenly, a car appeared. I thought about standing in the middle of the road to force it to stop, but decided that would probably amount to suicide. I jumped up and down, yelling and waving. “Hello! Hello! Please stop!”

The car raced passed me at full speed.

“Wait!”

I screamed and screamed as the taillights faded away.

I was about to burst into tears. It felt like I’d been walking for an eternity, and I still didn’t know how far I was from town. I wasn’t about to go back to the castle. Anyone looking for me there would have to pass me on the road anyway.

When it started to rain, I decided to run. My shoes were soaking, and my hood wasn’t making a bit of difference. Water was dripping into my eyes and down my neckline, running together with my tears. I desperately shouted, “Fuck it! Where is everybody?”

Then I heard a motor behind me. I turned around and saw a single headlight, coming toward me fast. A motorcycle was going far too quickly on the wet, dark street, spraying plumes of water to the side. I jumped out of the way, to avoid getting drenched.

I was about to yell after it when the bike’s rear brake light lit up. The bike had actually stopped! The driver turned, and I ran forward, waving gratefully.

Brushing my wet hair off my forehead and gasping for breath, I looked at my savior. It was hard to tell, because the biker’s face was hidden by a black helmet with a shaded visor, but it seemed to be a tall man, with a black leather outfit on.

I was exhausted, completely out of breath, and shaking all over. “I’m sorry to bother you, but can you give me a ride?”

There was a brief silence. Then a voice answered, muffled inside the helmet and a bit breathless and hesitant. “Sure. Where are you trying to go?”

“I need to get to Aviemore, but if you’re not going that far, that’s OK. I really just need to get to a phone.”

Another long pause.

“I can take you to Aviemore. It’s on my way. Hop on.”

He reached out to me, and when I took his hand, he twitched, as if he’d been zapped by a shock. I raised my eyebrows and paused, expecting him to explain, but all he said, impatiently, was, “Come on, get on the bike!”

Relieved to be on my way to Alison and Roy’s cozy little cottage, I swung my leg over the bike, settled onto the seat, and grabbed hold of the unknown driver. He revved the motor, which was so powerful that we almost started to fly. Oh, great, I thought, this guy’s insane. I wasn’t even wearing a helmet, and he was racing along the dark, wet road at an unbelievable speed.

After the first few minutes, though, I seemed to have used up all my adrenaline and somehow managed to get over my fear of death. I held on to his wet leather jacket with all my might. We sped through the night, along Loch Ness’s
shimmery coast, with my hair blowing in the wind and the rain whipping me in the face.

The ride didn’t take as long as I’d expected, but I was stiff when I got off the bike.

“Thanks. I don’t know how…”

My knees buckled, and I almost lost my balance. I groped for something to hold on to, and when I grabbed my mysterious driver, he again twitched at my touch. Then he pulled his arm away and rocketed down the road.

Irritated that I hadn’t gotten to properly thank him, I stood in the dark, thinking that they were certainly strange people, these Scots.

The warm shower I took that night was amazing. I threw my cold, wet clothes in a heap on the floor and turned up the temperature as hot as I could stand. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back to let the water spray over my entire body.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the biker’s weird behavior. Why had he bothered to help me when it obviously made him so uncomfortable?

I soaped my hair with a honey-scented shampoo and, at long last, felt I’d rinsed the cold from my bones. Then I wrapped myself up in a big, soft towel, sat down on the bed, and started to sip the cup of hot tea Alison had set on my bedside table. The tea made me feel warm inside, too. I dried my hair, put on my pajamas, and slid into bed.

“Ow!”

My hand went to my chest. That burning feeling under the pendant again.

I went to the mirror and pulled back my pajama top. My skin was bright red, but the pendant itself was cold. Was I developing an allergy to the metal? I hated to think so. Just in case, I took off the necklace and put it on the table. I turned out the light and let myself sink into the mattress.

The clouds and rain had passed, and the night had turned cold and clear. Moonlight shone through the window and danced on the silver pendant. I stared at it for a few minutes, then drifted into my pillow, giving in to sleep.

In the middle of the night I woke, feeling as if something important were missing. Was I homesick? A single moonbeam stole its way through the curtains and shone on my pendant. Dipped in the silvery light, it looked almost magical. Automatically, my hand reached out to it. It felt warm, and a feeling of safety swept through my body. I put it back around my neck, where it belonged, and snuggled back into bed.

The black-clad driver turned to look one last time toward the little cottage before he got back on his bike. He had stood for a long time, hidden by the trees, observing the place. He hadn’t come for any rational reason; he’d felt drawn here, as if pulled by an invisible rope, the need so great it was impossible to ignore. No one had seen him standing in front of the dark windows, and he wanted to stay. But eventually, he could no longer bear the pain, and he had to go.

As he got farther away from Aviemore, the pain faded, the burning feeling died down, and Payton could finally breathe normally again. However, a dull emptiness remained, and it didn’t disappear even when he turned off the main road two hours later and reached his home.

Both his brothers, Blair and Sean, were still awake, playing a game of chess in the living room. The chessboard was set up on a table of ebony and ivory, appropriate for the “game of kings,” and his brothers sat opposite each other in chairs that were just as elegant as thrones.

Blair wasn’t known in the family as a big intellect, but it was hard for anyone to beat him at chess. In fact, some of the games the brothers played took several days; this match had already been going for hours. Thankfully, it was their nature not to need much sleep.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sean said to Payton while playing his bishop. Sean didn’t even need to look at him to know something was off.

“Nothing. Everything’s fine,” Payton replied. The last thing he wanted to do was start a discussion with the clan.

Sean arched an eyebrow and opened his mouth as if about to pose another question, but Payton raised his hand in warning. “I said, it’s nothing. Just leave me alone!”

For a few seconds, the two of them stared at each other. Then Sean shrugged and went back to his game.

At twenty-five, Sean was six years older than Payton, and Payton was closer with him than anyone else in his family, including the head of the family, twenty-seven-year-old Blair. Sean seemed younger than he was, due to his thin, sinewy build. He was smart, he was in constant motion, and he seldom missed a thing. Just a few minutes before, for example,
Payton could tell Sean knew immediately that Payton was hiding something big from them. But he wasn’t the type to push, either, and Payton was grateful for that. He didn’t want to lie to his favorite brother, but he didn’t want to talk to anyone about his latest experiences until he knew more about them himself.

Payton crossed the wide-open hall and went up a tightly wound staircase. The old castle was unfeeling and cold, just like the brothers who lived there.

He closed the heavy door to his room and let out a deep exhale. What was wrong with him, he asked himself. What was happening?

He stood in front of the full mirror and scrutinized his reflection. Dark-brown eyes glared back at him. His full mouth was tight; it hadn’t been used for a smile in a very long time. The old crescent-shaped scar on his chin made him look dangerous. His light-brown hair stood out rakishly. He subconsciously stroked his hair with his fingers, smoothing it a bit. He was a fairly tall, well-built young man, just as always. He couldn’t see anything that had changed. But why then, he wondered, did everything feel different than before?