Another Beast's Skin

English pubs really had it down to a science. There was always a level of comfort that places in the States just couldn’t master. This one was no different with its cracking plaster, worn floorboards, and large willow tree dipping into the open side garden. The drooping branches shimmied their fingers atop planked tables outside, light dappling through the leaves. I ordered a Pinot Nero and side of chips at the bar and made my way to the patio nearest the beckoning willow tree. Heads turned or politely dipped in silent greetings as I passed. There was no doubt I was the new face.

“You made it out,” said a friendly voice.

As I turned toward the sound, a scent of cedar accompanied the breeze as another person slid into the bench opposite. Casting a quick glance over to the man across from me, I took my attention back to Corra.

“Was wondering when we’d see you out. That cottage tends to keep people in,” she said, winking. Somehow her words and my earlier uncharacteristic need to be out, left me twitchy.

“Just trying to adjust time zones,” I lied, sipping my wine, and keeping my eyes down.

She narrowed her own, which I noticed were a sea glass green. Corra tucked a strand of dark auburn hair behind her ear and gestured flippantly to the man across from me.

“My brother, Silas,” she introduced. I turned to a man with short, chocolate brown waves and eyes like polished aquamarines. “Silas, our new neighbor, Neysa.” I offered my hand.

“Pleasure.” He squeezed slightly before releasing it. “Business or holiday?” he asked, both palms held out, his thumbs swiping the calluses bisecting them. His accent was rich and lilted.

When I’d met Corra earlier, she hadn’t indicated anyone else would be at the pub.

“It’s one click to the right on the top lock, one to the le on the bottom,” Corra had said outside my rented cottage when I’d first arrived. “The trick is to do them at the same time. The wood sticks after it rains.”

After putting the keys om a coded lock box, I spent a good ten minutes fumbling with the door before she showed up to help. Corra was dressed in running clothes, putting up the sleeve of her fitted jacket to li the bottle of pinotage om my carryon bag.

“Come up the pub in an hour,” she said, handing the bottle back as I stepped through the tapestry covered doorway. “The Peasant and Pheasant. Not the Red Lion. I’ see you shortly,” she caed, joking away like we had been neighbors our entire lives.

Looking from that woman to the man in front of me now, I guessed that sort of familiarity ran in both siblings.

“A change,” I countered Silas’ question. He chuckled, again swiping his palms.

“Interesting. I’ll come back to that succinctly answered nonanswer. However, I was referring to your hands,” he clarified.

Automatically looking down at my own hands, my cheeks heated. I needed to get used to English forwardness again.

“Your hands,” he repeated. “They are well-callused. Is it from your occupation or leisure activities?”

Ah.

“Leisure,” I confirmed, sipping the light red and starting to feel its effects. I opened my mouth to elaborate and was silenced by those damned palms again.

“Can I guess?” He smirked. Beside me, I heard Corra groan.

“Silas, at least allow her the courtesy of finishing her wine before you start.”

My demeanor softened hearing the sibling reproach. I met his eyes, the twin set to Corra’s, and nodded.

“Let’s see,” he mused, half standing and leaning in. I could have sworn his nostrils flared.

Self-conscious, I tugged at the strap on my camisole. His eyes locked on my shoulder and bicep, then brazenly raked down my arm. My lips twitched. I was trying and failing to not seem embarrassed.

“Golfer?” he ventured. I choked on my wine, nearly spraying it at him. His eyes twinkled in amusement. I snorted and wiped at my watering eyes. He knew damned well I wasn’t a golfer. “I take that as a no.”

“You get two more guesses,” I said, enjoying the game. He considered another long moment. “Rowing?” I shook my head, the movement letting my dark hair fall over my collarbone. Silas looked to Corra, who crossed her arms over her chest and clicked her tongue. “What if I’m wrong on the next?”

“You lose,” I teased, batting my lashes at him.

He cleared his throat and stood. I followed the movement, watching him. He was built for labor, tall, broad-shouldered, and slimhipped. Yet his clothes were well-cut and expensive looking. His hand pulled at his chin, releasing a slight scraping sound. This man, like Corra, was perhaps in his late twenties to early thirties.

He leaned down, hovering near my face. I curled my toes in my sandals where no one saw. My blood heated ever so slightly. File that away for later.

“I’ll take a break and observe,” he huffed.

“Sore loser,” Corra poked him.

“I haven’t lost,” he said quietly, still inches from me. I could smell his soft woodsmoke-like scent as it wound around me. “I’m calculating.” With that, he walked off.

I shook my head.

“Don’t mind him,” Corra said, waving toward her brother. “He’s a terrible flirt and a worse loser. Now, tell me. What’s your story?”

I blanched. It’s not that I was unprepared for questions. I was a newcomer to a small town, and as far as they could tell, an American at that. It’s just that my stomach turned when I had to rehash it. When I was forced to remember my dad dying. The divorce with Caleb.

My chest squeezed as I rallied myself. The simplest version, it would be.

“I got divorced and decided to start over.”

She nodded in understanding and pushed my near-empty wine glass forward.

“By the way,” Corra said innocently. “I’m truly surprised my brother hasn’t guessed about the swords.”

I smiled, somehow not surprised by her observation.

“In his defense, I do quite a bit of kettlebell training as well. Plus, I didn’t think it was nice to allude to being able to gut a fellow when he’s just met me.”

She leaned back and barked a laugh.

“Neysa, you and II think we shall have fun,” she chirped.

I started to hope the same. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d made friends with another woman.

THE HOUSE I was renting wasn’t necessarily unwelcoming. Quite the opposite actually. It felt expectant, as if it was impatient with me. Every creak on the stairs, cold pocket of air in the corners, and pulsating energy from the decorative crystals on the bookshelves, created a pregnant sort of breath within the walls. Was I missing some big reveal of a secret room? The world’s comfiest armchair? Auntie Fanny still sweeping the back steps two hundred years postmortem?

The age of the building wasn’t to blame, I knew. I’d spent enough time in old, English buildings that they didn’t spook me. Whatever was giving me the strange feeling had me needing to get out and put some miles on my sneakers. I nearly sagged with relief as I stepped out to run.

My legs started out stiff and tense to the point of discomfort. Ten hours on a plane the day before does no favors to the hips. My feet moved from the gravel and pavement onto a grassy trail. The ground was softened by a recent rain, the blades of summer grass heavy with the promise of moisture, pushing me further into the woods. Only when I ran could I shut out the despair and loneliness that seemed to seep into my bones. Miles and minutes soldiered on. Tangy scents of greenery crushing under my soles wafted up while I plowed past bramble and thicket. Sticky earth beneath my shoes sprayed up the backs of my calves and even onto the back of my neck.

As a ran my troubles away and felt the muscles in my legs start to relax, I realized suddenly that my whereabouts were unknown. Meadowy wildflowers bordered by bushes had been replaced by wiry trees as tall as they were thin. My stride slowed, and I stopped, looking about. The air was heavier here, the wind picking up. Faint, quickly fading mud prints were the only indication of the path I’d taken, as the trail had thinned and there was no defined direction to travel. I didn’t remember coming through forest, yet behind me, the trees were dense. Canopies of trees with gnarled roots and lush, full leaves engulfed my senses. I held my fingers aloft, testing the wind for direction. Jogging slowly against the wind, the brine of salt spray tickled my nose. Through a line of birch trees, the sky opened to reveal the ocean beyond. I walked carefully to the cliff ’s edge, in awe at the terrain.

Though the drop below me was unforgiving, I spotted a trail to my left heading toward what looked like a cleft in the ledge. How far had I come? Ten? Twelve miles? The sensation of being completely lost kicked up my heart rate.

A pulsating ache started between my ribs, and my breathing hitched. Not an ideal time for an anxiety attack. Rationally, I knew I was jet lagged and confused. Irrationally, as panic tends to be, the dense air and sense of being totally turned around, sat on my chest. How did I not know I had come so far? Keep walking. Fuck. Can’t breathe. Tears streamed down my face, and my mouth felt as though it were filled with cotton. Keep walking. My hands clawed at the neck of my shirt, and I ripped it over my head, trying to cool myself down. Keep walking. The cleft in the cliff was in front of me. A path descended to the rocky shore below and seemed to wend away toward the wood behind me.

I dropped heavily on a rock. My rational mind realized that had this been California, I would have checked thrice for snakes. If this had been my condo in Los Angeles, I also wouldn’t have been listening to recordings of my dad’s voice over and over, as I had the previous evening. That expectancy in the cottage had me feeling like it was the gateway to understanding pieces of me that have been empty for as long as I could remember. I needed to bring myself to the here and now.

It had been a month since my last panic attack. That had been stress induced. The divorce finalized. Dad. This was new. My life as I knew it was turned inside out from one footfall to the next. I braced my elbows on my knees, head hanging. Breaths were still coming shallow. Spots were forming in my vision from lack of oxygen. Fuck.

I sat back and touched the cool rock beneath me and closed my eyes.

“It seems,” a cool voice intoned from my left. My eyes shot open. “That you have either lost your way or fancied a tour of the coast.”

I made to stand but immediately tipped from a head rush. Breaths became choppier. Fuck. Think. The scent of rain in the air increased, as though attempting to soothe me. “Can I help, Neysa?” the man’s voice softened.

I heard the soft rustle of fabric and felt him kneel in front of me. This complete stranger rang every warning bell in my symphony. My feelings were divided evenly between the need to flee and gratitude for the presence of another human being. Slowly, I opened my eyes as I nonchalantly slid my hand into the pocket of my leggings. The brushed metal of my slim knife steadied me. Blinking, I focused on the man before me, strong- jawed and fair-skinned with a crop of night-dark hair. His keen eyes reminded me of smoky quartz, and they immediately noted my movement.

“I won’t harm you. Though,” he offered a crooked smile, “should I worry for myself?” He sat softly on the damp ground.

I counted. Inhale for five, hold for seven, exhale for nine. Repeat. I felt no threat despite the stranger appearing in this wilderness. With all my self-defense training, I’d better be right. Inhale for five, hold for seven, exhale for nine.

He watched me quietly, then spoke. “I should introduce myself. I am Cade. You are on my property. When you are ready, I can bring you up to the house if you wish.” He must have seen the alarm on my face. “Then we can see about that split lip.”

The tip of my tongue darted to the side of my bottom lip and tasted blood. I had bitten it sometime during my panic. The copper tang shook me out of my anxiety. I blinked hard and took a deep breath.

“Well, that was humiliating.” I laughed without humor. “Sorry to disturb your home.”

“Not at all. Do you get anxiety attacks often?” His question was more clinical than curious, which made me less apprehensive of answering, however uncomfortable I felt.

“Yes,” I answered honestly. “Though never when I run. I lost my bearings I think.”

He made an agreeable hum “This area will do that. Perhaps it’s best to not be alone so far from home?”

Alone. Wasn’t I alone everywhere? This was my reality.

What a sad case I must seem.

He must have read something on my face. “I only meant,” he began. “That the coast trail can be slippery in the best weather. Never mind that the weather can turn quickly here. Come. You’re looking quite grotesque.”

He held out a hand, which I studiously ignored. I stood swiftly, gathering my discarded shirt. We walked in silence toward a large limestone manor house. The wind toyed at my now chilled, sweaty skin. I shivered. A sidelong glance told me he had noticed and proceeded to deliberately zip his tailored field jacket. A muscle twitched along his jawline, and I wondered if he was that much of an ass, or if he was actually cold.

As we approached the slatted wood door, I stopped dead, hand flicking open the three-inch blade I kept on me. The air seemed to stale between us.

“You knew my name.” A statement.

He rolled his eyes. “I did,” he confirmed. “I am your land- lord. The cottage you are renting is at the eastern edge of my estate.” Oh. “Now, as I’m quite certain you know how to wield that knife, and I’m not keen on a new scar, would you care to come in and clean up?”

I clicked the release but kept the closed knife in my fist. I nodded my agreement, teeth starting to chatter.

Cade brought us through the foyer into a comfortably sized sitting room to the left of the staircase. My muddied sneakers left skeletal smudges on the stone floor. I cringed, realizing that my running clothes were sweaty, wet, and had God knows what on them from when I’d sat down in my panic.

“I’ll get something for the lip and be right back.” He slipped from the room.

I stood awkwardly and took in the details. An ancient looking kettle hung on an arm from the fireplace. I wondered if it saw any use. My eyes trailed upward to note, with a stirring of excitement, the small cache of antique swords and twin daggers displayed over the hearth. I walked closer. They all had an etching forged along the gleaming length of them. Runes? I couldn’t read the lettering from where I stood, several feet below them. These pieces weren’t simply left to tarnish. Someone took great care in cleaning the metal.

“You do seem to be drawn to blades.” Cade’s footsteps moved toward me.

“I am trained in swordsmanship. Most blades really,” I admitted, waiting for the shock I normally saw since sword play was not the most popular sport.

Cade merely raised an eyebrow and placed a few firstaid supplies on a small, brasstopped table.

“Perhaps,” he began. “You could keep up your studies whilst you are here.” He gestured toward the ancient blades. My eyes widened. “All skills need honing.”

“Perhaps,” was all I managed as I stood, shifting my weight from foot to foot. His head cocked to the side. Understanding dawned.

“Please sit. This furniture has seen worse wear. I believe the dogs sit on them as soon as I leave.” What dogs? I cast a glance around as I sat on the worn leather Chesterfield. “Bixby and Cuthbert are out back.” A smile hinted at there being a bit more tenderness in him than the stalwart appearance I’d seen thus far.

He picked up a bit of gauze. He really intended to clean my split lip. I shifted uncomfortably like a scolded child.

“My cousin,” that cool, clear voice began, “was always getting into fights as a child. You will likely meet him soon as he lives on property as well. He knew how to get under every one’s skin.” He dabbed my lip with the gauze. I winced. “So, I was always patching up his split lip. Or eye. Or knuckles.” A searing zap prickled on my face. I pulled back, automatically touching the cut.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “The cleansing agent can sting.” There was a lick of warmth that ran through me, ending in another hint of electricity. The lights in the room and the very air itself seemed to pulsate. It was easy to convince myself I had imagined it.

“Thank you. I should get back.”

He inclined his head, seeming much older than one whom appeared to be a man in his early thirties. I wondered what shadows dogged his life.

“If you run south and west, there are marked paths. Elderly people walking their spaniels and all that. Should you come north or east, stay on the property. Coming in and out of the estate from the north can be...convoluting.”

I nodded and made to leave, exchanging polite goodbyes with him once I reached the front door.

A few hundred meters away from the manor, I was greeted by two shaggy guides. They looked like coonhounds with long, silky fur. The hounds happily trotted along until I reached the short gate, which led into my garden. A scratch at their long, soft ears bid farewell.

I SUNK into the claw footed tub, ready to soak the day away, and fell heavily asleep.

Fastpaced dreams filled my sleep. Scents and colors I couldn’t recall upon waking yet seemed so familiar.

Then, my father’s voice: It’s okay, Neyssie. You are where you were always supposed to be, my little moon.”

In the dream, Dad held out his aged, goldenbrown hand, offering something hidden in a glare of light where I couldn’t see. I pawed at him, reaching out and asking him what it was. All he did was smile and say something in a melodic language I couldn’t place.

The dream object faded from his hands, turning instead, to a twenty something version of him and sixyearold me, seated on my bed in our old home, the one we lived in here, England, before we left for Dad’s job in California. Dad grasped my tiny hand where it had fisted into the calico quilt. In the dream, I heard him telling me a bedtime story, one I’d all but forgotten in my waking, grownup life. My consciousness slipped into that of my sixyearold self, becoming a child again.

“Once, in another realm,” he began. “There was a little moon of a child. A girl who would wake up and put on the skin of a different beast each morning.”

“Why did she do that?”

Daddy said, “She didn’t look like everyone else, and she knew the people would be scared of her. They may even try to hurt her. So, she used a magical stone to cover her whole self in another skin.”

“Was she magical?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, certainly. She was very powerful, but she couldn’t show anyone,” he answered. “So, she had to use the stone to change herself. Like wearing a cloak.”

“What did she look like?”

“She looked like a queen.” He tucked a piece of my dark hair behind my ear. “She had eyes that looked like the forest in summer and pointed little ears that could hear a mouse scuttle in the house next door.”

I made a face at him. I didn’t like mice.

“Her family loved her very much, and she was royalty, so they had to send her away for a long time. When she went away, she le behind special parts of her magic.”

“Why would she do that? I would want to keep a of mine,” I argued, crossing my arms over my chest. He laughed and agreed with me.

“Where she was sent, she couldn’t keep these special parts. One magical part of her would act up a little every now and then. Like a certain someone I know,” he teased, tapping my nose. “It had wings and claws.”

“That sounds like a monster,” I pointed out, in case he hadn’t been paying close attention.

“Indeed, it does, Neyssie. But it was a certain kind of monster that lived inside hera nice one. But even a nice monster could be scary to some people. As the years passed and she wore the disguise day after day, the little girl grew into a bier girl and eventually forgot about her original skin. She was able to wear the new skin without the magical stone, and she forgot all about missing her special beast.

“So, the beastie waited until the girl had become what she was always meant to be, and it decided to come back when she needed it the most. For it knew that one day, there would be another beastie to be with, and together they would create a better world.”

“Woah, hang on, Daddy. Where exactly is this other beastie? Does she grow another one? That’s kind of gross.” He chuckled at the observation.

“No, the gods themselves spoke of someone who would fight alongside her for an eternity, and that partner would have a beastie too. They would defend the world, and yes, get bruised and bloody like you like to hear about. The partner didn’t even know his beastie was in him and so, for hundreds of years, he walked the realms, searching.”

At that point, I felt myself starting to drift off dreaming once again about magic, monsters, adventure, and a realm where my father didn’t seem so sad.

“It’s time for bed now, my little moon,” he whispered. “Good night.”

As my eyes slipped closed one final time, he kissed my head and said, “Chanè à doinne aech mise ìne.”

I WOKE, chilled to the bone. The bath water had turned to ice; the house was dark. After splashing my tear-stained face, I quickly climbed out of the bath. Six hours. Six hours I had slept in the tub. God above. What was my deal today? I pulled on my softest white pajamas, grabbed a cashmere wrap, and tucked myself into an early bedtime, thinking of my dad, this house, and the odd people I’d met since arriving.

As I passed the mirror, I paused and peered closely at my face. I had to admit, Cade did well cleaning my lip. Based on the amount of blood down the chest of my shirt and sports bra, I’d really torn it.

The following morning, there was all but a bit of swelling. Following his suggestion, I decided to explore a running route on the property bringing my phone this time.

The meadow beyond my willow fence was blanketed in soft, white protrusions of wild garlic flowers. My feet found a comfortable pace through the flowers. The small gravel path wound into a sun-dappled wood, leading me back toward that coastal trail. Only three or so miles in, I decided to take the path through the cleft down to the shore. Mindful of my footing and dodging outcroppings of wild carrot and sea kale, I gingerly made my way down between the stones.

What presented itself to me at the bottom was unexpected: tide pools as clear as glass, bejeweled with smooth rock, stretched from the shore like open arms. Large rocks and seaweed doilies pebbled the shoreline. Of all the times I’d spent at beaches in the UK, I had never seen anything like this. Rocks, grey waves, grey flannel skies lying upon the ashen duvet of water but not this. This was a fever dream of being inside a treasure chest. Tumbled rocks caught the sunlight as they had in Italy a few years ago. It had been one last attempt at saving the little bit of marriage Caleb and I had left. For that week, it seemed as though he and I could gather the pieces of who we were and make them into what we needed for our theatrics of a marriage. There, the fantasy of who we were seemed plausible. By the time we landed back in L.A., I had enough self-worth to exit stage left when my scene was over.

Then Dad got sick. The polarity of my emotions was staggering. The blessed reprieve from the nagging of an ill-fated union was replaced by a howling denial that I was losing my dad. I was losing the one link to who I was. My dad, who trained me on my first small sword. Who insisted I do gymnastics and ballet even after I was told I was “too tall,” “too athletic,” by her teammates. For a girl whose mother was nonexistent, having a dad who would sit for teddy bear picnics as willingly as he would gift me a black, powder-coated steel hand and a half sword for my sixteenth birthday was everything.

The lapping of waves and frothing of seafoam over smooth rocks carried my senses back to the here and now. In the distance, voices carried, pulling me from my memories completely. I reached idly into the cool, clear water, letting the ripples caress my fingers. The voices were laughing, coming closer. A female tinkling chuckle made me smile. Corra.

After a few moments, three figures rounded the monolith at the tide pool’s edge.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Silas crooned.

The two siblings were as ill-dressed for beach going as I. Like me, Corra looked poised for a run in her black leggings, fitted jacket, and wide running belt. Silas was similarly clad. I opened my mouth to greet them just as my eyes fell on the strap across his broad chest. A small “O” of surprise parted my lips, and he immediately noticed what I’d seen.

Cade sauntered slowly behind; twin swords strapped against his thighs. His look and greeting were bored and self- important, while Silas’s eyes scrunched in amusement, lips smirking. Turning to Corra, I raised my eyebrows. She shrugged and introduced Cade as her cousin.

“Silas figured it out last night after Cade told us of your... trials yesterday,” Corra explained, referring to my callused palms.

Aroynted and more than a little embarrassed for Cade to have divulged my panic attack, I darted an accusatory glance at the darkhaired male adjusting his bootstrap. He glanced up at the weight of my gaze and dismissed me entirely.

Silas pulled his narrow longsword from the scabbard running the length of his spine.

“Care to dance, milady?” A jolt of something part fear part excitement shot from my toes upward.

Cade’s face looked briefly alarmed. “Take care, cousin. The lady is prone to hysteria,” Cade warned, his face rear- ranging itself into utter boredom.

It could have been said in jest, but it came off haughty and rude.

Corra and I both turned to him, disgust limning our features. She opened her mouth, but I stepped forward, ignoring the insult. My own hazel eyes met Silas’s glass-green ones. “I find myself at a disadvantage, Silas,” I said and held my arms out, anchoring my stance.

He breathed in, pressing his mouth into a hard-lined grin. Without breaking my gaze, Silas snapped fingers at his sister. “Corraidhín, would you kindly lend the lady a blade?”

She rolled her eyes. I felt as though this were a gesture made regularly.

“First off brother,” she began, unsheathing the small sword I had initially thought was a running belt. “Don’t snap. I’m not your hound. Next,” she said, turning to me. “Have care with my weapon.”

With that, she tossed the slim, mirrored blade to me, hilt flipping midair to meet my waiting grasp. Inhuman was the term my previous weapons instructor used for my reflexes. It was a point of pride for me. I smirked in thanks and allowed the steering calm to take over. Assessing the weight and balance of the weapon, I twisted it this way and that, then adjusted my stance accordingly.

Silas struck, laying the weapon sideways and leaning in. I pulled my knee up, pivoting as I turned his blade. My own arm thrust forward and kissed his blade, moving both later ally. We turned in an ellipse, making tracks in the pebbly sand like the tracks of a matchbox car. Sharp edges of the tiny stones were cutting into my bare feet since I’d removed my running shoes as I came to the beach. We truly were in a dance. He wasn’t putting his best eort in and, for the sake of my training and audience, I smiled. Bright, wide, and open, meeting his glassy eyes dead on.

“Surely that’s not all you have, soldier?” I smirked, and his face changed into overtly male fierceness. “I bet you dance with all the girls like this.”

A muted cough came from Cade and Corra choked on a laugh. Silas stopped, legs wide, and pointed the tip of his blade at the earth. He lifted his proud chin and nodded once. A headiness surrounded us suddenly, clouds forming overhead. I rallied my senses and cleared my mind. Truthfully, I didn’t see the sword come up and knock me sideways. Balance catching, I spun and kicked a leg to swipe his shin. He hued and squatted, onelegged, then leaned toward my hip. I knew before the blade pushed flat against my abdomen that I was in check. My hips bucked, and I was on my back, his sword still laid across me, his hands on the hilt and edge. Checkmate. With one knee astride me, the other bent, he lifted a dark eyebrow.

“Do you yield?” he demanded.

I nodded, stomach tight. I hadn’t lost in six years.

He released his damning position, allowing me to sit up. “Cadeyrn.” Silas turned to Cade. “I would say she is not prone to hysteria at all.” He turned back to me, eyes dancing.

I knew that look. Battle high. I normally needed to run, lift heavy, or have a turn in the sheets to come down.

“Good,” Cade spat. “Neysa can train with you lot starting tomorrow. Silas, tend to your hand and, bloody he, take a cold shower.”

Silas looked down and had the good sense to look abashed.

His palm was bleeding freely. So this was the cousin Cade had likely been patching up for twenty years or more.

Realizing I was an interloper, I stood, grabbing my shoes, and started to walk back up the rock path. Near the top, footfalls sounded behind me, quick and light. I sucked on a tooth, biting back anything that could have come out of my mouth.

“Are you sore that I won?” Silas asked.

I laughed, only halfamused. “Yep.”

“That’s a very American form of vernacular.”

“Sorry, were you here to patronize me, or shall I get on with my walk home?” I reached the top where the stones were cleft.

Silas scrunched his nose, making his roughly hewn, handsome features comical. “Your fighting was outstanding. I’ve been training my whole life and"

“As have I,” I snapped. “My father put a sword in my hand at age four. Thirty-one years ago.”

He smiled slightly. My stomach turned as I detected an ounce of pity.

“I meant to say good match.”

I stopped walking and took in my surroundings, my companion. What the hell was I doing? So, I had lost to a man twice my size who thrummed with an energy I couldn’t place. Inhuman, I heard my instructor saying. That seemed an apt term for Silas.

Blowing out a breath, I turned to him, willing a light-hearted grin. “Well met.” I inclined my head.

“Cadeyrn said he offered for you to keep up your training while you’re here.” Not quite a question. “I would happily train with you,” he said with a hopeful grin.

“As would I,” joined Corra. “Can’t let this oaf have all the fun. I would have asked you to spar had we not run into you.” She linked a thin arm through mine, leaned her auburn head toward my dark brunette one, and said in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “But tonight we have a bottle of wine with our names on it. We can drink, and I can tell you all of Silas’s weak spots.”

“Yes, I’m totally useless when my feet are tickled,” the oaf in question quipped.

“As long as there is a copious amount of food, I’m there,” I said.

The past three weeks have been spent eating dinner at the pub, joined mostly by Corra and Silas. I wondered at the fact that they seemed sociable and outgoing, yet apart from friendly banter with the pub patrons, neither sibling seemed to have any friends in town. Sometimes, I watched Silas talk. He is animated to point of being goofy. The juxtaposition of that silliness and the unwavering concentration I had seen in his fighting mode was impressive.

In my thirty-five years, I myself had never had many friends. Being considered “aloof” in my adult life was a graduation from “stuck-up” in my youth. My concentration had always been my academics and combat training. I never felt as though I were unfriendly, and if I were being honest, I had tried to make the effort with my ex’s friends. I tried to be the interesting, easy-going wife. We went for drinks and parties, and I let him parade his pretty wife around. So, to see Silas and Corra in their unmasked demeanor was both refreshing and a bit confusing.

Sometime in the midst of a story, I noticed Silas stop speaking. In the back of my mind, I was aware of him looking at me, an eyebrow raised. Corra waved a hand in front of me, and I blinked. Silas gave me a lopsided grin, which made my cheeks redden. Stubborn to a fault, I met his eyes. Damn it all, they were beautiful eyes. My hazel ones felt muddied in comparison.

The air shifted, and a shadow moved across my side as Cade slipped in the bench.

“Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence.” Corra bowed mockingly.

Cade glared, then shifted. He glanced between Silas and me, closed his eyes briefly, and shook his head. What is it that rubs him the wrong way?

As if sensing my annoyance, he shrugged.

“I’ll head out,” I announced, and stood abruptly from the edge of the picnic bench. Something about Cade made me slightly ocenter.

The siblings exchanged a glance, then Corra reached over and flicked Cade’s shoulder. He again shrugged.

“But you haven’t eaten,” Corra said.

I picked up my small, pebbled leather handbag and slung it over my shoulder. The sleeve of the grey Tshirt dress I was wearing bunched, and I tugged it free of the strap.

“I’m not hungry, mother hen. Enjoy yourselves.”

With that, I walked around the side of the building, out to the country road I would take home. As I made my way out, I heard Corra reprimanding Cade or Silas. Whomever. It was Silas’s answering growl I heard. The sound was less than human. Something in it triggered a feeling in me like a forgotten memory that was too far buried to surface.

I HURRIED HOME, wanting to get back and do some research on market conditions. I had thought that getting away from everything was what I needed, but it turns out that not having a project made me antsy. Back at the cottage, I opened my laptop and started scanning news reports, international stock markets, analyses, etcetera.

Before coming to the UK, I had pulled my assets out of the Foreign Exchange Market just as I made a 210 percent profit when the Turkish Lira and Iranian Riat jumped. I shorted all my USD accounts, expanded the other two foreign accounts, and gained quite a soft-landing spot when I withdrew from my brokerage account in preparation for moving overseas. Within twenty-four hours of my withdrawal, both currencies tanked. It was the only purely intuitive exchange I had made in my Forex career.

But I wasn’t trading Forex anymore. I had decided during my separation with Caleb to give Forex one month more, then I would move on in every aspect of my life.

“One last heist,” Dad had chortled om his hospital bed. “You’re meant for great things, Neyssie. I’m proud of who you are, but I see so much more for you.”

My eyes welled up at the memory of his last lucid day. The next had been the start of his downward spiral. He’d had to be kept sedated after repeatedly yelling nonsense. I recorded his rants partially because in his seventy-six years, he had never said, nor done anything nonsensical, and partially because I knew I was losing him, and I wanted to have his voice somewhere. I feared forgetting its sound if left to trust in my memory alone.

I had that recording with me now. Perhaps market conditions could wait.

I put my computer aside and lit a candle in remembrance, then hit play on the recording as I’d done so many times since arriving. As I’d done so many times since meeting Corra and her family weeks ago. It started with cacophony metal clanking, white noise from various machinery, and the gasping breaths of someone who had been screaming. Another intake of air, then:

“Vil! Cab! Amba! Cappa Cappa! DoKee Ah! Reela! Gookche Munch Uk!” Heavy breathing. “Eh Fa.” Another breath.

I remember him turning to me. “Neysa, Libe ula,” he mumbled, spittle coming out. The sounds of sleep, then the recording concluded. My father’s last words rattled me. Hearing him say my name was a gutpunch, and I was sobbing from it.

Distantly, there was rapping at the door. Not caring if I was fit for company, I went to open it, turning abruptly to avoid Silas’s eyes. “Hey,” he said softly.

I barely heard him. His hand came down lightly on my shoulder. The contact was my undoing. My shoulders caved in, and my torso went limp with the force of my crying. I had no family anymore. No close friends who reached out. I was a time bomb. Some small part of me said I should be ashamed to be falling apart in a nearstranger’s arms. A larger part simply needed the comfort of another person. Christ, I should have gotten a dog.

So, we stood there in the foyer, his arms around me, halfleaning against the wall.

After a decent amount of time, Silas started small circles on my back then spoke softly. “Shall we sit?” he offered.

I nodded and turned down the hall then left into the sitting room. He kept a hand on my back, knowing I needed that contact. The tears stopped as we sat on a small, seat in front of the fireplace. Fiddling with my fingers, I kept my eyes down.

Strong, callused fingers stilled mine. “If you don’t want to talk, you don’t have to. But if you do, I’m happy to listen. I don’t have anywhere else to be. We could even fight.” He smiled, crinkling those clear eyes, making him look older and younger at the same time. “I’ll give you a few free shots, too.” He nudged me with an elbow, and I laughed and cried enough to need a tissue.

He pulled one from the table behind him and handed it to me.

“I’m a gross mess,” I said, then blew my nose.

“Nonsense,” he argued in an accent notquite English. Come to think of it, all three of them had a singsong lilt that reminded me of my father. I looked up, my swollen eyes almost painfully raw. He laid a broad palm on my cheek. “You’re lovely even covered in snot.” He jumped, expecting my halfhearted slap.

I took a breath and began to tell him about my father. About how I’d never known my mother. She had died when I was an infant. I told him about Caleb about how we had met in grad school, and how it was wrong from the start. He listened about Dad’s illness, his death, and finally, about what set me o tonight. I explained how every time I was in this house, I felt the urge to listen to the recording as though the house itself pushed me toward it. When I had finished, my head felt lighter. He sat for a few long moments, then got up and walked to the front door and back again. In his hands was a takeaway bag.

“I brought kebabs and rice. Shall we eat and have a listen to those recordings?”

And so, we did. Over and over again. I wrote down the ravings phonetically.

Vil, Cab, Amba, Cappa, Cappa, Dokee, Ah, Reela, Gook, Che, Munch, Uk, EhFa, Libellulah. The last not articulated as well, as Dad had been spitting whilst saying it. Once they were all written down, Silas stepped back and looked.

After a good ten minutes, he leaned in, chin just over my shoulder. He reached out and pointed at the last word. “Libe Libe ula,” he read, the song in his accent again, disturbing that buried feeling of memory. His rugged brow pinched together. “That was our mother’s nickname for Corraidhín,” he explained, turning his head ever so slightly.

I felt his breath tickle my neck just under my ear. A blossom of warmth started in my core. Silas shook head in a slow tick tok.

“Corraidhín means ‘little spear.’ Our mother used to call her Libe ula, meaning ‘dragonfly.’” His hand rubbed over the scruff of his jaw.

The implication sunk in as we sat in silence. It was one thing feeling like I’d known this lot far longer than the month I had. It was quite another finding a stitch in the frayed bits of my life. As children, we hear the stories our parents tell, and bits of those follow us throughout our lives, weaving themselves into the fabric of who we are. Warnings pepper fairytales, and my father was a storyteller to rival all others.

It wasn’t the first time I’d thought my father had a kind of second sight a sensitivity to things not all of us could see. Could he have foreseen my friendship with Corra and her family? There was never a doubt in my mind that magic existed from seers to astrophysicists. To me science and the idea of magic was always a duality. Could Dad have been a seer? If not, then could he have possessed a gift for something more fringe than the anthropologist in him admitted?

A tear slipped out as I considered that. Silas remained inches from my face and traced a terribly gentle thumb across my cheek.

“It’s a start,” I whispered.

He leaned in and slowly brushed a soft kiss to my cheek, just where his thumb had been. “It is, that.” He smiled and stood.

In his goodbye, he told me Corra had asked to meet me tomorrow afternoon to spar. My body thrummed with the excitement of sparring. Perhaps from a bit of the past few moments as well. Interesting.

A WEEK LATER, I found myself sparring in the gardens of the estate. My partners alternated between Corra and Silas. Clouds had been slowly tumbling in since mid-morning, promising a change from the summer weather of late. I pulled my daggers from the drop holsters on my thighs. Corra looked skyward and sighed.

“I’d spar in the rain, but I do have to get some work done today anyway.” We pivoted, addressing one another.

“What exactly do you lot do for work?” I asked her.

She pulled at her bottom lip.

“I manage the family accounts. Not terribly interesting, I’m afraid. Come, let’s get in a round before that,” she gestured heavenward, “takes over.”

Anything regarding money changing hands interested me, but I was trying not to pry.

We sparred for a few minutes before sitting on two garden walls just opposite the front of their family home. I laid back and started leg raises, aiming to keep up my core strength.

“What about Silas and Cade?” I asked.

Having been used to the daily grind of currency trading until I cashed in my assets to come here, I was now curious what these three did that allowed so much flexibility. What I was to do next, careerwise, would take some sorting.

Corra paused her plank press and seemed to consider the question. The feeling that this family had secrets they kept buried wasn’t a new one.

“Let me guess,” I joked. “Cade is the clandestine diplomat to a rogue foreign nation and Silas is his assassin?”

She stilled, then laughed. “Close, but alas, not quite.”

A nearby rumble of thunder shook the stone urns. We both moved to gather our discarded weaponry.

When it seemed Corra wasn’t going to elaborate, I asked again. She didn’t meet my eyes. “Ask them yourself,” she answered with a dismissive shrug.

“I’VE BEEN DECIPHERING this godsdamned book longer than you’ve been breathing, Ewan. There is something vital I haven’t figured out.” Cade’s low snarl met us in the foyer as Corra and I walked into the manor house and out of the gathering weather.

“Cadeyrn, we have come to an impasse,” the stranger said, his voice an echo of someone I felt I should know. Like searching for a word on the tip of your tongue. “If the book indeed tells us what is needed, it is time to reveal that. The Elders are out of patience and have sent me to shorten your leash.” This last bit was said softly, reluctantly, as though the deliverance pained the stranger to speak it.

I stood still, not wanting to disturb the conference, shooting a questioning look to Corra. She shook her head tersely and placed a halting hand on my arm.

There was a thick silence in the adjacent room. The formality of the interaction took me aback. It felt like stepping into a different time period.

Finally, Cade cleared his throat. “Tell the others, Ewan.” The slight echo of a glass touching metal could be heard. “I will gladly partake in any solutions they have to offer. I am at their complete behest. Until there is action to take, I will continue my query with the texts.”

“My lord,” the strangerEwanintoned.

At that, Corra pulled her cool fingers from my forearm and moved to step forward. A lithe, brownhaired man, perhaps in his late twenties, rounded the corner. He stood a good head taller than my fivefootnine height with broad shoulders. His olivegreen eyes met mine briefly then shifted to Corra.

“Corraidhín.” He nodded.

She leaned against the wall and smiled slowly. “Ewan.” A slow, heavylidded sweep of her round eyes seemed to give him pause. Ewan flicked a speck of lint from his thin sweater and returned the look. “If you’re here, it must be getting tense. I could show you back?”

The strange male smiled a bit hungrily. His eyes had an ethereal glow, causing me to blink a few times. “My lady, I shall have to take you up on that at a later date.”

The glass from the sitting room set down again, yet this time with a commanding crash. It didn’t take a seer to know a few ounces of Cade’s annoyance were in that glass.

“Neysa,” Cade called. “You are welcome to come in. Gods know we all need escaping from Corra’s innuendos.”

I moved into the thickcarpeted, woodpaneled room. A clicking sound behind me told me Ewan had left, and Corra was again at my side. Cade gestured for us to sit. Corra fell heavily onto the chesterfield as I sat on the opposite side. Quiet. The manor house was too quiet.

I felt like an intruder in their family home and started to say so when Cade turned, two generously filled cut crystal glasses held out to us. “Please,” he said. “Stay.”

He met my eyes, and the worry in his had me accepting the glass.