Auchinmurn Isle
Present Day
Em did what she probably should have done the moment the old crofter had grabbed her. She called for help, deep inside her own mind.
Zach! Zach! Wake up. I need you right now!
The cottage the crofter had brought her to had a dark thatched roof and was made of flat stones, insulated with thick peat. The thatch was tightly woven and, unlike the rest of the one-room cottage, not in need of repair. A large hearth took up most of the wall next to a row of high, small windows facing the sea. The windows were filthy, caked with salt and grime. The floor was made of the same stone as the walls, and was as thick with muck as the windows. The place looked as if it hadn’t seen a cleaning rag in years.
Against one wall was a wooden bed with a carved headboard that Em couldn’t help staring at. It looked like a giant set of antlers. The bed was the only decent piece of furniture in the room, neatly made up with a fat red pillow and a windowpane quilt designed with the most vibrant colours and designs that Em had ever seen.
Hundreds of books in every shape and size had been shoved in the cracks between the stones above and around the bed. Em felt such a rush of warmth from the strange library that she almost forgot that she’d been brought to this cottage against her will.
The rest of the room was sparse and unwelcoming. If it weren’t for the books, the pot bubbling on the fire in the hearth and the neatly made bed, Em would have thought no one had been here in weeks.
The crofter set the chair in the middle of the floor.
‘Sit yerself on that,’ he said, and nudged her with his crook.
‘Why can’t I sit next to the fire?’ Em said bravely. ‘I’m cold.’
‘I’ve heard what you weans did last time you were tied up. So sit yer arse on that chair. Now!’
Fear had seeped into the crofter’s demeanour, and he was taking it out on Em. She sat on the chair.
Zach! Can you hear me?
No answer. Maybe she was too far from the Abbey. Maybe he was in the deepest part of sleep. Em groaned to herself. Why did teenage boys sleep so soundly?
The walkie-talkie on the mantel crackled to life. The crofter grabbed it and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him. Em stared up at the high windows. Even if she hadn’t been tied up, she was too big to get through any of them. Besides, the crofter would probably return before she’d even reached them.
Em’s blood ran cold as she considered the crofter’s last words. I’ve heard what you weans did last time you were tied up. The last time she and Matt had been tied up and drawn their way out of trouble, they had been with two people she hadn’t seen since, and very much hoped never to see again.
How did this old man know about it?
The walkie-talkie crackled outside the door. Em strained her ears, but failed to hear the conversation. She and Matt had used walkie-talkies when they were younger, playing hide-and-seek in their old London flat. Walkie-talkies had a limited range, which meant whomever the old crofter was talking to was already on the island.
Em didn’t have much time.
She hopped to the only front window and peeked outside. The old man was crouching beneath the tree, talking with his back to the door.
Em hopped back to the chair, leaning on it while she scanned the empty fireplace for a weapon. She rolled her hands against the plastic ties. Scissors would be nice. Or a knife. Then she stared at the ash on the hearth, and grinned.
Stay outside, old man. Stay outside.
Em sat down beside the hearth with her back to the fire. Without being able to see what she was doing, she began to sketch in the ashes.