Unknown

WHEN IT BECAME CLEAR Mr. Guthrie had no intention of letting Isa leave the shipyard unchaperoned, Alec had taken his leave, promising to call on her later. From the look on her brother’s face, he half-expected the man to post a guard outside the front door of her townhome.

He stopped briefly at home. Long enough to snag a few papers from his brother’s not-so-secret stash, launch another skeet pigeon in his assumed direction and drop in on the tea his mother served her guests. His mistake. Perfect Patsy was among them, her eyelashes batting fast enough to circulate a light breeze about the parlor.

“Are you available this evening?” his mother asked without preamble, looking quite irritated. “There’s a small matter concerning your brother I’d like to discuss.”

Pressing a quick kiss to his mother’s cheek, he snagged a scone. “Quinn?” Had the apple of her eye finally done something to earn her displeasure?

Ah. The other one. Telling, that phrase. Mother only spoke of Logan when it became absolutely unavoidable.

Wonderful. That decided it. A conspiracy orchestrated by Cait and Logan was the last thing he wished to become involved in.

“Might I speak with you a moment, brother dearest?” Cait rose from her chair, her eyes narrow. “I’ve been reading the most fascinating monograph about how nematocyst venom degrades the cellular membrane. I have questions.”

The room froze in horror. A woman discussing science. How dare she? It wasn’t the science that bothered Alec, but rather the bloodthirsty methods his sister devised for its use.

“Must run. Meeting with Shaw. But I’ll be certain to answer all of them later.”

Cait’s stare burned twin holes in his back as he made his escape. Was it any wonder he worked such long hours when his home life was fraught with matrimonial traps, conspiracies and poisons?

When he arrived at the Glaister Institute, Shaw waited outside the Department of Cryptobiology. “What’s this about a mysterious fishing expedition you wish to launch?” he asked. “Find something in Davis’s blood?”

“Not yet,” Alec answered. “But I don’t hold all the cards. The minute Logan reappears, I’ll run the program.”

He’d hoped to find a message waiting for him at home, but Logan still hadn’t responded to his many missives. His brother had dragged him into this mess, dropped all kinds of difficulties in his path, then disappeared. As always. It warmed Alec’s heart to envision an entire flock of skeet pigeons swarming Logan when he reappeared.

“In the meantime, I’ve word of a mysterious shark-like creature swimming off our shores.” And as this was not officially linked to the biomech octopus creature, it didn’t yet fall under the umbrella of confidentiality Logan had imposed.

“Could be.” Alec yanked open the door. “At twice the length of a fishing boat, whatever it is could be some two hundred feet long.”

Five feet inside the room, a bored-looking woman wearing dark spectacles in the already dim room looked up from the piles of paperwork stacked chin-high upon her desk and sighed. “Authorized personnel only. If you don’t have a requisition order‌—‌”

Alec slapped down the paperwork. Stolen and forged, but he’d been scrawling his brother’s signature for years. “As ordered by Mr. Logan Black.”

A certain spring to her step made him wonder‌—‌ No. He didn’t want to know.

Tipping his head backward to study the brick arches that spanned the width of the ceiling, Alec said, “Not a topic we discuss.”

The secretary returned a moment later, holding a thick paper folder. Alec reached for it. “Thank‌—‌”

She snatched it away, holding it against her chest, a sly grin upon her face. “Will you let Mr. Black know the item he requested has been located?”

Ignoring the awful sounds Shaw made as he choked back his laughter, Alec pulled a punch card from his pocket. Logan would box his ears for this, but anything to make him surface. “Tell him yourself.”

“Thank you,” she purred, tucking the card inside her bodice before at last handing over the file he’d requested.

Across the room, out of earshot, he flipped open the folder and thumbed through a dull record of shark sightings off the western coast. Dull until January. There, it was, an unusual sighting buried among the standard notations.

A large shark-like creature totaling approximately one hundred fifty feet in length, not inconsistent with a hypothetical megalodon. Displays many features suggesting a classification among the elasmobranchii. Unable to determine order. First observation noted 16 January 1885, since spotted repeatedly off the western coast of Scotland. Retreats when approached, making any unique markings impossible to observe. As yet unable to confirm number of individual members of this new species. Investigation ongoing.

He flipped through more pages. The small handful of sightings‌—‌none of which contributed additional information‌—‌had been made along the western coast of Scotland‌—‌from Portree to Ullapool. But Water Skimmers rarely patrolled the outer Hebridean islands.

“You think they finally found a megalodon?” Shaw asked, reading over Alec’s shoulder. He scratched his jaw. “Seems like overexcited cryptozoologists to me. They can’t even decide if the fish is male or female.”

“Impossible to forget.” Shaw grinned. “A good man, keen to work with us, but couldn’t handle dirigible work worth a damn.”

“True.” The man had spent the better part of the mission bent over a bucket. “Our paths crossed again today. He sighted the dorsal fin himself and reports another man went overboard. This individual, when fished out of the drink, claims a man was staring out of the creature’s eye.” He snapped the folder shut. “The next day, this man disappears along with his entire family. Rather convenient, is it not, that the only witness can’t tell his tale?”

Shaw stroked his chin, then nodded. “You think there’s only one creature because it’s a submersible, not a living beast, that someone from its crew was sent ashore to kidnap this man?”

“You’re right. I don’t like it,” Shaw said. “But it’s rather thin evidence to launch a fishing expedition.”

Alec ran his fingers through his hair and swore. Was it a long shot, connecting this megalodon with the biomech octopus? A group of people with scars upon their fingers, unique blood characteristics, members of their community disappearing…‌ one returning anemic, with most of the blood drained from his body. Isa was hiding something, and gut instinct told him this was tied to her husband’s research, Roideach and maybe even Davis’s death.

“Going to share, Mac?” Shaw stood with his arms crossed, giving him a look of growing annoyance.

He needed help. Professional, trustworthy help. And he could trust Shaw, trust his team. “What I’m going to tell you goes no further than the team. I’ve been commissioned by the Queen’s agents.”

Hours later, they left Fernsby’s office. It had been a difficult task, convincing Fernsby to bypass standard protocol, especially given Dr. Morgan had yet to clear Alec’s return to the team. In the end, the tenuous link to Davis’s death tipped the argument in their favor. They stepped into the BURR operations room and the team, bent over a nautical chart, looked up with interest.

Loyal to the Finn people but clearly unwilling to elaborate on his connection with a captain in the Royal Marines, Lieutenant Dunnet made himself scarce the moment Captain McCullough left the wardroom.

“He is not a man you should involve yourself with, Isa.” Her brother tugged at his collar. “A Scot investigating Finn deaths brings nothing but trouble.”

“Trouble is already here,” she countered, planting her hands on her hips. “You met him. Do you think he’ll drop this investigation? Not a chance. Better that I’m at his side to inform and guide him, lest he reach absurd conclusions.” He was a man of science, not one to believe humans could alter their form at will.

“Perhaps on the islands,” he said. “Here in Glasgow, Scottish men are happy to work for me and among our people. Here skill counts above all. Scars are ignored, and it’s a rare Finn who would invite commentary by falling into the water. We’re happy here. We’ve won a place here. But shove our people into the limelight, Isa, and we’re sure to suffer repercussions.”

“Better to let Finn fishermen disappear?” she shot back. “To wash up on shore, their blood drained by some kind of vampiric octopus?” She held back the details, as she’d promised. “You would ignore that to save your business?”

“I would let the elders of our community handle it as they see fit.” His eyes narrowed. “Time to go. My wife is preparing a noon meal to celebrate your return, and you’ll not miss it.”

Danel employed the entire duration of the carriage ride to fill her ears with ominous predictions should she continue her liaison with Captain McCullough.

As if she could so easily walk away from either the burning pleasures of his touch or the fascinating mysteries he presented, both on a personal and academic level. All she wanted to do was to hurry back to her townhome to scour Anton’s study, to hunt for the missing laboratory notebooks. But until she made an appearance among the Finnfolk of the Glasgow community, she would know no peace.

Passing the afternoon with her sister-in-law Livli was not at all a trial for it had been too long. But even as she laughed at the antics of her adorable nieces and nephews as they attempted to keep a feather aloft with puffs of air, an unwelcome knock came at her brother’s door.

“It’s been too long,” one woman said, shaking her head. “All this nonsense about mourning an entire year. Three months is sufficient, particularly when you’ve yet to fulfill your obligation to have children.” Tongues clucking, they presented Isa with lists and schedules and instructions as to how she must appear and behave when introduced to the next man she would marry.

Livli beamed at Isa, as if she did her widowed sister-in-law a great favor. Most Finn women would have been grateful, and Isa did her best to swallow her ire, if only for Livli’s sake, but she soon made her excuses.

Isa slammed the door behind her and fell backward against it, looking up at the glow of the gently rocking Lucifer lamp. Aether, they’d have her married by next Friday. This was why she’d fled Glasgow. Without a husband, would she be able to reestablish a medical practice here among the Finn? Certainly not while conducting an affair right beneath their very noses. It was becoming harder and harder to imagine a future in Scotland, at least one in which she controlled her own fate. If the University of Glasgow denied her admission once more, she might need to travel to London‌—‌or abroad‌—‌to train as a physician. Could she bring herself to take such a step?

Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift to thoughts of Alec. In less than five minutes behind the boiler, he’d managed to bring her to an intense state of arousal. She flushed at the memory. Keening at a man’s touch? A few days ago she’d have rolled her eyes at such a suggestion. What could he manage with no interruptions?

Anton had not been an unkind man, but never had their lovemaking‌—‌conducted quickly beneath the covers in the dark‌—‌ever elicited more than a warm satisfaction. If that. Over time, they’d drifted ever farther apart, his absences from home growing longer, until‌—‌their marriage in tatters‌—‌she’d finally confronted him. About her failed applications to medical school, his refusal to confide his research discoveries, and her assumption that he’d taken a mistress. Like an exploding boiler, he’d vented what must have been a long-simmering anger.

“Three years!” he’d ranted. “And not the slightest hope of a child.” He’d paced back and forth, stabbing his hands into his hair, tugging at the roots. “I should have followed my instincts. All that garish red hair proclaims your ancestry. Finn and Scot aren’t meant to mix. Damn your uncle and his promises.” Amidst tears and further accusations, he’d stormed from their home.

All that time Isa had believed her husband knew there was no possibility of children, that‌—‌during marriage negotiations with her uncle‌—‌he had agreed to the temporary use of contraceptives while the newlyweds established their careers. Lies had been told to them both.

The very next day he was dead, his words left behind to forever echo in her mind.

A cold shiver ran down her spine. Anton’s death had been unexpected, but she’d never suspected it was anything but an unfortunate incident. Not until now. Alec had mentioned missing laboratory notebooks, assuming someone at the Glaister Institute had stolen them from his laboratory. Because of Anton’s refusal to share his findings with her, she’d also assumed he kept his notes there. But if he were worried about a colleague stealing his work, might he have brought them home? If his work‌—‌their work‌—‌was linked to the recent rash of Finn deaths, she needed to know.

Where would he have secreted his laboratory notebooks? Somewhere his wife was unlikely to look but, charged with nearly all the domestic duties, where could that possibly be? The basement. He’d been in charge of maintaining the coal supply, shoveling deliveries from the coal chute into the furnace.

Isa launched into action, tossing off her jacket onto a chair and rolling up her sleeves. Grabbing a Lucifer lamp, she hurried down the narrow stairs. There, in the underground gloom, a small stack of boxes covered by a dusty tarp shoved between outmoded and broken equipment, saved for parts. She tossed aside the tarp and pried off the topmost lid.

A circulator, an agitator, a hand-cranked fuge. One by one, she set them all aside, digging to the bottom and pulling forth a single cloth-wrapped notebook. Muscles quivering with barely suppressed anger, she investigated the other boxes, but found nothing more.

Hours passed as she sat in the study, paging through academic scribblings of hypotheses tested, rejected, refined and repeated. Her eyes grew bleary as the afternoon light faded into darkness, but she kept reading. Anton had indeed been studying the blood of Finn patients without their consent. Unethical, yet seemingly innocuous.

But as relief began to replace suspicion, one particular notation leapt from the page: secretory glycoprotein. Her pulse jumped. Secretory? Her eyes raced down the page of experimental data. Not only had Anton managed to isolate factor Q, he’d discovered it was not a glycolipid as expected, but rather a glycoprotein, comprised of both carbohydrates and protein.

At this point, his handwriting grew increasingly illegible as he wrote of a series of inoculated blood cultures. But there, among his fevered jottings, a single telling phrase: hypoxic conditions release factor Q into the blood’s serum.

An unladylike string of curses worthy of a hardened sailor tore from her lips. How could he have kept such discoveries from her? Hypoxia was directly relevant to her own investigations into the effects of different surgical anesthetics upon their people. A large part of supplying a patient with anesthesia centered around ensuring that oxygen levels did not fall too low. He’d kept this from her knowing that further studies might elucidate why most Finn reacted poorly to a standard anesthesia mixture while others did not.

She shoved her fingers into her hair. Without a medical degree, without access to sufficient funds or the research facilities of the Glaister Institute, her work could proceed no further.

Cut off from the light of day and working under bright argon lights, Alec lost track of the hour. The coded brief had to be flawless. Everything rested on his shoulders. He would be breaking chain of command on two fronts‌—‌Naval and Queen’s agents‌—‌by sending a message directly to the Duke of Avesbury in London, requesting permission to engage the BURR team for a secret reconnaissance mission. If anything went wrong, it was his neck on the block.

By the time he was finally satisfied, the clock face on the far wall of the operations room informed him that it was twenty past midnight. He stretched out his aching leg, aware he’d sat for far longer than Dr. Morgan would approve.

“Done yet?” Moray pushed back from his own deck, stretching. “When are we going fishing?”

The HMS Beta Water Skimmer‌—‌responsible for the sightings‌—‌had been messaged for updates, and the Alpha and Gamma Skimmers contacted to see if they’d noticed anything unusually large about the fish population this winter. By the time approval came back from London‌—‌if it came‌—‌they needed to have the mission ready to execute.

The door to the operations room swung open and Shaw strode in, dropping a stack of paper on Alec’s desk. “This just in from HMS Alpha Skimmer. You need to take a look.”

Sightings. Depth readings and speed recordings. There was no way Alec was leaving the operations room, not even long enough to knock on Isa’s door for an overdue goodnight kiss.

He rubbed the back of his neck and grumbled at the piss-poor timing. Perhaps it was just as well. For the moment, there was too much he couldn’t share with her. He’d send a skeet pigeon with a note of apology and plead for her forgiveness.

Unable to sleep, Isa threw open a window to see what messages had come to roost. Outside in the dark, wee hours, five skeet pigeons perched on her window sill. Not many knew she had returned to Glasgow but, with only a handful of Finn working in the medical fields, word would spread quickly among them.

She plucked the canisters from the birds, unfurling the messages they carried. Three alone were from her mother, one message chiding her for involving herself in Larsa’s death, a second complaining about the Carrs, and a third praising Mrs. Carr’s efforts on Isa’s behalf and imploring her to return home to marry Elias.

Rigid with frustration, but unable to leave work. Know my every stray thought lingers behind a boiler, behind a button. Or ten. May not be free for hours or days.

Heat curled low in her belly at Alec’s words. Perhaps it was just as well. She needed time to process the data in Anton’s laboratory notes. There was too much she wasn’t ready to share.

The fifth bird hailed from Achiltibuie, a tiny village north of Ullapool, and the words scrawled upon the paper raised every hair on the back of her neck.

Help. Husband found on boat, clinging to life. A tentacle is lodged in his neck. Fear blood poisoning is about to set in. Cannot call the local doctor. Please come immediately.

Gathering the pigeons, she stuffed them into a canvas bag and slammed the window shut. Correspondence could be attended to from her boat. Weather permitting, at full throttle she might reach his bedside before midnight. En route, she would pen a reply to Alec assuring him that her recently altered opinion of shipboard machinery still held, that she would write again when she’d returned from attending the bedside of a patient whose condition was relevant to their investigation.