Chapter Nineteen

 

 

 

BY THE TIME DUSK FELL, Alec stood amidst a copse of trees, studying Allanach Castle. Reports of its reconstruction were greatly exaggerated. It was inhabitable, but just barely. The roof of the keep had been restored, though the same consideration had not been extended to the watchtower which rose above the loch at the end of the curtain wall, some distance from the main structure. Scaffolding climbed one side of the keep where it appeared glaziers were at work during the daylight hours, installing windows.

If any significant sum had been poured into this building, he was willing to bet he’d find the investment concentrated in the lower portion of the castle, in the dungeons, where screams were muffled and small, high-set barred windows discouraged prying eyes.

Once, before succumbing to mediocrity, Lord Roideach’s laboratory at the Institute was a source of groundbreaking marine biotechnology. Though his skirt-chasing tendencies and sudden, intense interest in his family history could explain the behaviors of many spoiled gentlemen, Alec was now convinced something more underlay the man’s long absences from his laboratory.

What if Roideach had found compelling hypotheses that fell outside acceptable ethical parameters? Where better to pursue interests of the gray‌—‌or even black‌—‌variety than inside the walls of his very own ruinous, isolated castle? Like so many of the gentry, however, his funds were stretched thin. Which, if Alec’s supposition was correct, begged the subsequent question: who provided funding?

Alec already knew the why. Selkies.

In times past, the possibility of their existence would have been ignored by academia, lumped with the faerie, the stuff of myth and legends. But with the arrival of kraken and pteryforms, creatures so common now in London’s rivers and skies that they posed a nuisance, should he be surprised at such possibilities? Cryptozoologists were forever discovering new and strange animals‌—‌such as hyena fish. Why not, then, odd human variants?

Which circled Alec back to the conclusion that Isa was a selkie. Or that Roideach believed her to be one.

Not that it mattered. Experimentation upon unwilling human participants was not to be tolerated. Isa and her people were most definitely human, though they did appear to possess some extraordinary aquatic talents that might cause people to think otherwise. Such skills only strengthened the pull of her attraction upon him.

In the time he’d stood watch, Alec had detected no obvious guards, save the gardener and the shepherd who‌—‌given the late hour‌—‌showed a suspicious dedication to their assigned tasks. But they were obstacles easily eliminated. More worrisome was the fact that light only flickered behind three windows. Had instinct led him astray?

He’d find out as soon as the sun finished slipping over the horizon.

His primary goal was to rescue a damsel in distress. What happened next would depend upon what he found after breaching the castle walls. Or‌—‌he adjusted the focus of the sight upon his rifle‌—‌after scaling the scaffolding to slip through one particular low-set window secured by heavily oxidized iron bars.

How they would exit would depend upon Isa’s medical condition. With luck, they’d leave on the backs of the two black, clockwork horses that stood behind him, oiled and fine-tuned, their drive springs tightly wound. Given the proximity of the loch, he was also prepared for a wet exit. Alec might be on his own, but the fact that he had options at all was courtesy of his superior’s willful blindness.

Nearly an entire day had passed since he’d left Glasgow.

Preparing for his trek into the highlands to save one Mrs. Isa McQuiston, Alec had returned to the BURR operations room to acquire a few specialty items. The room had been dark, all men elsewhere.

“Is that you, Captain McCullough?” Fernsby asked, stepping from his office.

Hands on an air rifle and a box of tranquilizer darts, Alec froze. The timing couldn’t have been worse. “Pursuing a lead, sir,” he said, slowly turning to face his commanding officer.

“I regret to inform you that Mr. Black was unable to recover the samples recovered during your last mission. Commodore Drummond has declined an explanation and remains unapologetic.” Fernsby’s lips pressed together in displeasure. “However, I understand a woman‌—‌quite alive‌—‌rescued during this same mission has also gone missing?”

“Yes, sir.”

Fernsby lifted a sheet of paper and peered through spectacles perched upon the end of his nose. “According to Rip’s report, at least one individual appeared to have been attacked by an octopus while the rest of the human remains had been severed by the ‘razor-edged teeth of a biomechanical megalodon and fed upon by hundreds if not thousands of hyena fish’.”

“Accurate, sir.”

Eyebrows raised, Fernsby looked at Alec. “Quite a bloody scene, I imagine.”

“It was, sir.”

“While you were under the knife‌—‌again,” Fernsby’s eyebrow lifted, informing Alec that his continuing disability was noted and categorized as worrisome, “the rest of your team was called to Edinburgh. Seems we’re to be involved with providing security for the Iceland-Demark wedding as Queen Victoria’s personal gift to the bride and groom.” He shook his head. “Ridiculous, building a floating castle.”

“A floating castle?” Alec blinked, recalling his sister’s words. “Built of iron and steel?”

“And of copper and brass and about any alloy they could think to bolt, rivet or weld to the structure.” Fernsby waved a hand. “But it’s not your concern. Mr. Black made it clear that you are attached to the Queen’s agents until the situation surrounding this megalodon is resolved.”

“Yes, sir.” A moment’s stirring of regret‌—‌the mechanics of a floating castle aroused his curiosity‌—‌was quickly replaced by relief. No one would be ordering him to step away from his mission to discover and stop the biomech octopus attacks.

“Good. Fold any actions taken within the next forty-eight hours into the reports of this most recent mission.” Fernsby turned, calling over his shoulder as he disappeared back into his office. “I expect any equipment and munitions expended to be accounted for.” He fixed Alec with a look. “I’ve a promotion pending. As do you. Proceed accordingly.” His office door slammed.

Tacit permission received, Alec had wasted no time, dragging a large rucksack into the middle of the floor. Keeping in mind the very real possibility that he might be carrying Isa along with all his gear, he gathered the bare minimum of equipment and headed for the highlands. Several hours later, he’d arrived at Allanach Castle on horseback.

A gust of wind snapped his mind back to the present.

Night had fallen. Time to act. Alec lifted the air rifle’s sight to his eye, surveilling the castle and grounds once more. With a muffled pop, he dropped the shepherd amidst his flock with one dart. The TTX poison injected into his system would wear off in a few hours with no residual effects. The gardener fell next.

Slinging the rifle over his back and clipping his gear into place, Alec froze. There, in the distance, a figure rose from the water at the edge of the loch.

He yanked a spyglass from his pocket and lifted it to his eye. An icy chill took hold of his core. Dripping wet and wearing nothing but a simple pair of trousers, the man walked to the castle door‌—‌and was granted admittance. What the hell was Commodore Drummond doing here?

~~~

Isa woke with a start, heart pounding. Again she floated in the tank. The obfuscation goggles were in place, her wrists tightly bound. This time the water wasn’t ice cold, but rather pleasantly cool, like the sea in late summer. A gentle current circulated through the water. None of it calmed her in the slightest. They’d been far too interested in her blood.

She could make out Thomas sitting beside the tank, holding some kind of stick. But for the stick, the sight of the boy would have brought a certain measure of relief.

“If you promise not to scream, I’ll unbuckle the chin strap.”

Though her stomach churned, she nodded. What choice did she have? Screaming would only bring back Miss Russel or, worse, Lord Roideach. Waterlogged leather loosened from her chin, and the oxygen tube dropped away. “Why are you here?” she rasped, her voice rusty with disuse.

“Me?” He blinked, as if no one had ever asked. “Lord Roideach is my father. My mother is a selkie, like you.”

Her breath caught. Thomas was half Finn? Never before had Isa ever heard mention of Finn gentry, though this child might be exactly that. “Is your mother…‌ here?” Had they married? Either way, Isa prayed Lord Roideach wouldn’t experiment upon his child’s mother.

Thomas jabbed at something in the water, then shook his head. “No. She found her seal skin and left when I was a baby.” His voice held a note of longing. Imagine that, heir to a viscounty, yet he wished himself something else entirely. “But sometimes she visits. Soon I’m going to the ocean to get my own seal skin.”

“We don’t have skins,” Isa said. Not in the sense he believed. Gray seal pelts were purely ceremonial, traditionally given to children at the dipping ceremony when an elder presented them to the ancient sea gods. Perhaps he meant that? “Nor do we shape shift. But we are really good swimmers. Have you never been to the seaside?”

His head shook. “Father won’t allow it. I’m too valuable.”

“As the next viscount, of course,” she said.

“No. In the laboratory. He needs my blood. I have webbing between my fingers and everything.” His voice held a note of pride.

Something pliable touched her hip, the merest brush across her skin. Thomas jabbed his stick into the water again.

“What was that?” Isa cried, twisting on the rope that bound her wrists, her eyes struggling to focus on whatever swam through the water beside her. Ice crystallized in her veins and arteries.

Thomas ignored her. “But your blood is better even if your hair is red. Father says full-blooded selkies are better.”

“Better?” Her voice rose an octave as something rubbery curled about her thigh. When Thomas didn’t lift his stick, she kicked it away. “Thomas, what‌—‌exactly‌—‌is in the tank with me?”

“The tentacles,” he answered, as if she ought to know. “You shouldn’t have kicked that one away. That’s exactly where it needs to be. You’re lucky. It’s only been an hour and the tentacle has tried to stick to you seven times already.”

“What!” Her pulse thrashed in her ears as realization struck her with the force of a tidal wave. The tentacle was probing her leg, searching for a blood vessel. Like all the fishermen before her, she was about to become the biomech octopus’s newest victim.

“You promised you wouldn’t scream.” The boy reached toward her chin, toward the leather strap.

Isa yanked her face away. “Please, make it stop.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said. “I don’t want to. But Father says if it works, he’ll take me to the seaside. I’ll get my own skin and then I can be with my mother. I’m tired of living in this castle. The loch is freshwater, and my mother doesn’t like that.”

Panic rose in her throat, threatening to drown her. “Who is your mother?”

“A real selkie, of course,” he said with exasperation. “She looks like me. Father says we have the same eyes.” A tentacle was back, probing her ankle. The boy swatted it away with his stick. “Eight times now. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it sticks in the right place.”

“Show me your face,” Isa demanded, grasping at straws. “Perhaps I know her.”

After a long moment of silence, Thomas reached out and pushed the obfuscation goggles onto her forehead. Isa gasped. Maren’s child stared down at her. She’d know those gray eyes, that expression anywhere. Maren had married a Scottish lord.

“Do you?” The boy’s eyes were wide. “Can you take me to her?”

“I do. But‌—‌” A tentacle slid across the skin of Isa’s thigh, and she swallowed a gasp. The soft tip tapped gently, as if searching for something. It paused.

“You won’t. Won’t help.” He crossed his arms. “None of the others would either.”

“Swat it away,” she pleaded, kicking.

“No,” Thomas pouted. “That’s exactly where it’s supposed to go. If you hold really still, it hurts less.”

“Please,” she begged. “I don’t want this. Let me out of this tank.”

The soft, muscular tube slithered around her leg, tightening its grip as its suckers attached themselves to her skin, directly above her femoral vein.

Tears welled in her eyes. Sea to sand, she was going to end as a corpse, washed up on some distant shore. Isa opened her mouth to beg again, but all words were cut off by a sharp, stabbing pain. She kicked, fighting against the creature that had her in its grips, but the beast merely gripped her thigh more tightly. The tip of the tentacle twisted and turned and it bore downward and inward, burrowing into her skin.

Isa screamed.