Muddy Swirl of Torments

“I told you to fucking watch him.” On the long drive back to Buntzen Lake from Vancouver, all Estrada could think about were the vampires. He kept seeing Eliseo’s snarling face in the alleyway and Zion’s arrogant sneer when he turned up on their yacht with Michael. Estrada tried to shake the image of fangs sinking into Conall’s neck. If they thought that abducting the bard would send him running right into Diego’s trap, they were right. He’d take all his anger and thrust a knife through Diego’s fucking brain.

“I had to piss.” Dylan held up his fingers. “I left him alone for five minutes.” The tips of his ears burned red.

Sylvia’s chin jutted in her defense of Dylan. “Conall is a grown man, Estrada. A Druid warrior. He’s not a child who needs minding.”

“A grown man who’s vampire bait. A man who knows no one, has no money, and next to no sense of this world and its pitfalls. He can’t even read English.” He remembered how vulnerable he’d felt when he landed back in Ireland with nothing but a horse. At least, he’d been with friends. “How long’s he been gone?”

“Three hours,” Dylan said. “We’d just finished lunch.”

“Jesus, fuck, Dylan.” Estrada scowled.

“Don’t blame Dylan. It’s not his fault,” Sylvia said.

No, it’s my fault, Estrada thought. I know it, and they know it. I left him. The night of Ruairí’s inauguration at Croghan Hill, they’d got deliciously drunk. Estrada said he was worried about Dylan as no one from the blacksmith’s house had come to the inauguration. He needed to check if they were all right. “I’ll come with you,” Conall had said, but then he’d passed out. So Estrada left him sleeping and went on his own. When Conall saw him later, the first thing he did was slap him hard across the face. He was furious that Estrada had left without him.

What if the bard was so angry at being left again that he’d gone off somewhere on his own? Estrada rubbed his burning eyes with his palms. “God damn it. Where the fuck is he?” He glanced around the living room at their somber faces. Sylvia sat rigid in the velvet armchair. Daphne and Raine slouched on the couch. Too wired to sit, Dylan leaned against the French doors, arms crossed over his chest, eyes averting his gaze.

Sensara took Estrada’s arm and hauled him into the room. “You’re vibrating, and you know as well as I do, reptilian brain cannot process. It only reacts.” She handed him a glass of wine and sat down on the rug with her back to the couch.

“You know him best, Estrada,” Daphne said. “Do you think he might have gone somewhere on his own?”

Was she reading his mind? Estrada set the wineglass on the coffee table and hunkered down beside Sensara. “Where would he go?” His head pounded. He rubbed his temples and the back of his neck. It was as tight as a Harley tire. He licked his dry lips. He was dehydrated. Hung over. But that craving for water brought sudden inspiration. “He likes to swim.”

Estrada remembered watching Conall swimming in the lake at Croghan, his long arms breaking the surface in the moonlight. It was Beltane. When he’d sauntered toward him naked and dripping, Estrada had wanted him. Perhaps if they’d made love then, Conall would be with him now instead of out there alone in the world with vengeful vampires.

“We searched around the lake already,” Sensara’s lips flattened, and he knew she was thinking that if Conall had been gone for three hours, he may have drowned.

“It’s a large lake surrounded by a massive forest,” Raine said. “If he’s a decent swimmer, he could have swum to the other side and gotten lost. We should fan out and check again. Call Search and Rescue.”

“Check the woods, yes, but no cops.” There was no way he was getting the police involved. “What would we say? Our friend from Iron Age Ireland went missing. He may have been abducted by vampires?”

Daphne giggled. “I’m sorry, but it sounds ridiculous when you put it like that.”

“Maybe so, but what about those fucking ravens?” Estrada had been thinking about them since he’d heard the news of Conall’s disappearance but feared to speak the words, in case saying it made it so.

“Ravens couldn’t abduct a grown man.” Sensara said.

“But they’re not ravens. They’re vampires. And they carried you from the upper window of a lodge all the way to Diego’s island. Flew with you in their talons.”

“Oh god.” Daphne hung her head, the smile gone from her face.

“It’s true,” Dylan said. “They’re quick and strong, and if they think Conall is important to Estrada, they might have taken him as bait.”

“Yeah, that’s why they took Lucy. And you.” Estrada touched Sensara’s knee. She raised her fist and pumped the air.

“If that were the case, wouldn’t Conall have cried out? Or fought them?” Sylvia searched their faces. “We were right here, clearing the table and stacking the dishes. The French doors were open, and we heard nothing.”

“Fuck. Have you got some pain killers?” Estrada rubbed his temples. His head was exploding.

Sensara walked into the hall and grabbed her purse, then tossed him a bottle of pills. Rather than swallow them with wine, he padded into the kitchen and filled a beer stein with water. Between the wine, smoke, sex, and taste of Michael’s blood, his brain was demanding sleep. But how could he sleep now? How could he ever sleep again? God damn it. Why did I leave him without a word? It was a completely thoughtless and selfish move.

They sat in silence for several minutes while he hung his head over the kitchen sink. Guilty. Defeated.

“Did he say anything after I left?” Estrada asked at last. He splashed water on his face, needing to resuscitate his ragged brain.

“Conall’s a deeply spiritual and introspective man,” Sylvia said. “He takes everything in but says very little.”

“He expresses himself through his music. When he played those pipes . . .” A piper himself, Dylan was impressed with the bard’s talent.

Estrada glanced at Daphne. “Did you tell him where I went?”

“Where did you go?” Sensara asked.

Estrada glared at her.

“It’s a fair question and relevant to this discussion. If you two are in a relationship, and you suddenly left—”

“I didn’t,” Daphne interjected.

“Conall didn’t seem bothered.” Dylan shrugged. “We sat out back for the longest time. Neither of us talking. Me thinking about Máire back in Ireland and him staring at the trees. I think he was communicating with them in a very sacred way.”

“He can hear their voices. Christ, he talked to my cacti. Apparently, they need rainwater, rather than tap water.”

“That’s beautiful,” Daphne said. “And yes, tap water contains pathogens that are harmful to plants.”

“Unless he’s gone into the woods to hermit, I can’t think of any other place he could be. He knows no one but me. Has no phone. And no other friends.”

“Is he a hermit?” Daphne glanced at Sylvia. “You talked to him the longest today, Syl. Do you think he might have gone into the woods to be alone with his gods?”

Sylvia raised her hands. She didn’t know. She’d done all the talking.

But Estrada remembered their time at the lake near Croghan. “That’s a possibility. He once lived in a hut like a hermit.” When they were collecting deadfalls, he’d offered Estrada space in that hut. Conall had loved him even then. Estrada’s eyes filled with tears. “What have I done?”

“Easy man,” Dylan padded his shoulder. “This is all conjecture.”

“What if he wandered into the forest to talk to the trees and the vampires took him from there?” Sensara said.

Estrada took a step back. “If he was in the woods, you wouldn’t have seen or heard him if he struggled. Right?” He glanced at Sylvia, who shook her head.

“Let’s assume that Conall wandered into the woods and the vampires took that opportunity to abduct him. How would we know? Will they send a message?”

“Good question, Raine. How did you know they’d taken Lucy?” Sensara reached out her hand as if to summon him toward her. But Estrada didn’t want to go. Not with the answer burning on his lips.

The roses, he thought. They’d left a red rose on Ruby Carvello’s corpse, on Nora Barnes’ windowsill, and in Lucy’s crib. Michael had been the connecting cord. And Michael had been with him today when Conall had disappeared.

What did that mean? Estrada’s brain hurt but kept spinning. Michael had been more expressive than usual. He’d relinquished control, and what had he said? I love you no matter what happens. Did Michael know what was going to happen? Had the vampires tasked him with keeping Estrada occupied while they abducted Conall? Fuck.

“Estrada?” Sensara called him back. “How did you know?”

“Know what?” He shook his head, trying to erase the question whose answer would only break his heart.

“How did you know they’d kidnapped Lucy?”

Estrada sighed. “If they’ve taken him, they’ll get a message to us. All we can do is wait.”

But no message came. Estrada spent the next three nights at the house praying that Conall would return. He tried to think like him. An introspective man, Estrada rarely knew what the bard was thinking unless he asked a direct question. He realized that, although they’d been together for weeks, he knew very little about the man. He knew Conall had been in love with his best friend, Ruairí, and that love was unrequited. He knew he’d been victimized by a man whom he hated. And he knew the bard was an incredibly talented musician who just wanted to play and sing for the joy of it.

His pipes were missing, and that gave Estrada hope. Maybe the trees had beckoned, and he’d gone into the woods to pray as a Druid might. Perhaps, in his culture, it was acceptable to disappear from time to time to be with the gods. Everything else the nobles did together at Croghan—all of them eating, sleeping, and playing in one big house. When they needed time alone, it was logical, they’d wander off for a while. Hadn’t Estrada done the same thing? Left without a word?

On Tuesday morning, Estrada called Nigel and arranged to meet. Michael texted several times. Estrada replied, though he still wondered if he was involved in Conall’s disappearance. If he was, Michael could be the messenger.

When Sensara taught her weekly psychic development class in Port Moody that evening, he looked after Lucy. She arrived home beaming.

“What’s up?” Estrada was out on the upstairs balcony, watching the stars, and praying. He loved The House on Hawk’s Claw Lane, and this was his favorite lair.

“I saw Conall in my meditation tonight.”

“Where?”

“He was surrounded by plants, in a greenhouse or garden center. There was classical music playing.”

“Here in Port Moody?”

“I couldn’t tell, but he was happy. I don’t think he’s been kidnapped. That’s why we’ve heard nothing.” Sensara threw her arms around him and hugged him.

Estrada swallowed hard to ease the tightening in his throat. “He left me.” The words came out in a choke. To hide his burning eyes, he buried his face in her shoulder. He tried to imagine what it must have been like for Conall to arrive in this new world with nothing, but all he could think about was his own shame. Conall wanted to be his lover and Estrada couldn’t even give him that. Then he’d disappeared without a word and gone back to Michael.

“Were you two in a relationship?”

“No.” Estrada sniffed. “I mean, maybe he wanted . . .”

“And you?”

“I don’t know what I want, Sara. I never fucking do.” He broke then and fell into her lap weeping.