Arcane Rising (The Darkland Druids Book 1) Page 2

  We reached the landing and I leaned against the wall, catching my breath. This city was making me feel severely inadequate in the fitness department and I’d only been here an hour.

  “Here we are.” Mrs. Campbell unlocked the door and handed me the key. “Now, everything you need is inside, but if you have any questions, read the book.”

  I gathered that was my cue that she was releasing me into the wild, so I thanked her and pushed open the door, my suitcase wheels bumping over the threshold.

  The apartment was a one-bedroom with a little bathroom. A living area made up the rest of the space with a kitchenette, couch, TV, and a two-seater dining table by the window.

  Outside, I could see the Royal Mile and the little bus stop below. The building was situated at the bottom end, away from most of the noise, but it was busy enough for the middle of the afternoon.

  A book and a box of shortbread biscuits—obviously bought from one of the many souvenir shops downstairs—sat on the dining table. I left my suitcase by the bed and slid into a chair and sighed. I was going to get strong thighs walking up all those stairs…and the hills! Edinburgh had so many inclines to traverse it was almost a punishment, or a cruel joke at tourists’ expense.

  I picked up the book—which turned out to be a plastic display folder—and flipped through the pages. Liking my new surroundings already, I smiled at the thought the landlady had put into the information. There was even a bus timetable slipped into one of the pockets.

  Mrs. Campbell seemed like a nice old lady, but I got the feeling I shouldn’t cross her, otherwise her inner dragon would appear.

  I looked out the window again as jet lag tried to pull me towards the bedroom. Shaking my head, I rubbed my scratchy eyes and grabbed my bag. I’d just spent thirty hours either on an aeroplane or queuing up to get on one, and now that I was finally here, I wanted to explore.

  Secretly, I wanted to find my father.

  I hesitated at the door, my hand pausing on the handle, and I sniffed my armpit. Cringing, I dumped my bag back onto the table. First things first, Elspeth. A shower to wash your stink off, then exploring.

  It was only polite, after all.

  Greyfriars Kirk was nestled at one end of Edinburgh’s Old Town, and while it didn’t look far on the map, my lungs were burning by the time I found the gates.

  Thick grass covered the lawns and there was a gravesite, headstone, or plaque everywhere I looked. They were even set into the walls of the cottages backing onto the kirkyard. At the centre was the church itself, complete with modern upgrades. They still held services and a light shone from within. It calmed me a little knowing someone else was about and I wasn’t the only fool wandering in a graveyard full of ghosts at twilight.

  Many of the headstones were large and ornate, with statues of angels and crosses. Some were buried underground, and others—who were obviously rich and important—had mausoleums with locked doors.

  I stopped at the end of the row and looked up at the carvings on the last gravesite. I studied the skull and crossbones—and the dancing skeleton—wondering why anyone would want to put such a thing on their tombstone. They were a morbid lot in the sixteenth century—I wondered why. Underneath, the words memento mori were carved into the stone. Memento Mori, remember you must die.

  I thought of my dad, and the news the police had brought with them on New Year’s Eve. There wasn’t anything left to bury. He was swallowed up by the fire in the blink of an eye. There was nothing the crew could do to save him. We’re sorry for your loss.

  There would be no grave. No place to go and mourn. Nothing but memory.

  I shivered and buried my hands into my coat pockets, realising a mist had begun to form in the lengthening shadows.

  Turning away, I walked along the path, my boots crunching against the damp gravel. A plaque on the stone wall told me all about the city’s original outer defences—the Flodden Wall.

  After the Scottish forces were defeated by the English at the battle of Flodden in 1513—and resulting in the death of their king, James IV—Edinburgh’s officials were frightened that the victorious army would besiege the city. The wall was built to defend their territory.

  I pressed my palm against the stone and imagined the army on the field and the people in the city—who must have been terrified of what would become of them without a monarch on the throne. Maybe they didn’t care. Food and shelter must have been more pressing matters for the common folk of the time, rather than who governed them.

  I walked under the arch, finding another stretch of gravesites beyond. The mist seemed to thicken, and I glanced over my shoulder. It was spooky without anyone else around and I began to wonder if the kirkyard was closed. I checked my watch, finding it was almost four, but being winter, it was already dark.

  Streetlights were turning on, bathing the kirkyard in orange light and the sudden change was eerie. Must be the dancing skeletons and ghost stories creeping me out.

  The row of gravestones shimmered and began to lengthen, multiplying into the distance. The city faded and disappeared, leaving me standing in an unknown world.

  I stumbled and my heart began to race. What in the world…?

  Frightened, I turned and almost smacked into a man standing behind me. I yelped as his smile widened, his pointed teeth glimmering in the orange glow of the lamplight.

  I was frozen to the spot, staring at him in shock. His eyes were black; there were no whites or iris’—just two pools of pitch-black nothingness.

  He grabbed me, moving like a bolt of lightning, and his hands bit into the flesh of my arms. I screamed as my knees buckled, terror gripping my senses as blinding pain tore through my head.

  A shadowy shape leapt out from behind a headstone, barking and baring its teeth. The dog latched onto the man’s leg, growling and shaking its jaws back and forth.

  The force of the dog’s attack dislodged the man’s grip on me, and I staggered back a few steps, my breath catching as I held my throbbing head.

  A second man loomed behind them—dark and tall amongst the tendrils of the mist—and his gaze fell onto mine. He almost looked startled to see me there, but it was only for a moment before his expression turned thunderous. He moved towards me faster than my eyes could follow, but it was enough to snap me back into reality. The reality where I was being attacked by monsters in a misty graveyard.

  I fled through the kirkyard, passing underneath the arch, desperately searching for the church where I’d seen the light on inside. Mist swirled around my ankles as I ran, but all I found were more tombs.

  Stone skeletons and menacing angels stood silent in the gloom, fuelling the terror in my heart. Skidding to a stop, I turned around, searching for a way out of my nightmare.

  The mist had swallowed the city and the sounds of the men…and the dog. It’d been a huge thing, like a German Shepard, only all black. No wonder I hadn’t seen it.

  But that man… His teeth… His eyes.

  Spotting the gate through the mist, I took off again, crossing the grass. It was muddy and I almost slipped on my arse, but I made it without falling. My fear began to ease as the city appeared.

  A car whooshed by on the narrow road, reminding me that I wasn’t alone. No one else was around, but there had to be people in the houses. I fumbled in my bag, wondering what the emergency number for the police was in Scotland.

  “Where are you going?”

  The sound of a male voice caused me to spin and I came face to face with the second man—the one with the dog.

  Before I could react, he’d grabbed my arm and nearly pulled me off my feet.

  “Let me go!” I cried as he began to drag me towards a narrow lane.

  First him and his dog were saving me from whatever that other guy was, and now he was trying to kidnap me? I didn’t have a clue what was going on. It was a jet-lag-induced psychosis brought about by my repressed grief over my dad’s death. It wasn’t right not to cry when your only parent died. This was my punishment,
right?

  “Don’t fash yourself,” the man said. “I’m only trying to help.”

  “By dragging me into the alley so you can—” I choked on my words and began to panic. I didn’t come all this way only to be kidnapped, assaulted, and murdered. There was no way in hell I was going to become another number.

  “Who are you?” he asked. “Where did you come from?”

  “Your worst nightmares, creep!” I shouted.

  With a cry of rage, I swung my fist at the man’s face, startling him enough so I could stamp my boot on his foot. He yelped in surprise and his grip on my arm loosened. I wrenched myself free and took off, sprinting down the road with energy I never knew I had.

  And I didn’t look back.

  3

  I didn’t know how long I’d been running before I saw a police station up ahead.

  Why was it so hard to find a cop shop in this city? Budget cuts, I thought. It’s always budget cuts.

  I hurtled through the front door and slapped my palms down onto the counter, startling the young man at the desk. He spilled his coffee, the brown liquid dripping onto his trousers.

  “Christ Almighty,” he exclaimed in a thick accent. “Will ye watch the door, lass!”

  “I’d like to report a crime,” I declared between heaving breaths. “Someone just tried to kidnap me.”

  “Attempted kidnapping, ye say?” He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Please take a seat.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Take a seat?”

  “Yes,” he said, brushing at the coffee stain on his trousers. “Take. A. Seat.”

  Behind the partition, a man rolled a chair across the room and leaned back so he could see me. He seemed to be in his early thirties, lean and muscular, and dressed in a navy suit with an off-white shirt and loosened black tie. He smoothed his palm through his close-cropped hair and smiled at me.

  “Don’t fash yourself, lass,” he said. “I’ll hear your report.”

  The officer at the window looked taken aback. “But—”

  “I said, I’ll listen to the lass’ report, constable,” he snapped. “Now bugger off and get yourself a stale doughnut to go with that shite you call coffee.”

  The constable scowled and scurried away from the desk, cursing under his breath as he disappeared through the mostly empty offices.

  “I apologise for my colleague’s briskness,” the man said, standing and moving towards the counter. “There’s a reason some people are assigned desk jobs.”

  I’ll say.

  “Detective Murray,” he added, holding out his hand. “And you are?”

  “Elspeth Quarrie,” I replied, shaking his hand. “I, uh…” His grasp was firm and confident—everything I wasn’t—and I flushed.

  “You look like you’ve had quite the fright, lass. Can I get you something warm to drink?”

  “No, I…” I sighed and nodded. “Yeah. That would be great.”

  “Tea? Coffee?”

  “Tea.”

  The detective smiled and rounded the front counter. “Let’s go into one of the interview rooms, hey? It’s warmer and a little more private.”

  He ushered me down the hall into a back room. Inside, it looked just like interview rooms did on TV. There was a stainless-steel table bolted to the floor with two chairs on either side and a mirror covered one end of the room, which was likely two-way mirror. A surveillance camera was also built into one of the corners, where it was out of reach by the unfortunate interviewee.

  There was nothing else in here for obvious reasons.

  “Have a seat and I’ll be back in a moment,” Detective Murray said. “The chairs are quite cold, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh…” I blinked, and he flashed a smile before he left to fetch my tea.

  I sat on the chair, frowning when I found it to be ice cold. The chill spread through my arse cheeks and I snorted. A brilliant end to a brilliant day of disasters. First the airport was on the fritz, then…

  Oh hell, what was I doing here?

  How was I meant to tell the police I’d been grabbed in a dark, misty graveyard by a man with pointy teeth and black eyes? And that was only the half of it. They’d think I was crazy, send me to a hospital for a psychological evaluation, and I’d be deported back to Australia.

  I looked at the mirror and studied the reflection of the interview room, avoiding myself. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I shivered. Shoving my hands into my coat pockets, I began to wonder if coming to Scotland was a mistake. After all, Dad had left for a reason.

  When Detective Murray returned, he held a disposable cup in one hand and a notepad and pen in the other. Suddenly, I felt extremely foolish.

  “The longer I sit here, the sillier this all seems,” I told him. “I don’t want to waste your time.”

  I went to stand but he shook his head. “Don’t worry about that,” he said, setting the cup down in front of me. “If it puts your mind at ease, then I’ll listen. It’s my job.”

  I sighed. Well, if it was his job.

  He sat on opposite side of the table and clicked the button on the pen in his hand. “Are you a tourist or do you live in Edinburgh?”

  I blinked, the night’s events and my exhausted state started to catch up with me.

  “Your accent,” he prodded.

  “I, uh… I’m a tourist, I suppose. I have a UK passport, but I live in Australia. My dad was Scottish.”

  “Was?”

  I hesitated. “He died recently.”

  “Oh, I see.” He frowned and leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  I looked down at the paper cup, watching a stray tea leaf float in the milky drink. He didn’t press for more information and I was thankful. I didn’t want to talk about my dad’s death. Ever.

  “How long have you been in the UK?”

  “I got here this afternoon.”

  The detective paused for a moment then said, “Only a few hours? What a welcome. I personally apologise on behalf of the Scottish people.”

  I managed a tiny smile and looked up at him. His eyes sparkled and an eerie calmness flowed through me.

  “What happened tonight, Miss Quarrie?” he asked, his tone gentle. “Take your time. We’re in no rush.”

  I reached for the tea, but my hands began to shake so I pulled back and glanced at the two-way mirror. The image was distorted—a fault in the glass most likely—and the detective’s reflection wavered as he leaned forwards.

  “We’re alone,” he said, following my gaze. “No one’s watching. Everything you tell me is confidential, for the report.”

  “Well, I… I was excited to see the city, even though I was tired,” I began. “Am tired, I mean. I heard it’s better to stay awake until your regular bedtime in a new time zone to stop jet lag. So, I went to Greyfriars Kirk. I heard it was beautiful there, and it didn’t seem far on the map… But the light faded faster than I realised, and it was hilly…”

  “It gets dark quite early here during the winter,” Detective Murray explained. “Most visitors don’t realise.”

  “It’s the country’s location in correlation with the North Pole,” I said. “The closer to a pole, the shorter days become in wintertime. They’re longer in the summer.”

  The detective chuckled. “That’s right. Are you a scientist?”

  “Uh, my dad was. He taught me a lot of things growing up.”

  “I see.” He gestured for me to continue with my report.

  “There weren’t any other people around, but lights were on in the church, so I thought nothing of it.” I went on to tell him how the man came out of the shadows and grabbed me, carefully omitting the part about the eyes and teeth. Then I added everything that came next with the second man and the dog.

  Detective Murray was thoughtful for a moment. “Did it seem to you that they knew one another?”

  “I don’t think so…”

  “And the dog. A black German Shepard?”

  “Thi
s all sounds so silly,” I said lamely. “I don’t know why I—” I swallowed hard, fighting back tears.

  “It’s not,” Detective Murray said. “If a woman is threatened by two men on the street, we want to know about it. Don’t be afraid of sounding silly. The police take these matters extremely seriously, Miss Quarrie. We want more women to speak up about violence against them. It’s how progress is made.”

  I began to worry the hem of my jumper. “Well, uh, when you put it that way…”

  “I’ll have the constable file your report and the descriptions of the two men. We’ll do what we can to track them down.”

  “Are you sure you want to give it to him?” I wondered out loud.

  “Aye, an astute remark.” Detective Murray laughed. “Serves him right for speaking to you the way he did.” He looked at his watch and clicked his pen. “It’s the end of my shift. How about I give you a ride back to your hotel? It wouldn’t be very policeman-like of me to send you out there on your own in the dark. Not after the night you’ve had.”

  “Oh, I can get a taxi. It’s fine.”

  “It’s no bother, Miss Quarrie,” he told me. “It would be my pleasure to end your first day in Scotland on a brighter note.”

  I paused a moment. It wasn’t likely he was going to be the third predator I’d meet today. Besides, he was a cop.

  There are crooked cops, Elspeth, I thought. Oh, shut up.

  “That would be great, if it’s not too much trouble,” I said. “I don’t really know the way back.”

  He grinned and gestured to the door. “Not a problem at all, lass. It would be my pleasure.”

  Detective Murray was true to his word and saw me to the front door of Mrs. Campbell’s serviced apartments on the Royal Mile.

  When he pulled his unmarked police car into the end of the bus stop, I was surprised when he got out the car with me. Parking illegally and a little presumptuous… I’d have to remember that.

  “Well, here we are, Miss Quarrie,” he said, looking up at the building. “Safe and sound.”