~

“You know, you could be a bit nicer to me.” Malachi startled me once more with that whole; appears as if by magic thing as I tended to the plants in the greenhouse, and I curbed the urge I had to zap him so hard I gave his hair a frizzy perm.

That was the second time I’d been lost in thought and hadn’t felt him approaching; it was getting annoying. I wasn’t Gran with her freakish; knowing when company was coming thing without the aid of a broom falling over, but still, he should have pinged my magical radar.

“I like to start as I mean to go on,” I tossed back over my shoulder.

I turned my body towards him a little more, but I was easing my stance around him now. I hated to say that I was getting used to having him around, especially after Gran’s warning, but that was the crux of it.

“Ouch — such resistance to us becoming … friends.”

I tossed a quick look at him along with a snort of contempt. I didn’t much care for the way he’d said; friends. And what is it with men? Even when they felt unwelcome, they still stood there as if they belonged.

First Jack, then bat-boy, and now Malachi. I seemed doomed to being around annoying, strong, opinionated, self-confident, eejit men. But at least one of the three wasn’t mine — that wasn’t to say that the other two were, Jack and Malachi were nothing to do with me in that way, but Duncan was Eileen’s problem.

Jack and Malachi did seem to be circling around my planet in a strange sort of dance. Both were as sexy as hell and as annoying as people who blamed the devil for everything and let’s not forget busybodies that gossiped. Both were off limits for varying reasons, but mainly of the supernatural kind. Not that I entertained thoughts of Jack anymore, love spelled or not, and the fact that he seemed to rub me up the wrong way every single time we met now only strengthen that determination within me to put him firmly in my past.

If only the man would stay there and not to keep coming back to the island that would be helpful. The fluffy-haired numpty.

And then there was Malachi. I’d been around him, and I’d seen the darkness that was woven within him the very first time we’d met. The man might have been trying to project a different part of himself now, but I could feel that bad-boy part of him trying to scratch to the surface.

Even now, as he stood there looking slightly amused, slightly cocky, very sexy in his stance — there still seemed a part of him just under the surface that was begging to be unleashed — kind of like Ross’ beast, but Malachi’s Demons were a whole different monster.

“You have no answer for that one?” Malachi said.

“Sorry, got bored, I zoned out there for a moment,” I lied, pulling my magic tightly around my body so that he couldn’t read my thoughts.

I wished I could train my thoughts as easily as I trained my magic. Don’t think of the man as sexy — check. Think of the man as a walking corpse that would desiccate without the blood that he drank from poor, unsuspecting victims — check.

That thought made me wonder again. Perhaps Malachi had a taste for blood, decided to snack on a sheep, and was just happened upon by the bad timing of the tourist. Perhaps Lachlan had challenged him after the argument they’d had outside the bistro. Perhaps Malachi was the murderer after all.

Perhaps — perhaps — perhaps. I had a lot of nothing.

“I get the feeling we are going to be firm friends,” Malachi said.

“I get the feeling you are delusional,” I tossed back.

Friends with the murderer? Friends with the vampire? How different were those two things? The heck if I know, but the thing is, did I really want to find out?

 

~

 

The next morning as I let myself out of the back door with a cup of coffee in hand, to witness the majesty of another sunrise after a night a rubbish sleep, I noted three cars strategically dotted around our house and recognized each one of them.

Either they got here early, or never left last night.

I deliberately slammed the back door, and couldn’t help but chuckle when three heads popped up, one in each car, and all eyes were trained in my direction. Two vampires and a werewolf playing guard dog — I didn’t know whether to be impressed or worried by that turn of events.

I supposed that Ross and Duncan had a reason to be hanging around, but what possible reason could Malachi have? Billy no friends with nothing better to do?

Maybe he was deflecting — or he could have been using it as an opportunity to get what he wanted – a means to an end – but what end? At this point; I couldn’t put anything past him.

Ross waved, then he started the engine and drove away. In his mind, I guess I had just become the gatekeeper to the house. It’s nice to know that he trusted me with Moira’s safety – I guess.

Bat-boy and Satan’s Claws didn’t appear to be going anywhere. I suppose that they didn’t really have lives that they needed to get on with, in more ways than one. Duncan, offered me a two-fingered salute, and not in a bad way before he laid back down, but Malachi just kept staring.

That man could be unnerving in more ways than one, and I had to wonder what his end game really was. Gran was being pretty tight-lipped over her history with him, and I didn’t bat-boy was going to share about last night look that Malachi had given him.

It wasn’t that I wanted thoughts of Malachi to fill my mind at any given time, but they did seem to creep in there when my mind wandered. I just needed to keep busy, busy-busy meant no time for stray thoughts, or stray vampires to enter my brain.

I lost all interest in watching the sunrise and went back inside the house to get my day started. If I was going to stay busy, there was no time like the present and a gazillion tourists to help with that task.

 

~

 

I groaned inwardly at the sight of Jack walking into the bistro and up to the counter. I curse my lack of sleep because if my brain had been in gear and I’d been quicker on my feet, I could have escaped into the kitchen and sent Moira out to deal with him. But there he was, giving me an expectant look.

“Coffee?” I asked in the hope of keeping things quick and simple between us. The first one was doable; it was the second one that was proving to be more problematic.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Jack said, and there went the hope of quick and simple as my heart groaned and my stomach sank.

“More witchy goings-on?” I asked, wondering how I could sidestep his questions this time.

“It’s about yesterday.”

Jack looked uncomfortable, and my heart sank to meet my stomach at the look of the man. Jack being uncomfortable meant that he was going to broach a subject that I didn’t want to hear, let alone talk about.

“More sheep?” I deflected and tried to sidestep the issue again.

“More about Ross,” Jack said.

“Trust me when I say that some things are better left unsaid,” I offered back, cryptic, yes, but I felt that his detective brain could figure that one out for itself.

“More witchy stuff?” He asked, smarty-pants.

“Some things can’t be unheard…”

“Or unseen,” Jack said.

I didn’t know what Jack had seen, but it didn’t bode well for him if word got out. Humans would think him insane, and the supernatural world would want to silence him.

“But all are best forgotten,” I offered back.

“And what if you can’t forget?” Jack asked with a flick of his eyes toward one of the many tourists that were in the bistro; this one was approaching the counter.

“Then chalk it up to unexplained and move on.” I watched him consider my words as I moved along the counter to deal with the man.

Thankfully, this guy was an American, so I didn’t need to play charades, but he was loud, proud, and eager to see everything on the island as quickly as possible. That in itself was an impossibility. It might have been a small island, but it took more than a day or two to see every major site, and another few to really get a feel for the place.

“Two more of your special coffees and two slices of that great apple pie,” he said, turning a look at Jack and offering a friendly nod. “Great pie, tastes like a slice of home.” He said to Jack.

“Aye, I’d say there’s magic baked into that crust,” Jack offered back, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. If he only knew.

“Sure bummed to have missed the haggis hunt,” the stocky man said.

I almost rolled my eyes back into my head. A lot of tourists came to Scotland because it was on their bucket list. You would have thought they would have read up on it before traveling all that way, but no — and the locals liked to take advantage of that fact.

“Aye, those little beasties can be quick on their feet.” Jack got into the swing of things, and I sighed inwardly.

“One of your countrymen, big guy, built like an outhouse, showed me a picture of one of those mean looking critters on the Internet.” He scratched at a few bites dotted on his arm. “I sure would like to have bagged me one of those.”

There were times when I really — really — wanted to head-butt the counter. Now, it wasn’t mean, it was just playful, but some of my fellow countrymen, especially after a few drinks, decided to wax lyrical, as only a Scotsman could, and weave some stories around the fabled haggis beast.

The animal in question usually had sharp and pointy teeth, three toes with razor-sharp claws, and was a mean one. Unless that was, you caught him in the glare of your torchlight; then he would panic, and freeze in place before running left to right — right to left — where you could get a shot off right between the eyeballs.

I’d lost count of the number of tourists that nervously asked about the vicious haggis beast that would descend upon them en masse if they stumbled across a nest of them in the wild, and tear them to shreds. You’d think that would be reported as worldwide news somewhere? But, no.

If only they knew the real monsters that walked the land. But, those stories of old that had been written about vampires and werewolves were firmly buried in myth and legend and hardly spoken about. Smart werewolves and vampires throwing people off the scent like that, boy, must they hate Twilight.

“They’re very tasty, and on the menu. Which is why the hunting season starts early before the tourists get here,” Jack lied.

“Maybe next year I’ll come early for hunting season,” the man offered back, scratching some more, and I sighed.

“Perhaps when you get home you should check that out on the Internet,” I offered.

There was no point in making the man feel foolish now. Hopefully, when he did uncover the truth and realized that the locals had been pulling his leg — he could just laugh about it and not curse all Scots never to return again.

“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed.

“Well, I have to be going, enjoy the rest of your stay on Skye,” Jack said, and the American reached out and shook his hand.

“Nice to meet you, son.” He offered a wide, blotchy grin as they parted ways. “Nice guy.”

“Yes, he is,” I muttered, not wanting Jack to overhear me and get the wrong idea.

“These damn midge things are bloodsuckers,” the man said, scratching.

“Bicarbonate of soda in a paste…” I offered, and he nodded, impressed.

“Thanks, I’ll give it a try.” He turned towards his wife, who sat scratching her uncovered blotchy legs at the table. “Bicarbonate of soda for the itch!”

“Like chickenpox!” She nodded happily, and then went back to scratching again.

“I’ll make up a paste for you now,” I said, taking pity on them, as I put the last slice of their order on the tray.

“I’ll take the tray,” he offered back. “Please hurry back.”

In truth, I was relieved not have to answer any more questions, cryptically or otherwise, from Jack. I just hope that he didn’t ask them somewhere that he shouldn’t.

That could get the man killed.