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Part G, in a continuing story from A to Z  [link to the beginning]

Zoey wasn’t surprised to see Benton on hand to open the door for them. Nor was she surprised by his pithy “I see you found her” remark to Ferraro. The two were a matched pair when it came to pointed brevity.

She was surprised to see the cook, Mrs. Darby, hovering anxiously nearby.

“Lord have mercy, look at you!” the woman said. “You come with me to the kitchen, Ms. Prescott, and we’ll get you fixed up right and proper.” Mrs. Darby leveled a stern look at her employer, as if Zoey’s condition were somehow his fault, and herded her charge off toward the kitchen.

“Heavens, child, your hands are bleeding. And what a nasty sunburn on your face. You really must apply sunscreen if you plan to be outdoors for any length of time.”

Zoey doubted sunscreen was much of a defense against dragons, but she just nodded and examined her knuckles. The scrapes had indeed cracked open and oozed a bit, probably the result of crawling through the tunnels rather than the severity of the wounds. She was hardly bleeding to death.

“I’m sure it looks much worse than it is,” she said in an effort to reassure the cook, but Mrs. Darby wasn’t having it.

She hustled Zoey over to the large kitchen sink to wash and rummaged through an upper cabinet for a first aid kit. Zoey dried her hands and face and took the kit, promising to use it once she’d had a hot bath.

“I suppose I should join Mr. Ferraro for dinner,” Zoey said, bracing herself for an unpleasant meal.

“Oh my, no. It’s past ten o’clock. Mr. Ferraro dined hours ago. You just sit down at the table here and I’ll have something for you in a jiffy.”

Zoey concealed her surprise at the time and managed to stay awake long enough to eat two bowls of hearty chicken soup and a thick grilled cheese sandwich. Comfort food, for which she thanked Mrs. Darby profusely. She had just finished making an awkward request for dessert to be left out on the back stoop — a request the woman agreed to as if it were customary — and was finishing off a glass of milk when Ferraro entered the kitchen.

“Ms. Prescott,” he said, then stopped and stared at her mouth just long enough for her to realize she must have a milk moustache. She wiped it away as he continued.

“I anticipate tomorrow will be a long day, catching up on correspondence,” he said.

Oh, crap. She had managed to forget all about her “job” here. She smiled, trying to project calm confidence. “There’s not all that much to catch up on, Anton.”

“In that case, Ms. Prescott, perhaps I’m overpaying you. I rise early and will expect you to join me in the study an hour past dawn.”

Mr. Tall Dark and Imperious left the room and Zoey gave a mock salute to his back, then snuck a glance at the cook, who was busily wiping down already clean counters. Was that a trace of a smile she saw curving the woman’s mouth?

“Mrs. Darby?” she asked, fighting a yawn. “What time, exactly, is dawn?” Zoey wasn’t a morning person and hadn’t seen a single sunrise since she’d arrived.

“Don’t you fret about it, dear. I’ll come knock on your door to wake you in plenty of time for breakfast. You go on to bed now.”

Upstairs, Zoey took one look in the mirror and concluded Mrs. Darby hadn’t over-reacted after all. What a disaster. She took a hot shower, fairly certain she’d fall asleep and drown if she soaked in the bathtub, and applied antiseptic cream to the worst of her injuries before getting ready for bed. She dropped her filthy torn clothes in a pile in her room, knowing they were ruined but too exhausted to sort it out tonight.

All she wanted was a good night’s sleep. Everything else could wait for tomorrow.

She’d set the white quartz on her nightstand and it emitted a soft rosy glow once she turned off the lamp. She wasn’t even surprised. A crystal capable of adjusting to circumstances was least remarkable thing she’d seen that day.

Seconds later, she was drifting off to sleep when she heard the sound of children giggling. She sat straight up in bed, looking around the room for the source. Nothing. She was alone in the room. She must be imagining things. She knew there were no children living on the estate. She’d asked, first thing when she arrived.

She’d settled back into the comfy warm bed when she heard it again, a bit louder this time. It was the type of giggling particular to children who thought they were being quiet but ended up making more noise than if they hadn’t tried.

Zoey stared up at the ceiling, so tired she was in favour of having them all summarily executed if she got her hands on them. She was working up the energy to go find a maid or, god forbid, even Benton to deal with it when she noticed that the ceiling was . . . moving.

She rubbed her eyes and looked again, but the pale swirling shapes were still there. Not the ceiling, exactly, but something up near the ceiling.

One suddenly swooped down and bounced off the end of her bed, just missing her feet, prompting a fresh round of poorly stifled laughter.

Ghosts, she thought dully, somehow unsurprised by this as well. She had ghosts in her bedroom. And not just any ghosts, the ghosts of mischievous children.

She was too tired to even begin to think how to deal with them. All she knew was that if she didn’t get some sleep she’d be suicidal, maybe even gleefully homicidal, by the time she met with Ferraro in the morning.

There were thudding sounds off in the distance and at first she thought she was imagining them. But they drew steadily closer, became ever louder. She felt the vibrations right through her mattress. She saw a bright flare of light outside her window, heard a magnificent roar of sound, and smiled as she watched the pale shapes converge and flee en masse through the gap under the door.

The old girl might not be light on her feet, but she certainly was efficient. Zoey’s lips moved in a silent but heartfelt “thank you.”

Her gaze swept the room to make sure they all were gone and paused on a deeply shadowed area over in a far corner. An irregular shape, it was small and dark and absolutely still. It almost seemed to exude malevolence.

Unable to keep her eyes open, Zoey dismissed it as a symptom of exhaustion. But as she drifted off to sleep, one last thought made a reprise: there are monsters in the dark.

G is for Ghosts

 

Part F, in a continuing story from A to Z  [link to the beginning]

Fortunately, Ermie accepted her apology for thinking he was a giant white rat. He was sort of cute, once she got over her initial misconception. And quite charming with his accent.

“So, you’re a Scottish ermine?” she asked.

He replied in a distinctly non-Scottish accent, “Nope, I just really like the accent. And the ladies love it.” Then he winked at her and said, “Come along then, lass, or ye’ll be answering to Himself for tardiness. Tardiness.” And he scurried into a dark tunnel.

Good grief. Zoey refrained from rolling her eyes and clutched the softball-sized chunk of white quartz he’d given her. It had looked unremarkable in the fire-lit cave, but once they entered the dark tunnel it glowed brightly enough for her to see several feet in front of her. She hoped he didn’t want it back once they got out.

Zoey realized Ermie was muttering something and caught up with him so she could make out what it was.

“This is highly unusual. Highly unusual,” he said.

“You’re telling me,” Zoey said. “Cave Dragons, talking animals. What’s next?”

Ermie stopped and gaped at her. “She granted you her protection, lass. Her protection.”

“But that’s what she does, right? She protects treasure. People must come into her cave all the time with treasure to protect.”

“Lass, no one dares enter that cave without permission. They wait outside. Outside.”

“Oh?” So she’d breached dragon etiquette just by walking in. It’s a wonder she was still alive.

“Aye, she vowed to guard yer treasure. But she also granted you protection. Were ye not listening? She hasn’t done that . . . in centuries. Maybe not ever. Not ever.”

“Oh.” Well, that was unusual then. Zoey hoped it wasn’t going to be a problem when she needed to leave this place.

She touched the smooth piece of pale green sea glass the dragon had given her before they set out. It had a small hole in the center through which ran a delicately woven silver chain. The dragon had told her to keep it with her always and then stared at her, fierce and unblinking, until Zoey put it around her neck and promised not to take it off.

She and Ermie made their way through tunnels that were more dirt than rock in places, a passageway that hadn’t been used in some time if the spider webs were any indication. Parts of it narrowed enough that Zoey had to crawl, a claustrophobic sensation she disliked immensely, though it helped to have the ermine in front of her, urging her to hurry.

The last turn was rather abrupt and Zoey realized they’d emerged under a large stand of thick bushes growing near a back corner of the mansion. Nicely concealed, she’d never have noticed it. She climbed out of the tunnel after Ermie, tucked the quartz in her coat pocket, and just sat there, breathing in fresh air and savouring the sunset.

Wait a minute. The sun was still hovering at the halfway mark, just as it had been when she entered the cave. The only difference being that clouds had gathered on the horizon and prevented reflection on the flat sea. The top half was still glowing brightly.

She turned to ask Ermie how that was even possible, only to find him with one paw up to his mouth, making a low shushing sound. He gave a quick nod toward the cliff.

Oh, hell.

Ferraro stood there in the last rays of the setting sun, hands clasped loosely behind him, staring out to sea. For all his apparent ease, he was taut as a newly tuned string, displeasure radiating off him in waves that were almost tangible. Zoey remembered what the dragon had said about his temper and control and decided she might do well not to test it any further just now. Assuming she was the reason for it. Maybe he just hated sunsets. She moved to stand up and the ermine hissed at her.

“Sit down, lass. Ye’re a filthy mess. Ye cannae greet Himself looking like that. Not like that.”

Zoey figured her appearance was the least of her problems, if the look on Ferraro’s face was any indication. She flicked one hand in casual dismissal. “Oh, I don’t care ab–”

“Ack. Haud yer wheesht, lass,” he hissed.

“Hold my . . . what?” she whispered back.

“It means stop talking. Think before ye speak and have a care what ye wish for. Words have meaning and power. Aye, meaning and power.”

Zoey paused to consider the truth of that. “All right, yes, it would be nice to freshen up a bit. Perhaps you know of a nearby stream? Although, I wouldn’t say no to a long soak in a nice warm bathtub if you were to conjure one up.”

The ermine made a sound that could have been irritation or amusement. “Close yer eyes and be still.”

She did as instructed and felt the soft brush of paws whisking over her hair and face and then down over her coat and jeans. Quick movements, finished almost as soon as they began.

“Aye, that’ll take care of the worst of it.”

“What, no bluebirds to fix my hair?”

“Ye’ve a quick tongue, lassie. Some folks, such as m’self, appreciate that. Others,” he glanced at Ferraro, “others nae so much. Nae so much. Ye ken?”

Zoey sighed. “Aye, I ken.” She leaned over to brush a cobweb from his ear and then pressed a quick kiss on his soft silky head. “Thanks for your help, Prince Ermie.”

Not wanting to just pop up out of seemingly nowhere, or draw attention to the cave entrance, Zoey scooted around behind the back of the mansion before she stood up. She gently stretched her sorely abused muscles, shook her hands vigorously, then walked out into the side yard as if nothing were amiss.

Ferraro didn’t so much as twitch, but she could tell he sensed her presence by the way his posture seemed to get impossibly more rigid.

She walked up next to him, leaving a good few feet between them. “Lovely sunset.”

He slanted a sideways glance at her and there was thunder in his eyes, lightning too. Or maybe it was fire. She had an odd feeling in that moment that he knew exactly where she’d been and what she’d done the past several hours. She made a mental note to check for security cams on the beach, next time she ventured out. That there would be a next time was not even in question.

She turned her gaze out to sea for a moment, collecting herself as exhaustion started to set in, and when she looked at him again he was his normal cold and implacable self. He raised one sardonic eyebrow and waited, as if expecting her to speak.

What was it with the raised eyebrows all the time? Was it some kind of code? Like the language of fans? It was all she could do not to raise one back at him, though who knows what message she’d send. She kept her mouth shut and her eyebrows in place. She knew enough not to volunteer an explanation.

He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you’d like to invite your friends to dinner.”

“My friends?”

He tilted his head in a slight nod, indicating something over her right shoulder.

No, it couldn’t be. Surely they wouldn’t. She turned, slowly, to see Ermie and Bubbie peeking around the far corner of the mansion. The dragon must have flown, there’s no way she’d have fit through the tunnels. Then it dawned on her . . . he could see them too? She wasn’t sure whether that was disturbing or reassuring.

“Ah, they aren’t my–” She cut herself off when she saw the twin looks of disappointment, the suddenly slumped shoulders of her new friends. Meaning and power. “Er, that is, they aren’t hungry. My friends ate earlier. I plan to leave some dessert on the back stoop for them later.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “I see. Do inform Cook. Perhaps then you’d care to dress for dinner.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Fine,” he repeated.

There went that eyebrow again, even higher this time. She could only imagine just how not-fine and bedraggled she looked. “Perfectly fine. I would like to wash my hands, though.”

“And perhaps your face,” he muttered under his breath.

But she heard and gave him one of her brightest smiles in return. “I seem to have lost track of time, exploring your lovely estate. I do hope I’m not late for dinner.”

He gave her an inscrutable look before he replied. “I’d say you returned just in time.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the front of the mansion. “After you, Ms. Prescott.”

Just before she turned away, she saw the sun set. In an instant, as if the string holding it up had suddenly been cut. And in an instant, the darkness of night was complete.

Zoey walked ahead of Anton to the front door she’d exited what seemed like a lifetime ago, and felt the weight of his disapproving stare on her back the entire way.

F is for Friends