I wrapped my arms tightly round his thickening waist. ‘I might be doing this for my biological father,’ I whispered, ‘but you’ve been my real father.’
Taylor jerked back. ‘Don’t you dare.’
‘What?’
‘This is not a suicide mission. You are not going to die and you are not saying goodbye. Don’t you dare talk as if you are.’
‘Okay.’
He glared at me. ‘I mean it.’
‘Sure.’ I nodded. ‘I’m just going for a stroll and a bit of shopping and I’ll be back before you know it.’ I tried not to notice the way his eyes glistened.
Taylor raised a hand. ‘Happy travels. I’ll be right here when you get back.’
I filled my lungs, breathing in the fresh Scottish Highland air. The faint scent of heather clung to the back of my throat. This was my home and I’d be back soon.
‘See you,’ I said quietly. And I pivoted and plunged in.
My skin prickled with a thousand shots of pain. Individually, each one felt like nothing more than a light pinch but, combined, they made my whole body judder. It felt as if my very bones were crackling. Holding my breath, and keeping my head down, I forced my way forward. I was already starting to regret trying this. I squeezed my eyes shut. Come on, Integrity. Come on. I pushed ahead, one foot after the other.
The relief when I passed through the barrier of the Veil was overwhelming. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, trying to rid myself of the last of the painful tingling, and looked around. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting but if I’d thought about it, it would have been pretty much like this. The sky was dark grey and the ground underfoot didn’t contain any evidence of plant life. In fact, there wasn’t evidence of life anywhere. The earth was hard and compacted and, while I could still see evidence of the Scotland I knew with its dark hills and mountains, this was a scarred and troubled landscape.
The one good thing was that I knew exactly where I was going. I’d chosen my entry point carefully as the nearest point from the Veil to what had once been Glasgow. I had less than fifteen miles to cross before I reached the fringes of the city. If I kept up a good pace and didn’t have to hide to avoid any Fomori, I’d be there in less than three hours. I adjusted my watch and set the stopwatch to keep track of time – who knew how things worked in this part of the world – and set off.
There wasn’t a trail as such but it didn’t matter. The ground was so hard that I could have been running on concrete. There weren’t any roots or holes to avoid and though the air was both clammier and staler than that which I’d left behind, it didn’t hamper my progress.
I kept going in a straight line, looking for anything which suggested life ? or danger. There were no lights, no creatures and no demons. Perhaps all the Fomori eschewed a rural life and were city dwellers; if so, they were city dwellers who enjoyed the dark. Before too long I could make out the shapes of the buildings in Glasgow but there wasn’t a single light to illuminate them.
Unlike Aberdeen – or even Oban – the structures were low-lying. The Fomori hadn’t spent the last three hundred years matching the rest of the world’s bid to create cloud-reaching skyscrapers. When I reached the edges of the city, it was even clearer that this was a place caught in a time warp. I half expected William Wallace himself to come charging out from the ramshackle stone houses, kilt flying up around him and swinging a vast broadsword in my direction. There was nothing. The city was as silent as the countryside had been.
Warier now, I slowed to a walk. I’d memorised Bob’s directions so I knew exactly where to go. He’d assured me that his information was accurate as of 1923. Considering that was close to a century ago, it wasn’t the most comforting thing to hear. Bob had been with an English lord who wanted to woo his new bride and whose wish had thrown up Dagda’s harp to help him. Needless to say, things hadn’t turned out very happily for the lord and the harp ended up staying exactly where it was. When I’d pressed Bob for more details, he’d given an enigmatic shrug and suggested I could wish for the information if I really wanted to know. Genies. Honestly.
My slower pace meant that I noticed more of what was around me. The buildings, which were growing in number and density, might have been simple and covered in a sticky dark mould which I was far too sensible to touch, but their craftsmanship was obvious. Abandoned or not, they were built to last. It was difficult to avoid the sense of history which imbued the atmosphere; the tragic fate of all those who’d lived here prior to the Fissure left me feeling empty.
It felt as if I’d been walking for hours. I was starting to wonder whether the entire race of Fomori demons had died out and no one had noticed because no one ever came here, when something from the interior of one of the buildings caught my eye. I didn’t want to make a detour – I didn’t want to spend more time here than was absolutely necessary – but my curiosity was too strong. For all I knew, I was the only non-horned being to have been here in centuries. The least I could do was to get a proper idea of what the Lowlands were really like. I owed all those lost souls that much.
Stepping over a broken oak door which had fallen off its hinges and was lying across the threshold, I tiptoed carefully inside. I didn’t have to go far to see what had attracted my attention. Etched into the wall was a name. I squinted at it through the half-light: Matthew MacBain.
I hadn’t felt cold before but I certainly did now. I had no idea who Matthew MacBain was but the MacBains were one of the remaining twenty-four Clans. Did the graffiti mean that he had wandered through here from the Highlands like I had? And if he had, what had happened to him?
The letters were crude, as if carved out of the stone with a blunt instrument. I reached out with my finger and traced them. ‘Who were you?’ I whispered.
I turned my head and looked further into the gloom of the house. If I went much further from the door, the dim light would vanish. Outside remained as silent as before. I was completely alone and, because I was inside, completely concealed from any dark demon eyes. I pulled out my phone and turned it on so I could use its light to look around properly. Not surprisingly, there was no signal. No matter: I wasn’t about to chat to anyone or update my Facebook page with my current location.
Now that I could see better, I noticed a dark patch trailing down from Matthew MacBain’s name. Frowning, I leaned forward and sniffed. All I could smell was damp but the patch looked suspiciously like old, dried blood. I sidestepped to examine it from a different angle – and tripped over something on the floor. My feet flew out from underneath me and I landed with a heavy thud, expelling the air from my lungs.
When I looked at what I’d stumbled on, I threw myself backwards, my heart racing.
It was a skeleton. Scraps of flesh and a few rags still clung to the bones but it had obviously been here for a long time. I reminded myself to breathe, my hand rising to my chest until my pulse began to calm. Then I went back to look more closely.
Physiologically, humans and Sidhe were almost the same and my knowledge of biology wasn’t extensive enough to tell the difference between them. Even so, I bet that this was poor Matthew. When I spotted the signet ring on his third finger, I knew for sure: it was engraved with the MacBain crest.
Holding my breath, I bent down to pull it off. ‘It’s only a skeleton, Integrity,’ I muttered. ‘You can do this.’ It came off easily – after all, there was little more than bone for it to cling to.
I examined it. Even covered in dust, dirt and goodness knows what else, its rich, buttery gold shone through. By the looks of things, Matthew MacBain had been highly placed in his Clan.
‘I’m sorry for what happened to you,’ I said to his body, aware how pathetic my words were.
