Iona was beginning to understand that life in a city was never quiet, never as peaceful as it had been back north on the family estate. The main branch of the Tulloch family had a reputation amongst the locals of the Highlands for being herbalists and listeners, an old family who occupied important positions within the community. In the city where history was faded and life was fast, no one knew of her name, who she was, or what she did. They saw her as a young woman who’d taken over a shop that no one could remember not being there. Iona felt she liked the anonymity at times. She could venture outside to the supermarket, the park, or the other shops, and no one would ask her about the health of her grandparents or what tincture she would recommend for high blood pressure. It was nice having no one know, or want to know, your family business.
There was an uncharacteristic stream of customers flowing and ebbing out of the door one Saturday, just as the first winter frost settled outside on the ground, causing it to sparkle like broken glass. It would be a crisp winter, she could feel it on the tips of her fingers whenever she went outside. The shop became colder with every waft of frost that was let in through the open door, and soon she was forced to turn on the heater at her feet, strategically placed there by one of her predecessors. Towards noon the shop began to quieten, as it does when shoppers were in need of food, and the shop began to grow warmer.
During that quiet hour someone came into the shop, bringing cold once more through. Iona spared a brief glance at the new customer before returning to counting up the orders that had been placed earlier that morning.
“Excuse me,” a polite voice spoke up.
“Can I help ye?” Iona queried.
“I’m looking for Duncan,” she asked hopefully, trying to peek around to the door that led to the private room.
“I’m afraid Duncan no longer works here.”
Iona didn’t think she had ever seen someone’s demeanour change so abruptly as the young woman’s before her, for young she looked. Dressed in a large, fur-lined winter coat, she had wheat coloured hair, and dark, mossy green eyes that now sparked with indignation.
“Which one are you then?” the woman demanded.
There was a certain tenseness emanating from the other side of the counter, and Iona began to feel a strange tingling sensation in her gut. Why was this mortal looking for Duncan? What had he done, said, or given her that made her immediately hostile when she was told he wasn’t in the shop?
“You’re not Iona, are you?” the woman continued.
She kept her silence, not knowing what to say or to make of the strange circumstances she now found herself in. There were only two other customers in the shop but she wished for them to leave in case someone got hurt.
“Who are ye?” Iona demanded icily.
“I’m Duncan’s fiancé,” was the answer, “and I’m pregnant with his child.”
***
Iona had spent the rest of the summer deep in study. Ever since she had returned from the city, she had decided that it would be best to keep her head down and out of the way in the hopes everyone would forget what had happened. Her final year of school would resume soon, as would her normal duties.
Shouting wasn’t as rare an occurrence as one might have hoped for on the family estate, but heated arguments were a rarity. With ceramic mug in hand, one father had made a few years back, she made her way down the stairs to the kitchen for some much-needed tea, and perhaps a biscuit or two if she could get away with it. On her way down the stairs, she heard raised voices seeping out from the main living room. Without thinking her feet slowed midway down the staircase, and she took the rest of them quietly, avoiding the creaking and groaning parts she knew well. The door to the living room was opened a crack, no bigger than the width of someone’s wrist, and through it trickled strained and heated words. Iona stood at the foot of the stairs, knowing she should keep on her way to the kitchen, but she found her legs wouldn’t move from the spot. With mug in hand she faced the door, saw light erupt from the gap, and listened to the argument that raged beyond.
“How many times have we told ye to stop being so careless? Ye’re not just anyone, ye’re a Tulloch, and that comes with duties and responsibilities,” her grandmother’s stern voice lashed out.
“What does it matter what I do? It’s not as if ye expect great things of me,” Duncan’s irritated reply came.
It wasn’t the first time Iona had stumbled across an argument between him and their grandparents. For at least a year he had railed against the family teachings and created havoc amongst the local mortals by giving them charms, casting spells on people they hated, and creating other magical mischief. It was against the family rules, and every time he had been caught a swift rebuke had come, but it had deflected from him as a stone does a thousand-year-old tree. He continued to go against the family teachings, and the worst part of it was that he didn’t seem to care.
“That’s not true, we’ve never said that,” her grandfather interrupted.
“We may not expect great things but ye’re still a Tulloch and we expect familial loyalty to our ways and customs,” her grandmother spoke up, “I don’t care to know what’s going on in your head, or even why ye think breaking the rules is acceptable, but I won’t have any more of it. This family has existed for more than a thousand years, and I will not see it brought down by a rebellious, foolish young man who thinks he’s above his own family.”
Grandmother’s words were always pointed, bordering on heartless. She was a proud woman, even more so of her heritage and ancestry. As the matriarch of the Tulloch family she had been given an ancient duty to ensure the survival of the bloodline, and in her eyes Duncan was endangering that role with his opposition.
“Mother, I’m sure it’s just a phase,” Iona recognised her uncle’s level-headed words. He appeared to be the only one in the room not engulfed by temper.
“I don’t care if it is, I’ve had enough of it. Ye need some discipline, lad, a purpose, something to focus on and keep ye out of trouble,” grandmother continued, “There’s a position that has recently become available.”
Everyone in the room knew what she spoke of; it wasn’t far from anyone’s mind. Iona felt herself tense and she gritted her teeth against the guilt that threatened to overwhelm her.
“You can’t be serious,” Duncan exclaimed, for the first time in the conversation showing an emotion other than contempt, “I’m not going there!”
“Ye’ll do as ye’re told!” grandmother barked.
“Say something!” Duncan aimed at what Iona assumed to be her uncle.
Iona’s uncle was the most reasonable Tulloch living, yet even Iona knew he wouldn’t oppose those who were in charge. To Iona’s expectations, and no doubt Duncan’s chagrin, he remained silent.
“Ye’ll all regret this!” Duncan spat before the door swung open.
As soon as their eyes met Iona cast hers down to the ground, unable to look him in the face with any real courage. She heard him snort in derision before brushing violently past her after he had slammed the door behind him.
“Make sure his things are packed” she heard her grandmother command.
On the day Duncan left her grandparents were nowhere to be seen. Instead, he was being taken to the train station by her uncle, with what few things he had decided to pack. Iona, knowing she should have courage and denying that it was partly her fault, went to see him in his room before he left. She didn’t need to knock on the door before the voice floated out inviting her to enter. One suitcase was standing forlornly by the door, whilst Duncan was on his bed stuffing notepads and pens into a rucksack. The room seemed bare, as if he hadn’t really lived in it in a long time. Iona rarely ventured in, there was no reason to, but she had remembered it being warmer and more welcoming than the cold and hollow aroma that enveloped her as she watched him pack his belongings.
“Ye didn’t have to come and say goodbye,” Duncan began as he put the remaining things in the bag.
In truth she didn’t know what to say. An ordinary farewell felt like it would be more of a blow than what had happened already. It was too mundane to really encompass the spiral of emotions that had haunted her since her grandparents made the decision to send him away. An apology felt like it fell short, and a well-wish wasn’t personal enough. Her eyes slid around the empty room, as if looking around would give her some inspiration of what to say in this unfair situation.
“Don’t strain yourself, Iona,” Duncan snorted as he stood up, smiling lightly.
Her sight began to go blurry as she felt the unwelcome sensation of her eyes sting. It had been a cold, dark, miserable summer for her, and when she had returned from the city, she thought things would go back to normal, but now she knew that could never be. Nothing would ever be the same again. She sniffed desperately, turning her face down to the ground. Duncan crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her, squashing her to his chest like he did when he was teasing her.
“I’ll miss ye, too,” he soothed.
This time there was no teasing, no embarrassment, and no swift rebuke on her part. She let the tears fall whilst she hugged him tighter, wishing more than anything he didn’t have to go, and that it wasn’t her fault. He pulled way and began to wipe away her tears with the cuff of his sleeve.
“Take care of yourself, Iona,” he uttered gently, “I’m not going to be here to distract their attention anymore. They’ll be more severe with ye, I can tell.”
That wasn’t the reason she was sad he was leaving. It was true, her grandparents spent most of their time keeping track of Duncan’s various misdemeanours, leaving Iona to quietly develop in the shadows without their great expectations drowning her, but with him gone and all of their critical attention focused on her, life would become even more regimented and strict.
“Ye know where I’ll be if ye need to talk,” he whispered in her ear before he picked up his suitcase and left her in the cold and empty room.
***
Iona stood still. Her eyes scoured over the young woman standing before her with such outrageous claims. The large winter coat hid her figure underneath, so whether she was thin or pregnant was impossible to tell. She was pretty, probably a few years younger than Duncan himself, and quite well spoken. However, Iona had never heard of a girlfriend from any of her family, and there had been nothing in Duncan’s possessions to suggest he had one, no pictures, no phone number, no anything. In her shock she had remembered their last meeting at the main estate all of those years ago. They hadn’t seen each other since, so long that Iona had forgotten that meeting. Duncan was a rebel, he’d always done things to annoy the family, but even this was a bit far. The young woman was mortal, utterly and completely mortal, without even looking at her Iona knew the family would disapprove immediately.
What should she say? What could she say? Despite all of her inner arguments about the plausibility of the situation, she knew deep down that Duncan was capable of anything. He had come to the city and soon been coaxed from the family path, selling relics, taking sides in a war that had nothing to do with him, and now maintaining a romantic, serious, relationship with a mortal.
“I’m afraid the shop is closing,” she announced to the remaining customers.
After shooing away everyone else the door locked closed behind them and she rounded on the young woman.
“Who the hell are ye?” she demanded.
“I already told you, I’m Duncan’s fiancé.”
“I meant your name, your family, where ye come from,” Iona bit out.
“Why do I have to answer?”
“Because you’ve come in here claiming things that can’t possibly be true,” she growled.
“Why can’t they be true?” the woman squawked, “Because he was a witch?”
Iona’s chest turned tight. The lengths to which Duncan had gone against the family rules were much larger than she had ever imagined. The one rule that had been seared into her mind, repeated over and over again so no Tulloch would ever forget; you never told a mortal about the family ways. She exhaled tightly.
“How much do ye know?”
“Everything,” the young woman replied, a frown drawing her eyebrows together.
“Ye better come this way then.”
***
Iona was further surprised by the ease with which the young woman made her way through the door to the private room beyond, and how nonchalant she was at the various bunches of herbs and hanging charms that were strewn about. It was evident that she had spent a lot of time within. In order to have some more time to think through her panic Iona brewed some tea and let it simmer longer than necessary before she served it.
“Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot,” the young woman announced as she added sugar to her cup, “I shouldn’t have come in all guns blazing, but I thought Duncan had abandoned me. I haven’t heard from him in more than a month.”
“Is that normal?”
“He would disappear from time to time saying he had family errands to run, but it’s never been this long.”
Although it was Iona’s idea to pour the tea her stomach rolled around queasily whenever she thought about taking a sip, and so she let it grow cold.
“I’m Claire, I don’t think I said that,” she announced gently.
“Ye were right before. I am Iona. I assume Duncan spoke about us?”
“Only sometimes. He didn’t seem to like talking about it so I didn’t force him.”
Claire took another sip of tea. It wasn’t surprising that Duncan didn’t like speaking about a family who had sent him away. Iona didn’t know how much the Claire knew about their way of life, the family history, or what the current rules were, but there was no doubting that she was pregnant. Once she had taken her jacket off the bulging bump had been obvious as it strained through her jumper. Whether it was Duncan’s or not remained to be confirmed.
“How much did he tell ye about our family?” Iona queried.
“A lot,” Claire confirmed, “You’re all witches and your family goes back more than a thousand years. Everything is very strict and secretive, and there are a lot of rules.”
“There are a few concerning mortals,” Iona commented.
“You’re not allowed to be romantically involved,” Claire confirmed, “Yes, I had that one thrown in my face several times when we first began seeing each other. I managed to convince him otherwise.”
Her answer intimated to Iona that Duncan had at least tried to maintain the family rules, but had given up on them in the end. What was it about this mortal that had made him do so? She didn’t appear to be anything special as far as mortals went.
“Did he tell ye what would happen if our family found out about your relationship?”
“He said they wouldn’t be very happy, but there wasn’t anything they could really do about it,” Claire answered.
Did he truly believe that or was he just saying it? Duncan knew all too well what the family was capable of doing to those who disobeyed its rules, and ironically he was now a prime example.
“You know where he is, don’t you?” Claire inquired.
Iona remained silent, still uncertain about what to say. There hadn’t been an incident concerning a mortal in the family for at least a hundred years, and the last time it had ended badly, as Duncan had been reminded every time he had gotten into trouble at home. It was clear that Claire knew information she shouldn’t, but whether to tell her the truth about Duncan was a matter Iona couldn’t make up her mind on. She was sure that the family knew nothing of Claire’s existence because something would have been done about it if they had. It left Iona in a difficult situation. She knew what would happen to Claire and her unborn child if her grandparents were to hear of it, yet lying to them about it would earn her a swift punishment. If a similar situation had ever happened in their family history then it was wiped from the records, either out of anger or of shame. What the child would grow up to be was something Iona didn’t know.
“How long have ye two been in a relationship?” Iona deflected.
“Three years. Tell me where he is, Iona! They didn’t….didn’t….,” Claire’s eyes began to tear up as she thought of the worst scenario.
“He’s not dead,” was all she permitted herself to say.
“Where is he?” she begged, “Please.”
Iona hesitated. What she should do and what she wanted to do were spiralling off in opposite directions. The Tulloch family legacy was very clear about its members becoming embroiled with mortals, and the solution one of her ancestors had chosen a hundred years previously was to remove the mortal. Their memories had been cleaned and they had been sent away to marry someone else. As easy as it would be for Iona, she felt a bitter taste ride up the back of her throat when she thought of it. Claire was pregnant, any harm that came to the mother might affect the child. On the other hand, the young woman was clearly very important to Duncan, and the child was, by blood, a Tulloch too. How could Iona wipe away its mother’s memories and send them off to fend for themselves?
“He’s at the hospital,” Iona answered quietly, “My family put him in a coma as punishment.”
“Punishment for what?” Claire demanded, “Being with me?”
“They don’t know about ye, and if they did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Iona told her with a grim expression, “Duncan broke other rules and so he was punished.”
“By being put to sleep?”
“It wasn’t my decision,” Iona answered, as if it absolved her of all blame.
“I want to see him.”
Reluctantly Iona told her where to find Duncan and she stormed out of the shop, leaving Iona questioning things she would rather leave alone.
***
In the two days since Claire’s departure Iona had distracted herself from thoughts that were best left buried. Claire hadn’t returned and there had been no frantic phone call from the hospital claiming a stranger was trying to wake him up. Iona hadn’t reported the incident to her family, and she was now of the mind that an omission of fact wasn’t lying. The shop had eased back into its traditional daily flow of customers, and she pretended to herself that she wasn’t afraid of every young pregnant woman that decided to come in. As she was sorting one of the displays a man approached her. Not old by any means but he walked with a languidness that was more befitting of the elderly. The grey pallor to his skin, and the slight gaunt look of his features, alarmed Iona.
“I was wondering if you could help me,” he began, “I’m feeling quite run down and weak recently, and my mother told me there might be a herbal remedy.”
Iona had seen tired people, it usually coincided with stress or anxiety, but none who had ever come to her for help with their fatigue had ever looked as haggard as the man standing in front of her. There was no colour to him, as if she was watching him through a black and white camera. He was drawn in and appeared to be about to keel over if someone brushed past him too vigorously.
“How long have ye been feeling like this?” she queried, trying to hide the concern from her voice.
“A week or two,” he shrugged with surprising nonchalance.
She was surprised he had enough strength to get himself dressed in the morning. Her eyes began to scrutinise every detail she could see and reach out for the ones she couldn’t. There was something imbalanced in him, like a roof that was missing one single tile. It was so subtle she had a hard time grasping at it. She led him to the counter, pretending that she was going to make him something to restore his strength, when in reality she was going to feed him something that should block whatever was happening to him. He wasn’t a spiritualist but there was a scent of magic on him.
After telling Andrew MacMillan to return the next day she watched him carefully as he exited the shop and bumbled his way out of sight. Like a doorbell had started ringing, Iona turned her attention to the familiar faced man who lingered outside of the shop. Sighing heavily, she marched to the door
“He’s an unlucky one,” Leif Morrison commented as he watched the man continue down the street.
“How?”
“He’s been cursed,” the middle Morrison brother answered.
“Can ye tell just by looking at him?” she queried.
Iona tried to ignore her own lack of knowledge. She hadn’t been able to identify that he’d been cursed, but the strange sensation he emanated like perfume could be explained if that were the case.
“I’ve seen more than a few cursed men,” he answered, smiling lightly, “and been one myself once or twice.”
She baulked internally. It must have been a powerful witch to cast a curse that would affect an immortal. It was safe to say that none of the curses cast upon him had inflicted any fatal damage.
“Did you release him?” Leif queried.
Not yet, she thought, although it would be easier now that she knew what it was she had to release him from. The more worrying matter was the person who had cast it and where they had gotten it from. It seemed she would have to do some digging around in Andrew MacMillan’s life.
“I get the impression this may be interesting,” he commented.
She gave him a sidelong glance of disapproval. It wasn’t long before his face turned unusually serious and he looked at her straight, which served to make her stomach roll around in queasiness.
“I actually came here to ask you to do something for me.”
As much as it would continue to irritate her for the near future, as soon as the words left his mouth she felt stung. Over and over she had told herself Leif Morrison had an agenda, and that, like everyone else in the city, wished to use her for his own purposes. Although the irritation was more directed at her own naïve stupidity, she felt her back go rigid and her muscles tense.
“Why should I?” she demanded.
“We both know you owe me a few favours in exchange for knowledge about the city and the war,” Leif reasoned.
“Ye told me all of those things of your own free will,” she corrected, “We made no such deal at the time.”
“You won’t indulge in a little give and take with me? I thought we were beginning to have a good rapport.”
Iona gritted her teeth. It was true that Leif Morrison was her only source of information about the city and all of its supernatural inhabitants. She had already offended the spiritualists so much that none would ever help her, and could she really afford to cut off another useful source? Her grandparents would skin her alive if they thought she had anything remotely to do with Immortals, but as Mr Morrison had put it, give and take was a natural, if not informal, way of two parties getting what they wanted. She grimly wondered if that was how Duncan had begun.
“What is the favour?” she asked, not bothering to hide the strain.
“I need you to find someone for me.”
Although the phrase didn’t sound sinister, for some reason images or the eldest Morrison brother popped into her head. Was this favour as innocent as it appeared or was there something more menacing lurking behind it?
“I need their name and date of birth,” she bit.
With some finesse he pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it to her. Hating that she had been forced into a corner by an immortal she snatched it from his hands and stormed back into the shop.
Thankfully there were no customers to hide away from, and as a reaction to her growing foul mood the sign on the shop door flipped to closed. The spell to find someone was easy to cast but her growing sense of unease was harder to dispel. What would Leif Morrison do to the person he had asked her to look for? Was it even him who wanted them found? Although there had never been any evidence of a working connection between Harold and Leif, Iona still found it hard not to consider that one may do the bidding of the other. For a brief period of time, she had allowed herself to forget what Leif Morrison was and how dangerous this city could become to someone who sat on the fence. He was an immortal living in a city that was trying to eject him like a bad flu, if he could be owed a few favours by a powerful witch then that was no bad thing. Much to her irritation, Iona had been right all along, the middle brother had an agenda, and she had just been too gullible and easily charmed to see it.
Hastily she scribbled down the address and marched outside and foisted it at him, boiling on the inside on account of her own foolishness.
“Aren’t you coming with me?” he asked when she turned around to head back into the shop.
“This is your business, not mine.”
“I thought you’d be worried in case I did anything harmful to this person. That’s why you’re angry, isn’t it?”
The ease with which he read people would have frightened her if she wasn’t its current recipient. It was a woman’s name on the paper, and from the brief glimpse Iona was given she knew they were mortal. Her curiosity had begun to bleed into her thoughts, momentarily overcome by her anger, but it was quick to rouse itself once an invitation had been extended. The smirk that had settled on Leif’s lips made her blood boil. Once she had grabbed her coat from the stand, she and Leif Morrison made their way to the address she had written down.
***
It wasn’t far from where the shop was, situated on a busy cosmopolitan street with designer boutiques and outlets strewn strategically here and there. Iona had never ventured into this part of town, but knew from overheard conversations that this was the place that the crème de la crème of the city’s inhabitants went because they were the only ones who could afford the prices.
“Should I be worried that you agreed to help me?” Leif began on their walk.
“Ye backed me against a wall,” she pointed out.
“Did I?” he glanced at her with some sense of sarcasm, “You were the one who pointed out that I had given you answers you wanted of my own free will and that was completely true. You don’t owe me anything, yet when I mentioned give and take you changed your mind. That leads me to believe that I’m useful to you.
“The knowledge you have is,” Iona corrected.
Mr Morrison began to laugh lightly, “I almost forgot that you burned your bridges with the spiritualists, and they’re the only ones who could answer your questions besides myself. You’re less cunning than Duncan.”
At the mention of her cousin’s name a wave of unease washed over her, momentarily making her feel sick. She quashed it instantly. That was a problem for another day, if it was a problem at all. Claire still hadn’t returned to the shop and Iona’s phone call to the hospital confirmed that she had gone straight there after her abrupt visit. If Leif noticed her discomfort he didn’t say anything.
“Believe me when I say that’s not a bad thing,” he continued, “Especially if you don’t wish to profit from this war.”
Profit? That was exactly what had been happening. During her first conversation with Leif he had told her that Duncan approached the Morrisons demanding money in exchange for relics but they had refused, so he had begun to help the spiritualists instead, no doubt for the same price. At the time she had been confused why he wanted money when the Tulloch family had plenty. Claire’s appearance explained his strange behaviour. One unanswered question was what he intended to do with the money? Support Claire and their child or send them away so they would never be discovered? There were too many possibilities and not enough people to confirm them.
“We’re here,” Leif mentioned as he came to a stop in front of a fancy café.
Café may not have been the right word and wasn’t according to the sign. An artisan patisserie was what they were calling it now, but all Iona could see was a bakery with a lot of hubris and slices of cake that cost more than a large cup of coffee at a decent café.
“I never bought you a coffee this time, did I?” he said as he opened the door for her.
She threw him a disbelieving glance, refusing to move from the street. Smirking confidently, he took her gently by the hand and showed her inside. Slickly he placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her over to a table, which she sensed to be a carefully chosen one. Iona had seen the woman who they’d come to visit. However, what she didn’t know was why Leif wasn’t going over to her when he was the one who wanted her found.
“I’ll be back,” he mentioned as he walked off in the direction of the counter.
Confusedly, Iona kept her eye on the woman, every so often glancing at the mysterious immortal who had brought her here. She would need to repay him for the coffees at some point.
It was only for a moment but she heard something, a faint whisper as if someone was leaning over and uttering nothings in her ear. It made her flesh crawl, like ice had been brushed over it. The whispers continued, growing increasingly sinister, although she couldn’t make out what they were saying, if they were really speaking at all. Slowly her eyes began to seek out the source somewhere in the café, and when they came to settle upon the handbag of the woman Leif was looking for, sitting at a table near the window, she knew she had found it. Looking closely at the woman sitting alone she felt a strange sense of remembrance, like they’d met before.
“You recognise her then,” Leif surmised as he sat down with the coffees, following her line of sight to the window.
Iona turned to look at him with a frown, “Why are ye looking for her?”
“She stole something from one of the family’s safes.”
“What is your family doing with something as sinister as whatever that is?” she queried, attempting to ignore the whispers.
Leif pinned her with an intrigued look, “I would hardly call a gold pearl sinister.”
When the door to the café opened, and brought the frosty air with it, her attention was momentarily captured. However, when she looked a second time, she had to struggle not to let her shock fall across her features. Andrew MacMillan scanned around the coffee shop, evidently looking for someone, and in her panic, Iona turned away from his gaze before inconspicuously following his path. He sat beside the woman who Leif had been looking for, and who had something excreting dark intent inside her handbag.
“What a coincidence,” Leif breathed as he took a drink of his coffee.
Iona couldn’t tell if it really was a strange coincidence or whether there were other, more immortal, forces at work. She didn’t bother to ask but fixed her eyes on the couple by the window.
“How valuable is this gold pearl to your family that they would send ye to personally retrieve it?” Iona questioned.
Pearls, although of some monetary value, were not worth an immortal chasing, especially not a solitary one.
“Very valuable. It’s enchanted,” he confirmed, “Why the interest in the pearl and not your cursed customer?”
It so happened she had a great deal of interest in both. A family of immortals owned an enchanted item, something that could cause problems in the future, and a woman who had stolen it was meeting with Iona’s customer. Remembering back to the note with the woman’s name on it their surnames didn’t match, but when she saw their rose gold wedding bands glistening in the light from the window she concluded that they were married.
“I think that woman is the one who cursed my customer.”
“Because of the pearl?” Leif checked, “It has power but one needs a curse in order to use it.”
“I think she has a few of those in her handbag. I can feel them from here.”
She could feel Leif tense as he stole a glance at the woman’s bag lying on the floor by her side. Iona couldn’t blame him for becoming alarmed, curses fuelled by enchanted objects could harm immortals.
“What’s your advice?” Leif croaked.
“She can’t throw a curse at you on the spot, they take preparation,” Iona tried to calm him, “We need to confront her. Mortals with the ability to curse another mortal isn’t something anyone wants running around the city.”
She took a glance at Leif who was still visibly tense and couldn’t hide the satisfied smirk that danced across her lips in triumph. As casually as she could manage, she stood up and made her way around the table, stopping beside her escort.
“Do ye want me to go over there first?” she whispered as she leaned over, hoping it looked as though she was asking him if he wanted anything else.
She ensured the smirk was still lighting up her face, and once he saw it, he snorted with laughter. Leaving him, she made her way over to the counter where the barista was cleaning the machines. From that viewpoint she could see everyone in the café, all the customers taking their fill of overpriced cake and drinking special gourmet coffees. There weren’t many people inside and the place was rather empty. Carefully she cast the spell, one she had only read about and never had to use. She had always imagined it like a siren song, although less deadly, that sung whoever heard it to sleep. Iona was accomplished enough that she didn’t have to utter the incantations out loud. As everyone in the café was coaxed into unconsciousness, Iona felt her arms begin to tingle in the familiarly painful way they did. This time it burned so hotly she thought she may lose concentration of the spell. Growth never came at opportune moments.
Thankfully, as she succeeded in ignoring the pain, all those in the café drifted off, overcome by an unconsciousness which she had set on them, with only three exceptions. As soon as the woman saw what had happened she grabbed her bag and bolted for the door, which Iona locked abruptly before she could use it.
“Sit back down, Miss MacArthur,” Leif suggested as he stood up and neatened his tie.
Like a rabbit caught between two foxes, Aileen MacArthur clung to the door, wishing it would disappear so she could flee. Reluctantly she sat back down at the table, opposite her supposed husband and waited for Iona and Leif to join her.
“By your escape attempt I think it’s safe to assume you know why we’re here,” he surmised.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Aileen MacArthur claimed.
“If you don’t consider cursing your husband and stealing valuable objects wrong then I wonder about your other moral standpoints,” Leif threw back, “This can be quite simple if you allow it to be. Return the pearl to me and release your husband from his curse.”
“He deserves it,” was all she said.
The whispers from the bag had intensified as Iona stood towering above it, only half listening to their exchange. It had been many years since she had felt something so menacingly powerful, so full of hatred and vengeance. There was no possibility of it just being one curse, not if it oozed murderous intent as it did like bitter juice from a squeezed lemon.
“No one deserves to be cursed like that,” Iona mentioned, maintaining her stare with the bag.
“He cheated on me!” she cried, “The man who promised never to hurt me, to honour me and be faithful. Anyone who breaks an oath deserves to be cursed!”
“It’s a harsh punishment,” Leif added, “and perhaps not one that fits the crime.”
“What would you know about punishment and crime, Mr Morrison?” the woman spat indignantly, “Your family is rich, influential, powerful, and they get away with much worse than this.”
Leif held her gaze calmly, almost with a hint of pity, and repeated his desire for the pearl. Huffily she put her hand in her bag and brought out a small silk pouch, which thudded as it hit the table, and one old, black leather tome which sounded as though it was heavier than a few bricks. With enviable dexterity Leif took the silk pouch from the table and peaked inside, confirming that his family’s pearl was there. After he had put it in his breast pocket, he went to pick up the voluminous book. As quickly as she could manage Iona’s hand snatched out and grabbed his wrist to stop him from touching it.
“Don’t!” she hissed, “The book’s been cursed as well.”
The whispering wasn’t normal, especially from a single volume, but now that it was out in the open, she could practically feel the tendrils of a curse reaching out to anyone who was within touching distance. A curse bound to a book that looked older than she cared to imagine, it corrupted whoever it was possessed by. Created by pure selfish, harmful intent, Iona had never seen anything like it. With some urgency to his movements, Leif took a step away from the table.
“Where did ye get this from?” Iona demanded from Aileen.
Crossing her arms she looked out of the window and huffed in refusal. The petulance, the need for vengeance, and her amplified emotions were all signs of a cursed mind, one easily possessed by the book that lay on the table. Without touching it Iona opened the hardened leather cover and flipped through the pages, recognising the language as the same as some of the oldest in the Tulloch collection. She had been under the impression that all of the old books were accounted for, somewhere in the world, yet this one had come from nowhere. It had no family name on it, no author, and nothing inside but curses and dark enchantments. The family would want to see it.
Quickly she took off her jacket and threw it over the book, wrapping it carefully so she wouldn’t need to touch it.
“Will that work?” Leif checked.
She nodded briefly. Her work wasn’t done with its confiscation, she would need to look for the curse used on Andrew MacMillan and find a way to release him. She could never have expected such work to come from one customer.
“Did the spiritualists give this to ye?” Iona questioned one last time.
The way Aileen flinched upon hearing the name confirmed what Iona had been thinking. No doubt the same someone who had been supplying them with powerful spells had also been so generous as to give them this poisonous volume. Not for the first time in her life Iona began to feel the first trickles of helplessness, and she didn’t like it. Holding the dark bible carefully in her arms, protected by her winter jacket, she left the café, followed, at a distance, by Leif Morrison.
“You won’t make her release him from the curse?” he uttered.
“I can’t use the same force on a mortal as I did on the spiritualists.”
“Mortals can’t cast curses,” he pointed out.
“They can,” Iona corrected gently, “There are many forms of magic, and not all of them run through bloodlines or rely on ancestor worship. A mortal can cast any spell they like if they have an enchanted object on hand and it doesn’t make them a witch.”
She could tell that the new knowledge made Leif Morrison uncomfortable, perhaps even afraid, but he would never dare show it. He continued to keep a comfortable distance between himself and her, so long as she was carrying the book of curses. The walk back to the shop seemed longer than it should be, but she blamed it on the increasingly heavy book she cradled in her arms. The confidence she had that the curse couldn’t affect her if her skin didn’t touch the covering leather began to wane the longer she kept it close. The sight of the shop in the distance was a welcome relief.
“Wait here,” she told Leif as she barged into the shop, bundling into the private room and practically throwing the heavy tome on one of the tables.
She breathed a sigh of relief before beginning to inspect the markings on her arm. As she had felt whilst casting the spell in the café, they had spiralled upwards towards her shoulder, almost touching it. Where they had grown the skin was red and raw, and she dared not touch it knowing through painful experience that it was sensitive. She would need time to think about the book, but more importantly she would need orders on what to do with it. After taking a few nervous glances back, just to ensure it was still where she had thrown it, she went back outside to re-join Leif.
“What will you do with it?” he queried, considerably more relaxed than he had been throughout the short walk.
“I don’t know yet,” she sighed.
“We never had that coffee did we?” he noted suggestively.
She let a small smile play on her lips before motioning for him to lead the way. Iona came to understand that there was a connection, of whatever kind, between the middle Morrison brother and the small café in the park at the end of the road. It was the second time he had taken her there, but even she had to admit that the coffee was exemplary. They sat at the same bench as they had done the first time, but instead of the cacophony of flowers in bloom, the colours were more muted this time as winter frost settled over them, causing them to hibernate.
“I noticed something earlier,” he began, “When I mentioned Duncan’s name. You seemed upset.”
He had noticed after all. She came to realise that if you had been living as long as he no doubt had then reading people’s emotions must be no different than being told about them. The subtleties that were lost to those with finite lifespans must seem glaringly obvious to those who had an infinite one. It was the first time she felt envious of them.
“Do ye know what happened to Duncan?” she turned to face him.
“He disappeared a few weeks before you arrived,” Leif answered confusedly, “I don’t know anything more than that.”
Where immortals may have the ability to tell if a person spoke truth or lies, that particular skill was lost to someone like Iona. He could be lying to her, and to let herself think otherwise, to think the best of him, would be setting herself up for hurt. They had been useful to each other, and would no doubt continue to be so, but they had no relationship beyond that.
“I have a lot of questions about Duncan, and no one able to answer them,” she confessed, taking a sip of the bitter coffee.
“Has something happened?”
Iona didn’t know whether to trust Leif Morrison, but for the first time in her life she was tired of carrying secrets which only led to more secrets. She was surrounded by the damn things with no one to talk to.
“A woman came into the shop claiming she was carrying his child.”
Silence followed the truth as her companion took a few seconds to understand the fact.
“That’s bold,” he acknowledged, “but she isn’t necessarily telling the truth.”
“True, but she knows too much about the family not to be connected with him somehow.”
“Is she mortal?” Leif questioned.
Iona nodded.
“I was under the impression the witching families had certain rules about their relationships with mortals,” he mused.
“There is, but Duncan was never one for following them.”
She felt a cold breeze brush past her, distorting the steam that was rising out of her cup. The moment was peaceful, calming, a place where she could try and reason out the events that had led her there. Strong spells, rogue family members, pregnant women, and books filled with hateful and powerful curses, looking at it as a whole, it felt that the fabric of the supernatural world was disturbed, like someone throwing a rock into a pond and spooking all of the wildlife. Iona found she was not looking forward to meeting with whoever had thrown the rock.
“For siblings, you’re quite different,” Leif observed.
“Duncan’s not my brother, he’s my cousin,” she corrected, “My father’s brother’s son.”
Leif nodded in understanding, “Younger or older brother?”
She gave him a disapproving glance and he chuckled knowingly. The middle Morrison brother had been in the world long enough to know how inheritance worked, especially in families like the Tullochs. The eldest in each generation inherited the chieftain position, regardless of gender. Since her grandparents were still alive, they were the current commanders, but once they had passed it would move onto their eldest. Depending on which brother was older depended on which of their children was heir to the Tulloch family. Although not a secret, as such, she felt it was information best kept to herself.
“I’ve been thinking ever since our first meeting that you didn’t know what happened to him, but that’s not true, is it?” Leif checked.
She nodded, “I know what happened to him, but nothing about the events that led up to it. He was punished for insubordination and removed from the shop before he could cause anymore havoc. He used to do it at home but I suppose my grandparents finally ran out of patience.”
“I’m confused as to why they would put someone who has a habit of breaking rules in charge of the family shop,” he mused aloud.
“He was banished,” Iona admitted, “From the family home, and favour. I think grandmother hoped sending him here would bring him back into the fold but it appears to have done the opposite.”
“The Tullochs haven’t changed much,” he muttered before taking a swig of his coffee.
She snorted in amusement, “Maybe ruthlessness runs in the blood.”
“I’m all for that,” he returned her mirth.
They sat in silence for a while, watching as the mortals went about their daily, less complicated lives. They had problems of their own, as Iona was well aware, infidelity in the case of Aileen MacArthur, complex family relationships, work stress, money worries, and health concerns. She supposed she wasn’t one to judge whether one problem was more important than another, but at times she envied them for all their normalcy when her life was the alternative.
“What will you do about that woman and her child?” he queried, “Will you inform the rest of your family?”
“I don’t know,” she sighed.
“Are you afraid they’ll harm them?”
She shook her head, “I’m more afraid of them taking an interest. That child is half-mortal, it should have a chance of having some life away from the family, especially one its father never liked being a part of. If I can give it a chance of a mortal life then I want to.”
“Without informing your family?” he asked, a sly tone to his voice.
She refused to answer, knowing that if she said it out loud, she would conjure images of how well Duncan’s insurgency had gone. Instead she began to chuckle lightly.
“Ye were right again,” she conceded, “I did spill my secrets to ye.”
“Secrets have a short lifespan,” he informed her knowingly, “but I promise nothing you’ve said to me today will ever be repeated to anyone else.”
“Are ye giving me your word?” she asked slyly.
The corner of his mouth lifted up in a crooked grin, “Yes, and as you know Morrisons always keep their word.”
They sat in the park longer than she guessed. She had loathed the city when she had first alighted from the train, sensing the poisonous atmosphere where rotten things and people dwelled, but she was beginning to see that the city offered opportunities of liberation and freedom that living under the Tulloch family roof had never done. But with that sense of peace came one of unease. Duncan had quickly become seduced by the same freedom she was now indulging in, and he was lying in a hospital bed until it pleased her grandparents to wake him up. Iona didn’t have the confidence that the same fate wouldn’t befall her if she ignored the rules too many times.
***
It was a fortnight before Claire reappeared in the shop, after which it was abruptly closed. Her baby bump had grown, and Iona estimated that the world did not have long to wait for a half-mortal half-witch child to enter it. She invited Claire into the private room to talk but there was something about her rigid posture or the way her eyes burned with a fierce sense of determination that indicated to her there would be no brewing of tea.
“Wake him up,” Claire commanded.
“I can-,”
“You can,” she interrupted angrily, “Duncan said you were more powerful than him, and that one day you would be head of the family, so why can’t you?”
Iona closed her mouth and began to grind her teeth. What had he been thinking? What good had it done him to tell her such personal things about their family? She was more irritated that it was now being thrown in her face.
“I’m not head of the family yet,” Iona seethed, trying to hide her outrage, “I don’t have the authority to go against the chieftain’s decision. Duncan’s punishment was decided and carried out by them. I’d be breaking Clan law if I woke him up.”
“He said you were different,” Claire glared murderously, “He said you would change things.”
“I don’t have the power to,” she stated.
It was hard to admit that Iona was tempted by the prospect of waking him up. It wouldn’t be easy considering it was an enchantment cast by the chieftain, but it was possible through some effort. However, it all boiled down to the balance between her selfishness and her stupidity. Duncan had gone against Clan law, he had broken them numerous times, ones the family did and didn’t know about, and he now lay incapacitated, trapped in a comatose state, because of it. Iona wasn’t sure if her position as heir would protect her from a similar punishment.
Clan law was absolute. She had already gotten away with a few minor misdemeanours but openly disobeying a chieftain’s decision was not something that could be as easily overlooked. On a similar thread Iona didn’t want to end up like Duncan, she didn’t want to be punished. It was he who had broken the rules time and time again despite numerous warnings from every corner, so didn’t he deserve his punishment? It was with a heavy and conflicted heart that Iona made her decision.
“Ye need to leave this city, Claire, but Duncan can’t. He’s safe in that hospital. No one will harm him, I can promise you that. The family’s ire won’t last forever, one day he will wake up, and when that day comes, I’ll send him directly to ye.”
There were so many secrets surrounding her, so many lies, so much deceit and cruelty, and all of it was because she carried her family name. Her family were not warm, they were ruthless, and cared more about preserving the bloodline than they did about caring for its members. Once ensnared no one could get out, least of all someone who had that same blood flowing through their veins. She wasn’t going to lie to her grandparents, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell the truth. Omission of fact wasn’t lying, and although she wasn’t convinced her grandmother would see it that way, it was the limit of the risks she was willing to take.
“There are things, family matters, which ye don’t understand. I won’t tell the family about your child because I can’t guarantee what they’ll do to you or it. Believe me, the Tulloch family is not a friendly place to outsiders. I wouldn’t wish my upbringing on anyone, and I’m sure Duncan feels the same way. Ye have a chance to escape where we can’t, and that child has a chance at a mortal life, a happy one where it won’t be burdened by a long stretching family history, the responsibilities, and the enemies that come with it. If ye care about Duncan, and if you care about your child’s future, you’ll do as I suggest.”
“I can’t leave him just lying there!” Claire exclaimed, tearing up.
“You have to,” Iona reasoned, “Even if I were to wake him up my family would hunt him to the ends of the earth, both of ye would always be looking over your shoulder. Leave the city, have your child, and wait until Duncan is released from his punishment. I’ll ensure that ye and the child will want for nothing.”
“I love him, Iona.”
“So do I, but do ye think he’d want ye or your child anywhere near danger? He’s my family and I’m helping ye for his sake. Will ye do as I ask?”
With tears streaming down her face Claire nodded slowly, holding her stomach as if it would give her the comfort that Duncan couldn’t.