Page 14 of Unveiled

“You and me both,” Connor said. “It might be early, but a wee dram of whisky might help us make sense of all this. Anyone else fancy one?”

There was a chorus of “ayes” across the room, and Connor walked over to the cabinet at the far side of the room and opened it. He poured shots of whisky into glasses and passed them out to those who’d said yes.

As he placed his now-empty glass on the sideboard, Laird dashed in, a pink-cheeked Alicia behind him. Louella motioned to her daughter to come sit with her as Laird handed a sheaf of child’s drawings to Connor.

“See? Look at these. She drew them a few days ago, I swear.”

Connor shuffled the pages of crayon-coloured images through his hands. While they were the drawings of a six-year-old, he couldn’t stop the tingly feeling down his spine as he realised they were indeed similar to the layout of the village he’d been in last night.

There was the medieval inn, complete with a crude rendition of what he thought was a piglet on a board. The library was there, with its myriad square windows and light emanating from it.

Scattered through the picture were old homes, with people lying in the garden. Most disturbing of all was the black cloud that hovered over the village, ominous and thickly coloured in black crayon.

It reminded him of the game he’d played when he was younger, drawing everything on paper in bright colours, then crayoning over it with black and using a pin, or something narrow, to scratch images into the paper, revealing the colour beneath like magic.

He flicked a glance at Laird and then turned to squat down beside Louella to speak to Alicia. He heard Louella’s sharp gasp as she saw the drawing. Everyone else was listening in interest and awe.

“This is a beautiful drawing,” he said. “It’s very special. What gave you the idea for drawing this one?”

Alicia stared at him, her brown eyes serious. “I had a dream,” she murmured.

“A dream? Was it a bad dream, wee ’un? Did it scare you, because this black cloud looks scary to me.” Connor pointed at the cloud, then at the people in the garden. “Are they sleeping? Looks like they’re tired.”

She nodded. “They all fell asleep and couldn’t wake up.” She frowned. “It wasn’t a bad dream, but it wasn’t nice like the one I have about unicorns. This one felt sad.”

Connor smiled and squeezed her hand. “Thanks, little one. Can I keep this drawing for a little while, please?”

She nodded. He stood up and walked over to hand the drawing to Fraser, whose face paled when he saw it. “Jesus wept. How did she get it so right, Con?” he whispered. “This is seriously fucked up.”

“That wasn’t everything,” Laird blurted out. “She called the place Glengáill. I think she meant ‘the storm in the glen,’ which is exactly what happened.”

The trickle of ice down Connor’s spine grew colder. Whatever Alicia had experienced, whether it was a prophetic dream or something more unearthly, it was clear she was susceptible to whatever was happening, and he needed to make sure she was in no danger from it.

He’d be having words with Xiathen later to ask him what he thought.

He looked around the room. “So, that’s as much as we know,” he said quietly. “My instruction for you is to stay away from the village until I can plan for you all to travel there together, allowing us to introduce ourselves properly, as a clan.

“They know what we are, but I have their word they won’t reveal it to anyone else. I believe them. Please heed my orders, and I expect you all to give these people the warm welcome they need, having been ripped from God knows where and transplanted into another place. Imagine how you’d feel in similar circumstances.”

He motioned to Fraser and Moira. “If you have any concerns, or want to chat to any of us, of course our doors are open. I’ll give another update after I’ve gone out there later today.”

He chuckled. “First thing I want to do is have my breakfast, as it seems I missed it this morning. Go well, everyone.”

He poured himself another cup of coffee, lukewarm now, and gulped it down before digging into his breakfast.

The sense of unease stayed with him as he climbed the stairs to his study and checked his diary for the day. He wouldn’t get out to the village—Glengáill, a name that seemed to have stuck from comments made as people left the room—until his international conference calls had concluded around 2:00 p.m. Until then, he was back in the real world, wheeling and dealing property and making money for himself and others.

After that…who knew where they’d all find themselves.

***

Adrian

When Adrian walked into the breakfast room in the fort later that day—having decided he deserved a lie-in until midday—he was assailed by the excited chatter of his clan. Anxious faces had awaited his return, and they seemed unwilling to yield.

It seemed he’d inherited a pack of drama queens, all hell-bent on throwing questions and ridiculous opinions at him like boomerangs. He was thankful for his den mother, Piper, as she silently handed him a cup of his favourite coffee, and mouthed the words, “Good luck.”

Piper was his rock, having been the partner of his Uncle Charles, who had passed away two months ago, making Adrian—his only blood relative—King of the pack. Adrian had left his beloved Paris to take up the crown, and he still wasn’t sure it had been the right thing to do.