August - Chapter Eight
“I appreciate your helping me with this,” Guibert was saying as he and Jeremy reached the bottom of the path and headed for the cave. It was the only entrance to the dragons’ den, according to Guibert, and the mouth of a much larger, much deeper network of tunnels and smaller caves that had once housed all of the dragons. Jeremy tried not to think about that too much, because, hello, terrifying. “Usually I have to make several trips.”
“No problem,” Jeremy replied, shifting the armful of wood he was carrying. “Do you have to do this every day?”
“No, just every couple of days.” Guibert led him inside the mouth of the cave, and Jeremy felt a wave of cool, damp air wash over him. “I used to have to worry about keeping it warm enough for over twenty dragons, but now—” He broke off, and Jeremy once again saw a flash of guilt cross the monk’s features.
This was getting ridiculous, but Jeremy held his tongue. It was obvious that something had happened to the rest of the dragons, something that definitely involved the Flood in the seventies, but every time Jeremy asked about it, Guibert refused to speak of it. Jeremy would have to get to the bottom of this mystery eventually, but he didn’t want to risk losing all of the progress he’d made with the monk which, even though it was small, was important.
“Just here.” Guibert gestured to a slit in the cave’s wall, which Jeremy wouldn’t have noticed on his own. He followed Guibert, and the slit turned into a narrow passageway. The air got warmer and warmer, then, suddenly, opened onto a space not much larger than his own bedroom.
The ceiling was low, and a few stalactites were close enough that Jeremy could touch them if he went up on his tiptoes. But then he noticed the — for lack of a better word — furnace in the far corner, and his mouth fell open in surprise.
It was a hulking piece of rock that sprouted out of the cave wall, with a huge opening carved into the middle, where a glowing pile of orange coals simmered in the humid air. Guibert put down his own armful of logs and retrieved a long metal instrument. He began raking the coals, rolling them over and around the bottom of the furnace until sparks flew and fresh flames licked at his hands. Then, he fed a few pieces of wood into the opening. The fire caught quickly, and he waved Jeremy over, taking a log from him and sliding it in.
Jeremy put the rest of the wood down beside the furnace and wiped his brow. “Why are we doing this?”
“This cave,” Guibert replied, picking up the metal rake again and pushing the logs further back into the furnace, “was formed by an ancient river that spilled out into the sea. It was adventurous, this river, and it squeezed into every crack, every fissure, creating a complex network of caves, tunnels, and pathways.” He withdrew the rake and put it back against the wall, then brushed off his hands. “Some of these pathways are big enough for a fully-grown dragon to walk down. Others, so small that even a rat would have trouble fitting in.” Guibert pointed to the place where the furnace met the wall. “This connects to a series of very small tunnels that run throughout the cave system. The hot air travels through the tunnels and heats the rock, which, in turn, heats the air inside all of the caves. This keeps the den warm, because dragons can’t risk catching cold.”
“Wow.” Jeremy put his hand against the cave wall. It was astonishingly warm, but not hot. “It’s like what the Romans used.”
“Yes!” Guibert exclaimed, with a degree of surprise that Jeremy did not appreciate. “Precisely. And given how long the winters can be on this island, the dragons would sometimes spend up to six months in their caves. They would only come out for sustenance, or sacrifices, or the occasional bit of magic.”
“Six months,” Jeremy echoed, trying to imagine it. “That must’ve used up a ton of wood.”
Guibert nodded. “Felling trees and stacking wood are among the chief duties of a postulant. But we never had to worry about taking too much, because the dragons would use some of their power to regenerate the forests around the monastery.”
“Handy.” Jeremy turned on the spot, looking around the cave. “I have to admit, it doesn’t seem… very cozy.”
Guibert snorted. “It is by a dragon’s standards.” He produced a torch and dipped it into the furnace, lighting it. “But come, let me show you something.”
He led Jeremy back down the passage, into the main entrance, then into a small, dark cave. It was much more snug than the previous cave, with a lower ceiling and bigger stalactites, and the air was oppressively warm. Jeremy realized that they were directly behind the cave with the furnace, and sweat began to trickle down his temple. Guibert’s flickering torch cast strange, warped shadows on the hulking walls, and Jeremy almost missed the huge, hollow stone basin at the far end of the cave.
The basin was long and low, at knee-level, and filled with straw. It immediately made Jeremy think of a trough that animals would eat out of, but that couldn’t be right.
“Look,” said Guibert, his eyes shining and his voice reverent. He reached down into the basin and brushed some straw aside, revealing an orb with thick, shiny skin that glimmered in the light of his torch.
No, not an orb. Jeremy stepped back as the realization hit him — an egg.
The egg was massive, easily the size of his own head, and greyish in color. Its shell glittered gold, blue, and green, shimmering in the low light, and the breath caught in Jeremy’s throat. It was beautiful, perfect in its simplicity.
Answering an unspoken question, Guibert swept away more of the straw, revealing another two, then three, then four eggs, all of them nestled together in the basin, throbbing gently in the humid air. “Are they not wonderful?” the monk murmured.
Jeremy could only nod. He was overwhelmed by what he was seeing, and the air was beginning to stifle him. Two warring desires had rooted him to the spot — he wanted to get out of this cave and back into the fresh air, and he wanted to fall to his knees and protect these beautiful eggs with his body as well as his soul.
But Guibert covered them back up, tucking the eggs back into the straw with a devotion that would have shocked Jeremy not five minutes before. Now, it just made sense. “Come,” said Guibert, taking Jeremy’s wrist and guiding him back out into the sunlight.
Jeremy took a shuddering gasp of fresh air — it hit him like a wall, wiping all of the strange feelings out of his body. He no longer needed to stay in that tiny, stifling cave, watching over the eggs until his body shriveled and his hair disappeared. There was still something, though, something that made him want to stay here for as long as he could, to keep the eggs safe and warm and dry, to see what they hatched and grew into.
Guibert was watching him closely, his expression shrewd. “It can be overwhelming,” he said, “to see them for the first time.”
“What are they?” Jeremy spluttered. He suddenly wished he was down on the beach, so he could splash some water on his face and come back to reality. In a fit of panic, he scooped up some loose, sandy dirt and rubbed it along his jaw, then the back of his neck. It smelled like the earth and the sea, and it grounded him a little.
“Amalga’s offspring.” Guibert was still hovering, watching him closely. “I’m sorry, I’d forgotten how they can affect outsiders.”
“Oh, you forgot, did you?” Jeremy snapped, sitting down on the ground. His legs splayed out in front of him, not far from the cliff’s edge, and he stared out at the docile turquoise ocean, his heart thudding in his ears.
Guibert sat down next to him, brushing a few stray pieces of straw off of his robes. “I apologize. It’s just a natural part of their magic, the only kind they can do before they hatch.”
“What, manipulate people?” Jeremy knew he was laying it on thick, but he didn’t care.
“In a way,” Guibert replied, not rising to the bait. “But it’s no different from our response to kittens, or puppies, or even babies. They’re engineered to cause feelings of adoration, devotion — we naturally want to take care of them, not abandon them. The eggs do the same thing, but they have to rely on their own power, not on how they look.”
Jeremy snorted in spite of himself. He supposed a big, shiny egg really wasn’t the same thing as a puppy.
Guibert’s gaze traveled to the horizon. “The feeling will fade, with time. But I will refrain from taking you in there again.”
“Appreciate it.” Jeremy scooped up another handful of dirt and rubbed it against his neck. He closed his eyes at the feeling, inhaling the salty spray of the ocean, and his heart began to slow. In the distance, far above them, he could hear Guibert’s new goats kicking up a fuss in the yard, and the breeze whistled in his ears.
“There used to be more,” said Guibert. The breeze was making his hair flop against his brow, the silvery strands shining in the sunlight. “Each dragon can lay several eggs in their lifetime, but not all of them do. Some dragons only lay one egg. If looked after properly, the egg hatches on its own just as its parent begins to weaken and fade away, thereby replacing the life that we lose.” He paused for a moment, still staring at the horizon. “Amalga shouldered a heavy burden. She took it upon herself to replace the lives of those we lost, and has spent much of her power doing so.”
His thoughts whirling, Jeremy could only nod.
“It is too much for her,” Guibert continued, looking behind them at the den, his eyes full of all the history it held. “Generating the eggs takes an enormous amount of strength, on top of protecting the island. If I’m being honest, I do not understand how she does it all on her own. But I suppose it is not for me to understand. I am here to serve, and nothing else.” With that, he stood up, apparently ending the conversation. “Shall we return to the others?”
Jeremy nodded again, and stood up as well. He had no idea what to make of it all, and it left him feeling rattled and nervous.
“Will they look like her?” he asked Guibert as they made their way up the path. “Her… offspring, I guess?”
Guibert shot him a look of poorly-concealed surprise. “They might. In all honesty, I have never witnessed an egg hatching myself. Amalga is several hundred years old, and she was the youngest of her generation.”
“The youngest?” Jeremy spluttered. “How long do they—?”
Guibert grinned, sudden and sharp. “An average of six hundred years. Amalga herself is almost five hundred. You can see why my own extended lifespan is inconsequential.”
Jeremy made a weird coughing noise in reply. Not only was he buddies with a dragon, but he was buddies with a dragon who had lived through the Enlightenment.
They reached the end of the path, but instead of going to the grassy outlook that had become their usual spot for history lessons, Guibert headed for the monastery, where Aggie was finishing up the outer wall. She’d made good progress on her own, since Colin was busy helping at the clinic’s “Vaccination Sunday” and hadn’t been able to come with them.
Jeremy glanced over at Amalga, who was where they’d left her — snoozing near the edge of the cliff — before he followed Guibert. “Are you fed up with history for today?”
“Yes,” Guibert tossed over his shoulder, entering the chapel through the main door. “I wish I had never learned about mustard gas, but unfortunately, I can’t reverse time. Hello, Agatha!”
“Hi, boys.” She grinned at them, a splotch of mortar on her cheek. “How are we?”
“Delightful, thank you. But I’m afraid we can’t stay.” Guibert led Jeremy out of the chapel, then into the dining hall.
Jeremy had only seen this room, not been in it. It was larger than he’d expected, with a high ceiling and a six-foot tall, dormant fireplace at one end. There were three long, wooden tables with matching benches, and he couldn’t shake certain visions of the Great Hall at Hogwarts as Guibert went over to a large, wooden chest underneath one of the windows.
“This little field trip is fun and all,” said Jeremy, sitting down on one of the benches. The wood was smooth and glossy from years of use. “But what are we doing?”
Guibert shrugged. “I said I was fed up with your history, not mine.” He heaved open the lid of the chest, revealing that it was lined with what looked like iron, and Jeremy realized that the chest had to be hundreds of years old. Guibert bent over, rooting through its contents, then emerged with two of the largest books Jeremy had ever seen in real life.
“You asked me what Amalga’s offspring might look like,” said Guibert, coming over to where Jeremy was sitting. “And I realized I could show you.” With that, he slid the books onto the table, and Jeremy’s heart catapulted through the roof of his mouth.
The books were massive, older than any Jeremy had ever seen before in real life, and bound in heavy, thick leather. Intricate designs were carved into the covers, cut deep enough that he could fit the tip of his finger into some of them, and the leather was so stiff it almost felt like wood.
“Here,” said Guibert, completely unaware of how he had just shattered Jeremy’s brain. He sat down and opened the larger of the two books, issuing a thin cloud of dust and releasing the rich, warm scent of old paper. The golden-brown parchment glowed in the afternoon sun, revealing precise lines of thick, black text and colorful illuminations that took up entire pages. It looked just like the book his mom had found in the cottage, and Jeremy suddenly realized that that book had to be a guide to worship, or their version of the Bible. But in this book, he caught glimpses of dragons flying above the forest and the ocean, breathing fire, until Guibert paused on a spread that showed a dozen dragons together.
Jeremy’s mouth fell open in spite of himself, and he gasped at the illustration. Here were dragons in six or seven different colors, their scales shiny and embossed with gold. The spikes along their backs were various shapes and sizes, and some of their snouts were short and wide, where others were long and pointed. There was a variety as rich as any other species, and he could only stare at the images in astonishment.
“I love Amalga,” Guibert was saying, a smile threatening to break free, “I really do, I love her more than life itself, but she isn’t exactly the most colorful of her kind.”
He sort of had a point — none of the dragons were Amalga’s precise shade of tawny copper. “I still like her color. She reminds me of a penny.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“So tell me about them,” said Jeremy, his nose barely more than an inch from the paper. He couldn’t stop drinking it all in, floating on the knowledge that there were books about this. “Tell me what makes them all different.”
“Sure.” Guibert shifted closer and pointed to three dragons that were different colors but had the same thin, curved spikes along their backs, just like Amalga’s. “We don’t have names for the colors, since they can be random, but these dragons are all of the crested variety.” His finger moved to another dragon, which had a long, narrow snout. “This is the beaked variety. And if you look at the coloring along its back, you can see the variation—”
“There are spots,” Jeremy spluttered, getting far too excited about this and not caring.
Guibert nodded. “Correct, which is aptly called the spotted variety. Most dragons only have one such defining characteristic, but occasionally you get those with two.” He moved on to another dragon, which looked a bit smaller than the rest. “This is a short-tail. As you can see, its tail — and the rest of its body — are proportionally smaller than the rest of the dragons.”
Jeremy hummed, leaning even closer to the page. “Reminds me of a bowling ball.”
“I do not know what that is, but I’ll take your word for it.” Guibert leaned back, giving Jeremy his space. “I must admit, I did not think you’d be interested in any of this.”
Jeremy shot him a frown. “Why?”
Guibert shrugged. “This isn’t the way life is around here, anymore. These creatures were once the most powerful beings in this corner of the world, and everyone treated them as such. There was never a day without sacrifices, without feasts, without demonstrations of fealty, donations from even the poorest of farmers. Nor was there a day without magic, without a glimmer of each dragon’s potential. These books were once revered texts, holy texts, and documenting the life of our dragons was the highest honor a person might achieve in their lifetime.” He shook his head, his gaze much further away than it seemed. “But no one has touched them in years. The age of the dragon-gods is no more, and so it surprises me to find someone else who takes an interest.”
Jeremy took a moment to let that sink in. Guibert’s words had created a rich tapestry of memory — of feasts and dancing, of singing and praying and rejoicing, of a community at peace with its surroundings, with its history, with the creatures who protected them and supported them in ways too numerous to count. He pictured hundreds of townspeople flocking to the monastery for their weekly worship, bearing crops and cheeses and tools, kneeling before the dragons and bargaining for advice, for help, for a bit of magic. It was a beautiful thing to imagine, and then he thought of the monastery the way it was now, cold and empty and broken, and felt a shudder of sadness travel down his spine.
“What can they do?” Jeremy asked, his voice soft as his fingers hovered above the drawings. “I know the dragons protect the island and keep the weather stable, but what else can they do?”
Guibert gave him a rare, wide smile. “More than you can imagine.” He reached across Jeremy and turned the page, where a new series of illustrations spiralled across the paper in vibrant colors. “Some powers are shared by all dragons. They breathe everlasting fire, forge metal, fertilize the earth, and perform minor magic.” His fingers brushed a few images showing dragons doing exactly that, and Jeremy remembered Colin’s translation of the mysterious book — dragons using their fire to crack open rocks and make fresh soil. “Sometimes,” Guibert added, “that magic can be channeled by members of the Order, as you saw me do the other day. But that takes years of practice and dedication, and cannot be attempted by a postulant.
“Other powers are specific to individuals.” Here, his fingers moved to a dragon breathing blue flames. “This is cold fire. It freezes everything it touches. Some dragons have the ability to heal injuries and erase sickness entirely, even from other dragons. This is a more advanced version of the ability they all share to prevent decay, and only surfaces in one dragon from each generation.” Next, Guibert pointed to an image of a dragon whose eyes were completely black. “And some of them, like Amalga, can have visions of the present or the future, or read minds.”
Suddenly, it all clicked for Jeremy — how Guibert had known they were hiking in the woods, how Jeremy was struggling with his audition piece, everything.
“They often do so at the bequest of a sacrifice,” Guibert continued, “I can’t tell you how many clan leaders used to offer a dozen head of sheep in return for knowing the outcome of the harvest, or even who would make the most advantageous match for their offspring. And some…” He paused and cleared his throat in a quick cough. “Some dragons can perform necromancy.”
Jeremy stared at the monk, hardly able to believe what he’d just heard.
“It’s a very rare ability,” Guibert hastily added. “Very rare. No dragon has had this ability for the past millennium.”
“Would they use it only on the other dragons?” Jeremy asked. “And are we talking actual necromancy, or zombies?”
Guibert’s nose wrinkled. “There are one or two accounts of a dragon using this ability to bring a clan chief back to life. But only after a mortal wound or other such accident ended his reign before it was supposed to end, and it was always a full restoration. There weren’t just dead, rotting bodies walking around, if that’s what you mean.”
Jeremy gaped at him. There was no way— “Are you— are you kidding me right now?”
“No,” Guibert replied, his voice grim. “But this was before the Order existed, so there was no one to step in and attempt to serve as a voice of reason.”
Jeremy shoved his glasses up his forehead and rubbed his eyes. He needed coffee.
“And that is our calling,” Guibert continued, closing the book and sending up a fresh waft of dusty parchment. “We are the intermediaries, the step between the clan and the dragons, between what is old, and what is new.”
“You mean what is sane and what is insane,” Jeremy muttered. He put his glasses back on and pulled out his phone. If they were going to do this, it might as well happen now. “So tell me how it happened, how the Order began. Start from the beginning.”
“Whose beginning?” said Guibert, reaching for the second book. “Ours, or the dragons’?”
Jeremy felt a cold, fresh wave of curiosity overtake him, in spite of the so-called necromancy, the visions, the sacrifices, all of it. “The dragons.”
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“Good progress today,” Aggie was saying as she guided them into the harbor beside Jeremy’s cottage. She was squinting and grinning in the late afternoon sun. “I think we’ll be able to start the roof after we get back from Glasgow.”
Jeremy felt his phone buzz in his pocket and he ignored it, jumping out of the boat. “Yeah, you did a lot. You sure Colin doesn’t just slow you down?”
“Maybe,” said Aggie with a sniff. “He does get worked up about symmetry. I mean, good God, we’re trying to make it functional, not pretty.”
Jeremy grinned, shouldering his rucksack. “Yeah, who wants a pretty monastery?”
“About half of France, but that’s beside the point.” Aggie went about doing whatever it was she did to get the boat to sorts, and Jeremy felt another buzz in his pocket. He ignored it again, assuming it was just another notification from the picture he’d posted on Instagram not ten minutes before. He glanced behind him at the cottage and saw Mozart’s face in the kitchen window. They were back later than usual, and she probably wanted her usual pre-dinner snack.
“You’re, uh,” he said, before he could stop himself. “You’re insanely good at all this, Aggie. At the building and the planning and all of it.”
She shot him a look that was surprise and delight all rolled into one. “Cheers, Jer. Helps that it is literally in my blood, so.”
“But still.” He nudged her with his elbow and ducked a punch in return. “You’d be really great at this, if you wanted to make it what you did. I know you don’t know what you want to do at uni, but I think you should think about it.”
She snorted, shouldering her own bag and swiping a stray hunk of dried mortar off her leg. “And live in the world’s longest shadow? No, thanks.” But she smiled all the same. “I’ll do something even more rebellious than helping a secret dragon and her pet monk. You’ll see.”
Jeremy laughed. “Got it.”
Aggie left just a few minutes later, waving at him as she turned her Jeep back onto the main road. Jeremy went about getting Mozart a snack, narrowly avoiding tripping over her, and couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He just felt weird, off-balance. Out of sorts. And he wasn’t sure why.
At least, that was what he told himself. Ten minutes later, Jeremy was pedaling due north, the evening breeze sharp and delicious against his scalp, hazy and numb and exhausted but too wired to stop moving. He only had half an idea of what he was doing, which was dumb for several reasons, chief among them being that his mom would be home within the hour and wonder why she was coming back to an empty house.
The truck was in its usual spot in Colin’s driveway, and as Jeremy pulled in beside it, he saw a flash of movement in the window of the clinic. Someone flipped an ‘OPEN’ sign he hadn’t noticed before over to ‘CLOSED,’ and then there was Colin, glancing out the window and freezing when he spotted the person standing in his driveway.
Jeremy gave a feeble sort of wave, his heart thudding in his ears. Dumb, dumb, dumb, the little voice in his head chanted in time to the beats. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
Colin gaped at him for a moment before disappearing from the window, then, within moments, the front door to the house opened and he came out to the driveway. He was frowning, confused and wary and pleased all at once, and Jeremy felt a powerful urge to kiss him right there and then. He gripped his handlebars instead and got off the bike, remembering all too late that his clothes were covered in mud and bits of grass.
“Hi,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” said Colin, stopping just a foot away from him. “You didn’t—”
“I know,” said Jeremy, a blush flooding his neck. He hated the distance between them, even knowing it was necessary. “I’m sorry— I don’t know, this was a dumb move, I can go—”
“No,” said Colin, but he didn’t sound sure. “No, don’t—”
“I just—” Jeremy fought the urge to shove his hands in his pockets. “So much happened today, and I had to tell someone—”
“Okay.” Colin frowned a little more, then stepped aside. “D’you want to come in?”
Jeremy blinked; he hadn’t expected that. “Yeah, sure. I mean, is your dad—?”
“Colin,” came a low, gritty voice from the front doorway. “Who’s this?”
“Dad,” said Colin, masking his surprise and keeping his voice steady. “This is Jeremy. You know, the bloke I’m tutoring.”
“The American,” Thomas MacGregor grunted, giving Jeremy a piercing, dark look. “Aye.”
“Good evening, sir,” said Jeremy, somehow managing not to collapse on the spot. Dr. MacGregor was much more intimidating at close range and without a drink in his hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not staying long.”
“Good.” Thomas MacGregor glanced at his son. “Keep it short. Colin, dinner.”
“Yeah,” said Colin, and he deflated a little once his dad stepped out of view. He glanced at Jeremy and jerked his head towards the house. “Come on, then.”
The kitchen was spotless as ever, and Jeremy tried not to move around too much for fear of drizzling dried mud over everything. His phone buzzed again in his pocket and he ignored it, guessing it was probably his mom.
“Go on.” Colin dug through the freezer and pulled out two frozen pizzas. “Out with it.”
Jeremy swallowed, momentarily distracted by the way Colin’s utilikilt did certain things— “Well, I— Can he hear—?”
Colin shook his head, tearing through the packaging. “He’s in his office.”
Jeremy exhaled. “Okay. So, first of all, I saw dragon eggs today.”
Colin paused, his hand halfway to the dial on the oven. “What?”
Jeremy went on from there, telling Colin everything that Guibert had told him — all about the different kinds of dragons, their powers, all of it. He explained it all in a rush, somehow getting through what life was like for the members of the Order, and how everything had changed in the past couple hundred years, especially after the Accords of 1858. By the time he finished, he was a little out of breath and Colin was staring at the oven, his gaze worlds away.
Silence hung in the air for a few moments, then the oven timer went off and Jeremy jumped. He’d forgotten where they were, what Colin was doing, how it was sort of sad that his dinner came from the frozen section of the supermarket instead of his own stovetop. But then Jeremy remembered Colin at the cottage’s kitchen table, looking down at his plate and saying, so sadly, so wistfully, that Jeremy’s mom made the best food, and things slotted into place.
Colin shifted, putting on an oven mitt and checking the pizzas. “Few more minutes,” he said, resetting the timer and rejoining Jeremy where he was leaning against the island.
“I know it’s a lot,” said Jeremy. “Sorry.”
Colin shook his head. “No, don’t be.” He drummed his fingers on the countertop. “It does make sense, Jer. It answers a lot of questions I didn’t even know I had.”
Jeremy nodded. “I know. So how do I not tell her? How do I not tell when now I know why things are the way they are, why this island’s history is completely different from everywhere else?”
Colin bit his lip, thoughtful. “I don’t know. It’s not like it was before. We didn’t have all the information before, but now that your mum’s got the translation and she knows about the tapestry and the cross and—”
“I know,” Jeremy said again, shoving a hand through his hair. He didn’t miss the way Colin’s gaze traced the movement. “I’m worried it’s just going to vomit out of me. It’s just going to come out in the middle of dinner and she’s going to kill me.”
“Well.” Colin looked pained, shifting closer to Jeremy. “I don’t like lying to her, either, but maybe we just need to wait. We’ll know when it’s gone too far, when we can’t keep helping Guibert and lying to her at the same time.”
“Yeah,” said Jeremy, then he nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think we can get away with all of it without telling her something.” He glanced at Colin. “You’ll help me, right? I don’t know if I can face telling her alone, and she’s going to have all these questions.”
“Of course.” Colin bumped his shoulder against Jeremy’s, gave him a small smile. “I’d never throw you to the wolves.”
Jeremy stomach did some ridiculous things, but he was saved from saying anything stupid by his phone buzzing once again in his pocket. But then it buzzed again, and again, and then he realized he was getting a phone call. A phone call from the same person who had apparently sent him almost fifty texts within the past half-hour.
“Jo?” He frowned at the screen, then glanced at Colin, who made a ‘go ahead’ gesture. Jeremy swiped to accept the call and put the phone to his ear, which was his first mistake. “Hey, Jo, what’s going—?”
“OHH MYYY GOOOODDDD—”
Jeremy winced, pulling the phone away from his ear while Colin grinned. “Jo,” he half-shouted at his phone, “what the fuck are you—?”
“THE PHOTO,” she screeched, more than loud enough for Colin to hear even without speakerphone. “ARE YOU SHITTING ME RIGHT NOW?! THAT’S COLIN, ISN’T IT??”
Jeremy’s wince turned into a full-blown cringe and his face flooded with heat. His finger hovered over the ‘end call’ button. “Jo,” he begged into the microphone, “please shut up—”
“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME HE WAS, LIKE, HOTTER THAN A TEXAS JULY, WHAT THE FUCK, JEREMY—”
“Jo,” Jeremy tried again, ignoring Colin’s gleeful expression. “Jo, please—”
“HIS BICEPS ALONE COULD MAKE PANTIES DROP, AND HE WAS CARRYING A GOAT?? ON A BOAT?? WHY WAS HE CARRYING A GOAT ON A BOAT???
Colin’s eyes glinted and he cocked his head. “How does she know about that?”
“Uh.” Jeremy wished the earth would crack open and swallow him whole. “I posted that photo I took of you the other day, when we—”
“IS HE THERE?!” Jo shrieked, and Jeremy hid his face in his elbow. “OH MY GOD, JEREMY, LET ME TALK TO HIM—”
“Okay, bye, Jo!” Jeremy hung up, then turned off his phone and shoved it deep inside his pocket. Death, he thought, death, come to me, now.
The oven timer went off again, but Colin ignored it, smug and grinning and far too pleased with himself. “I like her.”
“Shut up,” Jeremy managed. His body was hot and cold all at once.
“Never.” Then, to Jeremy’s shock, Colin leaned in and gave him a warm, smacking kiss that was over before it even started. Colin jerked his head at the door. “Now get out of here, before we both get into trouble.”
“Okay,” Jeremy said, his mouth numb and his ears ringing. “See you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” Colin repeated, then he winked, and Jeremy bolted from the house.
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The rest of the week was practically inconsequential by comparison — Aggie and Colin finished the walls, Jeremy and Guibert got all the way up through the Vietnam War, the mother seat in Glasgow sent word that the three visitors would be expected at six-thirty on Saturday evening — and then, then. Thursday happened.
“Mom,” Jeremy said, leaning in the doorway of his mom’s office. “I thought the whole point of you asking me to come and pick you up from work was to get you to leave.”
“Almost done,” she assured him. She was up on a ladder, doing something to her highest bookshelf. Something that Angus could’ve done in thirty seconds, he was sure. “I just need to— oh, merde!” A huge book went toppling down, smacking loudly on the lip of the lower shelf.
Then, to their combined surprise, a hidden latch in the side of the shelf popped open, exposing a thin, dark cubby.
For a long moment, Jeremy and Rochelle just stared at it, too shocked to do anything else. Then, Jeremy quickly pulled her office door shut and Rochelle scrambled down the ladder, catching her heel on the leg and almost toppling onto the rug.
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” she hissed, creeping up to the cubby like it was going to bite her. It was at her eye-level, about a foot long and four inches wide, carved into the space between the shelves. It had to have been built into the wall, just like the rest of the bookshelves. “Oh my God, Jer, there’s something in there!”
“What are you doing?” he spluttered. “Grab it!”
Rochelle hesitated, then gave herself a shake and reached into the cubby. She frowned, and pulled out a large, black leather-bound book covered in a light layer of dust. “What the hell.”
“I’m telling you, mom,” Jeremy said, “you and these secret books.”
Rochelle shook her head. “It doesn’t say anything on the cover. Hang on.” She brought the book over to her work table, and Jeremy followed her, his heart thudding in his ears.
She pulled on her white gloves, switched on her powerful desktop light, and brandished a magnifying glass. Then, after taking a quick, deep breath, she opened the book.
After a moment, Jeremy frowned. “It looks like… accounting?”
“Yeah,” Rochelle said, her frown deepening. “It’s a ledger.” She flipped a few pages, and the handwriting changed. “Supply orders, I think. Small, intermittent shipments over the course of many years.” She lowered the magnifying glass over a particularly impressive scribble. “It’s in a mixture of Gaelic and English. I think this entry says wheat, five bushels, sent on the fifth of October, 1783.”
Jeremy’s heart skipped a beat, for all the wrong reasons.
“Where were they sending wheat?” Still frowning, Rochelle paged forward through the book. “And it had to have been the clan doing the sending, but who was doing the receiving?”
“Uh,” Jeremy tried. God, his face was probably bright red, he could feel it. “Does it matter?”
Rochelle glanced at him over her shoulder and scoffed. “Uh, yeah, it matters.” Again, she lowered the magnifying glass. “More wheat, two cows, and a pig, less than a year later. Looks like it’s all agricultural stuff, not very many finished goods— ah!” She pointed to another entry. “There! Three new axes, August sixteenth, 1785. But there’s no record of them receiving any money in exchange for them, I wonder why—”
“Mom,” said Jeremy, “why don’t we go home, and you can look into this tomorrow?”
“But why would they hide something like this?” Rochelle was looking at the cubby, completely ignoring him. “Why wouldn’t the clan want someone to find this?”
And that was why, on Friday evening, twelve hours before they were going to leave for Glasgow, Jeremy paused after he got out of the boat, squared up to Aggie and Colin, and said, “We need to tell my mom about Guibert and Amalga.”
They both froze where they stood — Aggie, busy tying up the boat; Colin, in the middle of shouldering his pack — and stared at him. “Come again?” said Aggie.
“If we don’t tell her first,” Jeremy said, “she’s going to figure it out herself. And soon.”
Colin frowned. “How d’you figure?”
“She found something,” said Jeremy. “A log book. Of supplies delivered by the clan to the Order, going back to the 1600s. But it doesn’t say where any of the stuff goes, and the entries stop in the early twentieth century, so she’s starting to poke through the history, trying to find any holes or gaps that might give her some clues.” He shook his head. “It’s only a matter of time until she puts the pieces together. And when she does, there’s a possibility she marches straight up to the chief and demands to the know the truth, and—”
“—we can’t have that happen,” said Aggie. “For Guibert’s sake. And Amalga’s.”
Jeremy nodded. “Right.”
“And you’re just telling us this now?” Aggie went on, giving him a thoroughly displeased look. “Why not this morning or, I don’t know, twenty minutes ago?”
Jeremy gave her a sheepish grin. “Less of a chance I get thrown in the ocean, this way.”
Aggie sighed through her nose. “I guess you’re right.” She hopped out of the boat. “D’you think she’ll squeal on us? As much as I don’t want Guibert to get into trouble with the chief, I don’t want to get grounded for the rest of time, either.”
“She won’t,” Jeremy said, with more confidence than he felt. “She’ll understand why it’s important for us to fly under the radar. She won’t tell your parents.”
“All right, then,” said Colin, somewhat to Jeremy’s surprise. He hadn’t expected Colin to go along with it so easily. “So how d’you want to do this?”
Colin and Aggie had already packed for Glasgow, and filled her Jeep’s tank with gas. They were all going to stay at Jeremy’s for the night, then leave at six o’clock the next morning. “Over dinner,” said Jeremy, then checked his phone. “My mom will be home in about two hours. That gives us time to get cleaned up and figure out how we want to do this. Plus, I need to start the food.”
“Awwww,” crooned Aggie, reaching up and ruffling his hair. “What a good son you are.”
Jeremy shoved her away, his face prickling with heat. “Shut up.”
Sure enough, seven o’clock struck, and the front door of the cottage swung open. “Hello!” Rochelle sang, bustling inside and dropping her bag as she toed off her shoes. “Are we all getting excited for tomorrow?!”
“Yeah,” Jeremy replied, from where he sat at the dining room table. “Hi, mom.”
She straightened up with a look of surprise. “You’re… what are you doing?”
“I thought we’d eat in here,” said Jeremy. “Since there are four of us and… it’s kind of a special occasion?”
“Okay,” Rochelle said, not sounding like she believed him. She came into the dining room. “Hi, Aggie, hi, Colin.” She frowned at the platters of food. “You already cooked?”
“Yup.”
“And he didn’t set anything on fire,” Aggie cut in with a grin. “We’re very proud of him.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “What can I say, I’m full of surprises.”
Rochelle smiled. “Let me go and wash my hands, then we can eat.”
Once the plates were cleared, Rochelle sat back in her chair, relaxed and happy, and Jeremy felt a weird pang in the bottom of his stomach at the knowledge of what he was about to do. With a glance at Colin, he reached down beside his seat and pulled up the bottle of Morrison’s scotch that usually lived in the pantry, along with a glass.
His mom watched this with faint interest. “Oh, are you a Scotch man now?”
“It’s not for me.” Jeremy poured her a healthy two fingers and slid the glass across the table. “It’s for you.”
Rochelle looked at the glass, then looked at him. “Please don’t tell me that you’re pregnant.”
Jeremy managed a weird choking noise, studiously not looking at Colin. Of all the times for her to crack a joke— “No.”
“We just need to talk to you about something,” said Colin, so steady and composed that Jeremy thought it had to be a trick. “And we figured you might need a bit of help hearing it.”
“Right.” Rochelle slid her gaze to Aggie. “Are you in on this, too?”
“Unfortunately,” said Aggie, “yes.”
“Okay.” Rochelle turned her glass in slow, methodical circles, like she was winding a clock. “I have to tell you guys, this is sort of creepy. Am I about to be indoctrinated into a cult? Are you all secretly Scientologists?”
“Mom,” Jeremy cut in, heat flushing his cheekbones, “remember when we went for that hike a couple weeks ago? Up on the northern edge of the island?”
“Um, yeah?” She looked at him like he was crazy. “What about it?”
“Well, when we were on the hike, we…” Jeremy swallowed, then figured he may as well jump in the deep end. “We met a monk named Guibert.”
“And a dragon,” Aggie chimed in. “A dragon named Amalga.”
Rochelle froze. For a few moments, she didn’t move, then she again looked at each of them in turn, as if she were waiting for one of them to burst out laughing and yell “PSYCH!” But when none of that happened, she downed half her Scotch in one gulp and nodded. “Keep talking.”
So they did, and the whole story came out in one long, winding tale. They told her everything, even playing her Jeremy’s recordings of their first meeting with Guibert and Amalga, of Guibert telling them that he needed help. Through it all, Rochelle barely reacted, her face flat and her eyes bright, but Jeremy could see the way her fingers trembled against her glass, her excitement, shock, and disbelief threatening to break to the surface.
When they got to the part about fixing Guibert’s chicken coop and testing the mortar, Rochelle frowned at Jeremy and said, “Let me get this straight. These past couple of weeks, this is where you’ve been during the day? You haven’t been working on the farms, or at the ice cream shop? You’ve been rebuilding a medieval monastery?”
“Yeah.” Jeremy tapped a quick, nervous rhythm on the tabletop. “Sorry about that.”
“I—” But his mom seemed at a loss for words. She shook her head, pressing her thumb to the space between her eyebrows. “Keep talking.”
Colin picked up the story again, sending Jeremy a concerned glance. Jeremy dropped his gaze, his heart beating in his throat, because even though he had known that telling this big of a lie to his mom would suck on many levels, it still hurt like a bitch to have her look at him like that.
A few minutes later, Rochelle interrupted them again, this time cutting Aggie off in the middle of her describing how she and Colin had repaired the chapel wall. “Sorry,” she said to Aggie, “but I just want to get something out of the way. If Guibert needs you to keep everything quiet, why on earth are you telling me this? And why now, why not two weeks ago?”
“Because,” said Colin. “We’ve realized there are some things we can’t do on our own, not without taking too much of a risk. And we don’t want to get you in trouble, either.”
“I see.” Rochelle cocked her head to one side, her tone flat and humorless. “And what exactly is it that might get me into trouble?”
“The cross,” said Jeremy. Mozart had settled in his lap, and he pressed his fingers into her fur. “We need to get it back. The monastery, the whole island, isn’t safe without it, and even if we rebuilt everything perfectly, it wouldn’t matter unless we had the cross.”
For a long moment, Rochelle said nothing. Then, she made a quiet groaning noise and thunked her head on the edge of the table. “Right. Perfect.”
“So we were thinking,” Aggie said, ignoring Jeremy’s warning look, “you could make a replica and swap it out for the real one.”
A deadly silence followed this. Rochelle was staring at Aggie with livid, burning eyes. “Oh, could I?” she said, her voice brittle.
“Mom,” Jeremy pleaded. “We wouldn’t ask unless it was important. You know that.”
“Yeah,” Colin added. “The farmers can’t afford to lose this year’s harvest. One bad season could set them off for a long time, even if next year we have the most normal weather in decades.”
“And the… dragon,” said Rochelle, with difficulty, “the dragon really can’t keep this place stable without that damn little cross? What about the other relic, that blood—?”
“We’re taking care of the blood,” Jeremy said quickly. “And yeah, she needs the cross. The relics are magical or something, and without them, she doesn’t have the power she needs to keep this island running on her own.”
“Right,” said Rochelle, one of her eyes twitching. “Because she’s the only dragon left after all the other dragons left or died or disappeared or whatever.” Then her attention went back to Jeremy. “Wait, what do you mean, you’re taking care of the blood?”
“That’s why we’re going to Glasgow,” Aggie piped up, and Jeremy stifled the urge to kick her, knowing it would only end badly for him. “The mother seat has a few spare vials that we can bring back with us.”
“I see.” Rochelle raised an eyebrow. “Is there even an audition?”
“Yes,” Jeremy insisted. “That part came first. It’s just lucky that we can go and grab the blood while we’re there.”
“Right. Lucky.” Rochelle spun her glass between her fingers again, flashing a brief rainbow across the ceiling, then sighed. “Well. I guess there’s no way around this. I just have to hope that I can pull it off without losing my job and my reputation in one go.”
“Absolutely,” said Aggie. “You’ve already had it authenticated, haven’t you?”
That took Rochelle by surprise. She blinked at Aggie. “Yeah, I mean— yes, I have—”
“Then all you need is a really good fake. The likelihood of someone who’s smart enough to know the difference actually seeing it up-close is basically zero. Plus, if anyone tries to call you on it, you can say that the original was damaged, so you had a replica made to make sure nothing else happened to the original.”
Rochelle gave her a faint smirk, then glanced at Jeremy and Colin. “It’s sort of terrifying how you all have just worked this out on your own. Should I be worried?”
“No,” said Jeremy and Colin, just as Aggie said, “Yes.”
Rochelle sighed again, smiling in spite of herself, and Jeremy felt a twinge of hope — hope that she would forgive him. “All right, then. I guess I’ll have plenty to do while you’re gone.”