August - Chapter Six

Rochelle’s rough translation of the book was almost complete, and it had been more than enough for her to catch a glimpse of the world that Jeremy and the others had stumbled into head-first. It took the edge off Jeremy’s guilt, knowing that she was learning the same things they were, just in a different way—

“It’s a fascinating founding myth,” she told them over a hot second dinner of leftover bouillon “A complete blend of Christian and pagan ideology, practically seamless.”

“So,” Jeremy said, avoiding Aggie’s glare, “there are dragons, then? In the book, I mean,” he quickly added, before Aggie could kick him.

“Yes, lots of them.” Rochelle was beaming. “There are about twenty named dragons in total, along with another dragon who appears to be the first dragon. It’s only ever referred to as the ‘Old One,’ and it seems like the entire belief system is structured around the worship of this dragon in particular. All of the dragons are important and play specific roles, but the Old One exists on a tier above all of them.”

“So the Old One is their version of God?” said Colin.

“Funny you should ask that,” said Rochelle, “because the answer is yes and no, at least as far as I can tell. Do either of you know what the Trinitarian Declaration is?”

“Yes,” said Aggie, just as Colin said, “No.” Colin blushed a little and took a bite of his food.

“It’s an affirmation of belief,” Rochelle told him, “and you’ve definitely heard it before, it’s the whole, ‘Father, Son, Holy Spirit’ thing. Christians started using it once the Trinitarian debate was settled and they mostly agreed that God existed in three parts. Like many other medieval spiritual texts from the same time period, this book begins with the Trinitarian Declaration, but instead of the Holy Spirit, they reference the Old One, the dragon. These references continue throughout the text, so it’s not just a fluke.”

“So they believe in Jesus Christ and God but not in the Holy Spirit?” said Aggie, frowning.

“Yes and no,” Rochelle replied. “It’s a little fuzzy to me, but it seems like, in this construction, Jesus Christ is a more distinct and separate entity, like the Old One. Like Jesus, the Old One is positioned as a manifestation of God on earth, a being who is chosen and imbued with inherent holiness, or some other kind of unique characteristic. He’s clearly the leader of the dragons, and he seems to have some powers that the others don’t.”

“But you said it was a blend of Christian and pagan stuff,” said Aggie. “Does that mean that they worshipped the Old One as some sort of god before the Christians arrived?”

“It’s hard to tell,” said Rochelle, “but I would assume that yes, they did. They just merged the old worship with the new.”

“This might be a dumb question,” said Colin, “but who was doing all this worshipping?”

“Everyone, I would think.” Rochelle polished off her bowl of bouillon. “This community would’ve had spiritual leaders who led sacrifices and other rituals, but everyone played a part. Pre-Christian religious beliefs weren’t nearly so exclusionary in this part of the world, and it seems like this community tried to blend Christianity into its preexisting system as seamlessly as they could. They changed the ideology, but not the modes of worship — the book catalogues a specific structure of prayer, rituals, and sacrifices, and many of them seem to have required group participation. When you have a belief system like that, something that’s a social practice more than anything, it regulates and strengthens itself. If people didn’t participate, they risked being outcast, socially. And if we’re taking the book at face value, then it seems like there was definitely participation of some kind. I think the fact that we found the book at all speaks to that.”

“What an image,” said Aggie, shaking her head. “The people of Rowe, bowing down to dragons. It’s mental.”

What Jeremy didn’t say was that they’d been doing pretty much the same not five hours earlier. He shoved a spoonful of bouillon into his mouth instead, avoiding eye contact with Colin. This was going to get messy, if they weren’t careful.

“Yes.” Rochelle chuckled. “But I’m sure that the Christians weren’t too impressed by it when they first touched down. And, I bet they weren’t too happy when the locals just invented paganism 2.0 instead of sticking to dye-in-the-wool Christianity.”

“I bet they were sneaky about it,” Jeremy said. “I bet they pretended to go all-in until the monks left, then they were like, ‘Okay, guys, time for dragons.’”

Rochelle really laughed, then, and so did the others. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Rochelle. “That’s what a lot of native communities did after the first wave of Christian missionaries. With varying results, of course.”

“If you’re talking about the Albigensian Crusade,” said Jeremy, “please remember the rules. No Crusades or Manichees at the dinner table.”

Rochelle rolled her eyes but grinned, and Jeremy smiled at her in return. It felt weird, to be joking with her and lying to her at the same time, but he knew that was the price they had to pay for Guibert’s safety as well as their own.

He just hoped, perhaps stupidly, that he wouldn’t have to lie to her for long.

“There’s still something that I don’t understand,” Rochelle was saying to Jeremy as he did the dishes, shortly after Aggie and Colin had left. “The text includes a pretty cut-and-dry rule of worship. It’s Benedictine in its base, and there are specific guidelines for their version of the liturgy, for sacrifices, all of it. There were clearly people running the show, probably for centuries, and if there’s one thing I know to be true, it’s that the things people believe in leave a mark. Hell, a lot of the churches here still have their original foundations and walls. So where’s the evidence?”

Jeremy’s heart thudded, but he continued scrubbing the saucepan, keeping his gaze down. “Well, they probably built over or repurposed a lot of the spaces. Wouldn’t that make sense, especially once the Presbyterians moved in?”

Rochelle sighed as she wiped down the table. “I guess so. But there aren’t any other written records that mention this belief system, as far as I can tell. I’ve been through the castle library front to back and back to front and can’t find anything.”

“You never know,” Jeremy replied, thrilled that she couldn’t see his face, which was on fire. “You might find something in the future.”

“I guess so,” she said, and they left it at that.

Some time later, when his mom was curled up in the sitting room watching reruns of East Enders and Jeremy was upstairs neck-deep in an episode of Downton Abbey, he got a text.

Colin (9:43 P.M.): I’m outside

Jeremy’s stomach took a one-way trip to Antarctica and he stared at the screen, his pulse pounding in his ears as he tried to figure out everything that he was feeling and what, precisely, Colin expected him to do with this piece of information.

“What d’you think?” he said to Mozart, holding the phone screen up in front of her face.

She sniffed at it and gave him a flat, unimpressed sort of look.

“Same,” said Jeremy. He clicked the screen off, knowing that he should just ignore the text, because he was mad at Colin, and Colin had been kind of a jerk today, in between all of the magic and insanity. But he paused the episode, slid out from under the covers, and reached for his Converse. “Shut up,” he hissed at Mozart, who put her ears back and lay down.

When he got downstairs, he poked his head into the sitting room. “Mom, I’m just going for a walk. I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” she replied, glued to the screen, where a woman was slapping a man and there was lots of yelling. He doubted she’d even heard what he said, but he wasn’t about to argue, so he pulled on his windbreaker and locked the front door behind him.

He took a breath, looking out at the road. There was no sign of Colin’s truck — and Jeremy hadn’t heard it — so he must’ve been on foot, but he wasn’t in the front yard or around the cottage. Jeremy looked up into the heavy purple sky, his glasses fizzing over with rain, and forced himself to take a breath. It did nothing to calm his nerves — he felt jumpy, on-edge, electric.

Par for the course, he thought, somewhat bitterly, then, in his periphery, caught a brief flare of red and orange.

Jeremy brought his gaze back to earth and looked west, up the beach and towards the forest. There, beyond the warm light emanating from the windows of the cottage, not far from the water line, was a prick of light. A lit cigarette, its glow ebbing and fading in the dim light. The smoke pooled and furled in the wet air, and Colin grimaced, sparing Jeremy a glance before he turned his attention back to the ocean.

“Fuck,” Jeremy bit out, bouncing a little on one leg. “Fuck, this is stupid. Fuck.” But he took a breath and started walking down the beach, careful not to slip on the wet pebbles. The scent of cigarette smoke hit him before anything else, and he took another breath, some part of him loving the way it smelled, rich and sharp. Colin still wasn’t looking at him.

He stopped about three feet away from Colin and shoved his hands in his pockets, mimicking Colin’s scrutiny of the horizon. “Where’d you park?”

Colin exhaled cigarette smoke through his nose. It was impossibly sexy. “Castle.”

“Ah.” Jeremy wiped at his glasses and refused to linger on the fact that Colin had chosen to go to the trouble of walking here on foot. Colin took another drag of the cigarette, his face gleaming in its brief flare of light, and Jeremy watched, transfixed. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t.” As if to prove his point, he bent down and stubbed out the cigarette. Then, of course, he pocketed it, because Colin MacGregor did not litter. He glanced at Jeremy’s legs. “You were sleeping?”

Jeremy refused to blush. “No, I.” He cleared his throat. “I was just in bed.”

“Right.” Colin was still looking. “Are those—?”

“Jo got them for me.” Jeremy could’ve punched himself for not changing. “As a joke or something. I guess.”

Colin seemed to be searching for what he wanted to say. “Okay,” he finally settled on.

“Star Trek is her thing, not mine,” Jeremy said. “Just to clarify.”

“Okay,” Colin said again. He looked up, meeting Jeremy’s gaze. “I just got back from dropping Aggie off. She’s excited for tomorrow, I think.”

“Yeah,” said Jeremy, glad for this subject change, “yeah, I am too. And nervous.”

“Yeah.” A muscle twitched in Colin’s jaw. “It’s a lot of work.”

Jeremy felt a pang of guilt. Colin was already the busiest person on the island, it wasn’t fair of them to— “If you’re too busy, then don’t—”

Colin shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m leaving for school soon anyhow, it’ll be good for—” He broke off, his gaze drifting to the ocean.

Jeremy stared at him, somewhat lost. Every part of his brain was screaming at him to ask Colin why he was here, why he thought it was okay to just show up out of the blue, what he wanted, why he’d ignored Jeremy’s texts, what he meant by—

“Anyway.” Colin glanced at him, sort of furtive. “Is your mum waiting?”

“Um.” It took Jeremy a second to catch up. He wiped at his glasses again. “No, I don’t think she even—”

“Good.” Colin nodded and stepped away from the cottage, down the beach. He was staring at Jeremy’s mouth. “Let’s take a walk.”

Oh, Jeremy thought, and his face went numb. “Okay.”

About half an hour later, he stepped into the cottage and winced when the action rubbed his heels raw— his Converse had ditched the mud in favor of sand. So had his windbreaker. He shrugged out of it and hung it up, then toed off his shoes before locking the door.

Rochelle glanced over her shoulder. “How was your walk?”

He blushed and headed for the stairs. “Fine. I’m gonna go up.”

“Night,” she called, her attention already back on the TV.

His pajama pants were also caked in wet sand, so he peeled them off and put on a fresh pair. Once he was back in bed, with Downton Abbey playing on his laptop, Jeremy couldn’t bring himself to focus on whatever it was the Dowager Countess and Mrs. Crawley were arguing about. His mind, his whole body, was stuck in limbo, a perpetual loop that kept playing back the events of the past twenty minutes. The way Colin had pulled him in, his mouth rough and merciless and tasting of smoke, his body pressing Jeremy down into the sand, the way he’d swallowed Jeremy’s gasps and held him—

Jeremy shivered, yanking the blanket up to his chest. He wouldn’t be able to focus at all tomorrow, which was a shame, because there would be a boat involved.

“This,” said Jeremy, “is a unique kind of torture.”

Aggie snorted. She looked very cool and apathetic in her sunglasses and overalls. “Stop being so dramatic. You’re fine.”

Jeremy’s stomach twisted violently, and he fought the urge to retch. “No,” he gritted out, squeezing his eyes shut against the warm sun, “I’m really not.”

“Got it,” came Colin’s voice from the front of the boat. He straightened up from one of the many little storage lockers, brandishing a white packet. “Here you are. Need water?”

The packet landed on Jeremy’s chest and he tore it open without looking at the label. “No.” He tossed the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry, then closed his eyes again and willed the lurching to stop, wishing that Mozart was with them. But she wasn’t, because she’d refused to get anywhere near the boat. It was for the best, really, because at the bottom of the boat was a burlap sack containing five of Colin’s hens. They clucked quietly to themselves, swaying with the tide. Beside it was another burlap sack, this one full of the non-perishable food they’d managed to buy with their combined allowances.

“Who would’ve known,” said Aggie, her grin evident in her voice, “that you get sea-sick.”

“Don’t,” Jeremy gritted out, “say that word.”

“What? Sick?”

“I hate you.”

“Haven’t you ever been on a boat before?” Colin said as he settled back into his seat. It wasn’t a big boat, and his knee was only inches from Jeremy’s face. Jeremy fought the urge to recoil, wishing that absolutely no one, not even Aggie, could see him like this.

“Rachel Rosenberg’s bat mitzvah,” Jeremy replied. “But that was just because she invited everyone in the grade. It was on a yacht, in Maryland. We stayed at the dock, so it wasn’t like anything… y’know, moved.”

“Ah,” said Colin.

“Bat mitzvah,” Aggie repeated. The hum of the motor was steady beneath her voice. “What was that like?”

“Fun, I guess.” Jeremy grimaced as memories of Jo stuffing her face with appetizers surfaced. He really didn’t need to think about crab puffs right now. “Kind of weird and embarrassing, too. Typical thirteen year-old stuff.”

Aggie laughed. “Did you have to wear a suit?”

“No, thank God.” Jeremy blushed a little. “But there was a tie.”

“Oh, no!” Aggie laughed again, delighted. “Was anyone else wearing a tie?”

Jeremy exhaled slowly. His stomach ache was easing a little, even with the secondhand embarrassment. “No.”

Even Colin started laughing at that, and Jeremy buried his face in his arms. “I hate you,” he said, and the hens clucked in reply. “I hate you both so much.”

About twenty minutes later, they rounded the last western curve of the island, and spotted the sharp, jagged rock jutting out of the water like a canine. Aggie angled them in towards shore then cut the motor. They drifted to a slow stop and all of them stared up at the cliffs, trying to spot any of the landmarks they had seen the day before, or some sign of Guibert.

Or the dragon, Jeremy thought. The dragon would also be a helpful clue.

“Wouldn’t it be funny,” he said aloud, “if we imagined the whole thing, and now we’re out here drifting like a couple of real idiots.”

“Don’t,” said Aggie, sounding more pained than he would’ve expected. Maybe she wanted this to be real just as badly as he did.

They stayed there for another few minutes, waiting, watching. Jeremy couldn’t see anything that looked familiar, which he supposed made sense, considering that everything had been shrouded in mist and rain the day before. But there was no sign of the cave, either, which would’ve been big enough to spot from a long distance. He wondered for the first time if there was some kind of spell on it, hiding it from view.

“There,” said Colin suddenly, pointing at something to their left, about ten yards above the beach. A sudden metallic flash beamed at them from the side of the cliff, and Aggie turned on the motor, steering the boat towards shore.

“I hope he knows what he’s doing,” she said, frowning. “I can’t see any kind of a harbor.”

As they approached land, the wind and spray drifting across their faces, the flash appeared again and again in the same spot. It seemed to say, Here! Here! Come here! Jeremy couldn’t help but smile at it, even if Aggie was right — there was no sign of a harbor, and the land was getting closer and closer.

Twenty yards. Fifteen. Ten. Five—

“Holy shit,” said Jeremy, blinking at the sight before him. “There is a harbor.”

It seemed to grow out of thin air. Between two razor-sharp cliffs, a small beach appeared, with a wooden dock jutting out from the sand into the water. Jeremy could see the fresh repairs Guibert must have made the day before; the new wood was pale and glossy next to the older, darkened, mossy stuff. At the base of the cliffs a staircase was carved into the cliffside, and at the foot of it was Guibert, robe and all, waving his arms above his head.

“I stand corrected,” said Aggie. She slowed down the motor and eased them up to the dock. Colin hopped out, mooring rope in hand, and tied them down.

Guibert approached them, pocketing what Jeremy now realized was a small chunk of glass. He looked exactly the same as he had the day before — robe, cross and beads, beard and wild hair — though he’d traded his boots for sandals.“Good morning. Smooth sailing?”

“Yeah, it was fine. Cheers for the repair work, by the way.” Aggie cut the motor and climbed out. She gave the monk a shrewd look. “Want to tell me how I couldn’t see this harbor until I was about to breach?”

His smile was small, mercurial. “Do you recall what I told you about the dragons protecting the island?” When the three of them nodded, he continued: “The dragons protect themselves as well. That’s why you can’t see the den or the monastery from the water, and why the harbor doesn’t appear until you get very close. The cloaking magic only works up to a certain point, however, and it helps if you already know what you’re looking for.”

“Huh.” Jeremy adjusted his glasses and looked up at the cliffs. “Amalga does that all on her own? Doesn’t that take a lot of power?”

Guibert looked at him with a certain degree of surprise. “Yes, yes it does. It used to be much easier, when there were more dragons, but it is a lot for Amalga to maintain by herself, especially with the climate changing as much as it has. That’s why the weather here can be a little erratic, sometimes. She can’t always operate at full capacity on all sides.”

“Ah, but I thought it was normal to go from cold rain and fog one day to balmy sunshine the next.” Jeremy met Guibert’s scowl with a smile and went to help the others unload the boat.

In addition to the sack of chickens and the sack of food, there were Aggie and Colin’s rucksacks, which felt as if they were full of rocks. Jeremy knew that, in reality, they were only full of tools and other such necessities, but he still griped about it.

Colin smirked at him. “Fine. Take this, then.” And he pushed the sack of chickens into Jeremy’s hands. A surprised squawk filtered up through the fabric.

Jeremy stared at the sack, wondering how long it would take the chickens to peck through the burlap with their tiny little beaks and how quickly they would come for his hands. “Okay,” he said at last.

The walk up the cliffside wasn’t too long, but it was a steady incline with no handrail on a sunny morning, and soon enough, Jeremy was sweating. So were the others, but the only one who seemed completely unaffected by all of it was Guibert. He kept a steady pace as they wound up and along the cliffs, throwing them the occasional glance or word of encouragement. It was infuriating.

It didn’t help that they were high up, and climbing higher all the while. The straight drop to the rocks and churning water did nothing to help Jeremy’s waning seasickness, and to distract himself, Jeremy kept his gaze down on the stairs. They were definitely centuries old; the edges were soft and rounded, there was a dip on each step where hundreds of other feet had climbed before him, and the stone was full of cracks. Moss and other weeds grew where they could, leaving the steps a jumbled mosaic of green, yellow, and brown — Jeremy felt as if they were tiptoeing up a line of old teeth, then shuddered at the image he’d conjured for himself.

Soon enough, the path sloped sharply upwards, and with a final effort, Jeremy followed the others onto the top of the cliff. A small grassy plateau opened before them, edged by the rolling forest that they’d hiked through the day before. Jeremy glanced up at the trees, then out at the glossy blue ocean, moving the burlap sack to his other shoulder. This island really was stunning. He could understand why the dragons had been so determined to protect it.

“We’re about five minutes from the monastery,” Guibert was saying, looking sprightly and energetic and about ten other things that Jeremy didn’t feel at all. Jeremy wanted to kick him. “We just have to cut through the trees. Come on, let’s continue.”

Sure enough, the monastery appeared on the other side of the forest. It had been slow going — the undergrowth was, well, overgrown, and Jeremy had tripped more than once on a hidden tree root. The hens hadn’t enjoyed that at all, and he’d taken several prickly swipes to his lower back. Sweat was mingling with the scratches to create a delightful burn that kept him sharp and just a little bit angry. The monastery’s appearance was nothing short of cathartic, and he felt a wave of relief knowing that he truly hadn’t imagined anything the day before.

Approaching the monastery from the north meant that the damage done to the building was much more visible, as was the extent of the grounds. They could see the wide, fenced-in portion that had clearly once served as a paddock for the animals, along with a dilapidated chicken coop, and an equally large stretch of land that appeared to be the garden. Apple trees grew around the edges near the forest, their unripe green fruit shining in the sunlight. Jeremy could see at least half an acre of wheat growing tall and golden, swaying gently in the ocean breeze, along with nearly as much barley. He paused at the edge of the land, taking it in, and Colin did the same.

But unlike him, Colin was frowning. “Your fence is broken.”

Guibert frowned back at him. “I told you as much yesterday.”

“I thought you’d fixed it. It doesn’t matter, we can take care of it today.” Colin glanced at Jeremy, who nodded. They’d need some way of containing the chickens, after all. “What about the chicken coop?”

Guibert seemed to consider this. “It might need a few repairs.”

“Of course,” Colin muttered under his breath, and Jeremy had to bite back a smile. “Aye,” he said loudly. “The coop as well.”

“Well, boys,” Aggie said, a hand shading her eyes as she surveyed the damage, “this is going to be loads of fun.”

They set up camp in the ruined chapel among the few pews that were still dry after the previous day’s rain. As he helped Aggie unpack her supplies, Jeremy looked around.

The huge wooden cross with the dragon loomed tall above them, more fearsome and awe-inducing now that it was only a few feet away. Below it was the altar, which was empty, but he assumed it usually had a holy text on it — maybe even a copy of the same text that was currently hidden in his mom’s bedroom. But there were no other relics or decorations in sight, which he found sort of surprising. It was clear from Guibert’s appearance and the overall structure of the monastery — which was functional, with very little ornamentation — that this was more of an austere, simplistic religion, not as ornate as its Catholic cousin. Still, he had expected something.

So he asked Guibert about it, as soon as the monk joined them in the chapel.

Guibert nodded as he accepted a tape measure from Aggie. “Apart from the relics that were lost, we have a few more decorative pieces. I keep them locked away, however.” He frowned down at the metal tape measure, pinching the end between two fingers and slowly drawing it out of the chamber. “What is this extraordinary contraption?”

“I’m about to blow your mind, G-man,” Aggie replied, shouldering a length of thin rope and sticking a pencil behind her ear. “All right, let’s get to work.”

“Hold on.” Colin stood up, now wearing his tool belt. It took an embarrassing amount of Jeremy’s self-control not to blush at the sight of it, since it conjured a memory from the week before of a particularly warm evening in the cab of Colin’s truck. “Where should we put the chickens while we work on the fence? I don’t want them wandering off the cliff.”

“Excellent point.” Guibert gestured to a doorway behind the altar. “If you’d follow me—”

Jeremy shouldered the burlap sack once again, and received a cacophony of squawks in reply. He followed the monk out of the chapel and into a cool, dark hallway. Directly behind the chapel was a hall that had a few long dining tables in it, then another smaller, darker bare room with only two windows close to the ceiling.

“The kitchen is behind the dining hall, along with the entrance to the cellar. That room,” Guibert said, gesturing to the small, dark one, “is reserved for private prayer and meditation. And evensong, when there are more than just one of us.” He said this bitterly, with just a tinge of regret. Jeremy looked away, and Guibert led them further down the hall, then opened a heavy wooden door.

It was a cozy room, with a simple wooden bed and sparse furniture. There was a large window that looked out onto the paddock behind the monastery and the forest beyond it.

“This room is part of the living quarters,” Guibert said, confirming Jeremy’s guess. “My own is at the end of the hall, next to the chambers for the Acolyte Superior, should we ever have one in the future.” Again, he sounded bitter, but he was all business as he checked the window. “No damage. They shouldn’t be able to get out, once we close the door.”

“Sounds good,” Jeremy replied, gently putting the sack down on the floor. “Do you mind if I give them some food?”

Guibert waved a dismissive hand, once again preoccupied with the tape measure. “Go ahead. No one’s lived here for decades.” He pulled out the tape again and peered at it with a frown. “There are numbers on this. Big ones and little ones.”

Jeremy untied the sack and tilted it on its side. Two hens came tumbling out in a mess of feathers and bits of grass. They looked distinctly miffed and began to fluff themselves, then were bombarded by three of their companions, who landed on their heads.

He rolled his eyes and pulled a little sack of feed out of his pocket. On the boat, Colin had made it clear that his ladies were used to a very particular standard of care, and keeping them busy with food would be the best way to avoid property damage. Jeremy didn’t quite understand Colin’s attachment to his chickens — they were chickens — but he wasn’t about to argue.

“Ah!” Guibert was by the door, practically shaking with excitement. “It measures things! This door is seventeen inches wide!’”

Jeremy grinned to himself. He tipped the feed out into a corner of the room and the hens charged at it like the wild animals they were.

“How fantastic. This is an ingenious contraption, I must say. Much better than the measuring ropes we used to use!” Guibert saw Jeremy pocket the empty feed sack and pointed at it with a frown. “What on earth is that?”

Jeremy frowned back, holding it out. “A plastic bag?”

“Plastic?” Guibert repeated. He pinched the corner and rubbed it between his fingers. “What is plastic?”

Jeremy sighed, then, in spite of himself, he smiled. “Today’s going to be a really big day for you, Guibert.”

The day passed in a blur of splinters, dappled sunshine, and sweat. This latter category occupied Jeremy the most; he’d worked long days with Colin before, but this one was really giving them a run for their money.

The chicken coop, thankfully, was salvageable with the materials that were already there, and within an hour Colin pronounced it feasible. What he really said was, “I guess it’ll do,” then he frowned, but Jeremy had already marched off to the nearby spring without replying. Stupid Colin and his stupidly high standards for chicken maintenance.

“It definitely won’t do for winter,” Colin said when Jeremy came back dripping water from the ends of his hair. “It needs insulation and maybe a solar-powered heater, I’ve got a prototype from a firm in Glasgow that—” He stopped short, staring at Jeremy. “What— what— why are you wet, Yankee?”

Jeremy smirked a little, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. “Needed to cool off.”

“Right.” Colin looked a bit like he’d been punched in the head. He blinked, his gaze darting from Jeremy’s mouth to his exposed collarbone, then back up to his hair. “Well.” He cleared his throat and fidgeted with his tool belt, then glanced over his shoulder to where Aggie and Guibert were measuring a wall only a few yards away.

Jeremy’s smirk broadened. It wasn’t often that he got under Colin’s skin, but it was quite the ego boost when it happened.

“I think I’ll do the same,” Colin said in a rush. He marched off, and was gone for several minutes. When he came back disgruntled and soaking wet, Jeremy almost bit his tongue and quickly had to look elsewhere. He could see Colin’s point, now.

The fence, however, presented much more of a challenge. A lot of the wood that had been damaged in the storm was completely unusable, so they had to go into the forest and start chopping down saplings.

“Be honest,” Jeremy said as Colin went after an elm sapling. “If you knew you’d be playing lumberjack today, would you have hidden under your bed and stayed there?”

“Don’t know,” Colin grunted, giving the sapling a final thwack with his axe. It fell to the forest floor and Jeremy threw it onto their growing pile. “I’m glad I brought the chicken wire. How he kept the chooks in without it is beyond me.”

Jeremy nodded. “Definitely magic.”

Colin chuckled, then went over to the next sapling and hefted his axe.

By midday, they’d reached a good stopping point, and went to join the other two for lunch. Aggie and Guibert had already set up a little picnic area in the shade of the building, a fun hodge-podge of leftovers and fresh fruit. Jeremy tucked into a large ham and cheese sandwich while Aggie explained a can opener to Guibert.

“See?” she said, twisting the handle to make the gears spin. “You just clamp, grip, and twist. When you’ve cut all the way through, the lid should pop up.”

“Clamp, grip, and twist,” Guibert repeated, taking it from her with a frown. “I must say, between this and the plastic, mankind has been quite busy these last fifty years.”

“It’s closer to one hundred,” Jeremy told him. “But yes.”

“You’ve really never had cans before?” Colin asked, frowning. “Even when the clan was bringing you stuff?”

“Not like this,” Guibert said, lifting a can of tomatoes as an example. “I did have plenty of preserves in jars, which I in turn used to preserve my own crops.”

“You have preserves?” Jeremy frowned as well. “If you were running out of food, couldn’t you just eat those?”

Guibert gave him a pointed look. “Not if I wished to survive the winter.”

“Ah, right.” Jeremy stared down at his sandwich. “That little detail.”

The conversation quickly turned to Aggie’s work, and she showed them her diagrams of the building. They were detailed and meticulous, even though she’d only cracked into her mum’s architecture textbooks the night before, and Jeremy felt a weird little surge of pride. She was so much more clever than they were, and she barely even knew it.

“Very little of the stone is damaged,” Aggie was saying, then she took a huge bite of her apple. “It’s a real stroke of luck. And we can make more from the stuff down by the cave, or maybe some of the bigger rocks by the water.”

“I have no preference,” Guibert declared. He was unwrapping his second cheese sandwich with glee. “So long as it stands and doesn’t let the water in.”

Aggie laughed. “I think we can manage that.”

“Guibert,” said Jeremy, with a glance at the others. They’d discussed this on the boat. “We should talk about the missing relics.”

Guibert nodded, a piece of lettuce dangling from the corner of his mouth. “Yes, it will be very difficult for us to replace those. The cross in particular—”

“The cross is in the castle,” Jeremy blurted out, then winced. Not nearly as smooth as he’d wanted. “It washed up on the beach. It’s safe and sound in the museum.”

“Museum,” Guibert repeated, then frowned again. The lettuce made its bid for freedom. “The castle is a museum?”

Jeremy and the others sighed. Aggie stuffed two chocolate digestives in her mouth and shot him a look that plainly read, You started it, now finish it.

“What matters is the cross is safe, but—”

“If the castle is a museum, where does the family live?”

Jeremy breathed out through his nose. “They live in the part of the castle that isn’t a museum. So, the problem is that we can’t just steal the cross back. It’s in a glass case and covered with security alarms, not to mention all of the most high-profile historians within spitting distance of this place want to sit and breathe on it—”

“I don’t know what any of those things are,” Guibert said, still frowning. “So how are we meant to retrieve it, if it is being held under lock and key?”

“We don’t know,” said Colin, glancing at Jeremy. “We’re going to try to find out.”

He was being remarkably generous. Jeremy had no idea how they were going to rob a museum, especially without costing his mom her job.

Guibert nodded. He stared into the depths of his sandwich. “This is perhaps not the most auspicious start.”

“What about the blood?” Aggie piped up. “Didn’t you say we needed some blood? Is there anywhere we can get it?”

“Perhaps.” Guibert’s expression became contemplative. “Our nearest mother seat is in Glasgow. I have not been in contact with them for several years, but they should have at least six more vials of Scimguar’s blood in their crypt. Whether they would be willing to spare one, however, is quite a different question, and I’m not sure I could hazard an answer.”

“When you say several years,” said Colin, “how long do you mean, exactly?”

Guibert mulled over his answer, taking another bite of his sandwich. “1981,” he eventually said. “I think.”

“Oh, good.” Aggie grinned at the boys. “This should be fun.”

“Can you contact them?” Jeremy asked Guibert.

Guibert nodded. “Though their reply might take a while to arrive.”

“That’s fine,” said Aggie. “We’re already going into Glasgow next weekend, so we just need to know by then. We could swing by and pick up whatever we need to get.”

Guibert looked at her, affronted. “One does not simply pick up the blessed blood of Scimguar the Blue—”

“Don’t worry, G-man.” Aggie winked at Jeremy. “We can handle it.”

They went back to work shortly after that, and by four o’clock, Jeremy was stuffing the chickens back into the burlap sack and carrying them out to the yard.

“You’ll like this a lot better than that old bedroom,” he told them as he went through the chapel. “I promise.”

His prediction was accurate. The moment the chickens tumbled out of the sack, they started zooming around the yard, clucking at the top of their lungs.

Colin smiled at them from where he stood filling their trough with water. “Such drama.”

“Chickens,” Jeremy reminded him, brushing stray bits of grass from his shirt. “We’re talking about chickens.”

“Chooks,” Colin said. He’d finished with the water and he put his hands on his hips, watching the chickens investigate the revamped coop. The afternoon sun shone gold in his hair, and between the muddy clothes, toolbelt, and muscles, he sort of looked like the cover for a romance novel about a lonesome farmer waiting for someone to bake him muffins and call him pretty.

Jeremy blinked and gave himself a shake. Clearly, he needed a thump on the head.

“They’ll be missed,” Colin was saying, wiping his hands on a rag. “But they’re needed here more than they are at the farm. And I can always hatch more chicks.”

“Will it put a dent in your baking?” Jeremy asked.

Colin shrugged. “Nothing too serious. Besides, I don’t have much time for all that, considering—” He gestured to the monastery and the land around them.

Jeremy nodded, feeling a pang of impending doom. He hadn’t had time to practice that morning, what with the boat ride and everything. He’d have to make it up tonight, and it was a good thing his mom wasn’t getting back until very late, otherwise she’d have questions.

He frowned, then took off his glasses and cleaned them on the last dry part of his shirt. From here, Aggie was just a blur next to the chapel wall — it looked like she was showing Guibert something. When he put his glasses back on, he realized she was holding up a loose stone and rubbing the space where it had fallen away.

Jeremy helped Colin gather the rest of his tools. It was time for them to get going, since Aggie needed to be back for the late shift, and Colin had to be home before his dad noticed he was gone. Colin gave the fence one last shake to check that it was sturdy — it was, now that it was reinforced by fresh wood and plenty of chicken wire — then they went to join the others.

Aggie nodded to them as they approached. “I was just showing Guibert — I think the original bonding agent was made out of sand, as well. Look.” She pinched a dried clump of the old mortar between her fingers and it crumbled into a shower of pasty brown granules.

“Wicked.” Colin went up to the wall and copied her, grinding the dried mortar into dust between his fingers. “D’you think you can replicate it?”

Aggie grinned. “Yep. And we won’t need a cement mixer, either.”

Guibert accompanied them through the woods and back down the ruined staircase to the harbor, and as terrifying as it had been climbing up, climbing down was much, much worse. Jeremy felt his stomach lurch again as he stared down the fifty foot drop between the cliffside and the sea, and he squeezed his eyes shut, clinging to the bare rock beside him. He was going to have to get used to this if they were going to visit a few times a week, and now was not the time to chicken out.

Ha, he thought, rather feebly. Chicken.

As they loaded the boat, Guibert said, “I’ll attempt to contact the mother seat this evening. Hopefully, their reply will only take a few days to reach us.”

“That works,” said Aggie, climbing into the boat. “I think we’ll come back the day after tomorrow. Right, boys?”

Jeremy nodded and Colin said, “Aye.”

“I need to get a few more tools,” Aggie explained, “and do some more research. And we’ll bring you some more flour, I’m sorry we forgot about that.”

“It’s not a problem,” said Guibert, and it seemed like he meant it. As he stood there on the dock, with the warm afternoon light on his face, he looked much more relaxed than he had the day before. “Now that I have eggs again, I’ll have much less trouble making an actual meal.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Colin, grinning. “I’ll see about some goats.”

“Much appreciated.” Guibert stepped back as Aggie started the engine and lifted his hand in a wave. “Godspeed, and may the Old One watch over you all.”

The others seemed sort of gobsmacked by this, so Jeremy piped up: “You too, Guibert! Goodnight! What?” he added in an undertone, once they were pulling away from the dock. “It seemed like the polite thing to do!”

“You’re worried about manners now, Yankee?” said Colin, settling down in the bottom of the boat, smirking. “That’s one for the history books.”

Jeremy sat down heavily on his bed, laying his clarinet beside him. It was just past ten o’clock, and he was a little short of breath.

Mozart looked up at him and meowed. Apparently, she didn’t think much of this practicing at night business, either. “It’s just for today,” he told her, giving her a quick stroke down her back, and her tail arched in reply. “Well,” he amended. “Maybe not just today.”

The Agitato was halfway to good. The Quintet was halfway to very good. Maybe that was enough for him to call it a night and cue up Downton Abbey, especially since his mom wouldn’t be back for another two hours — not because he was tired this early. No, absolutely not.

But before he could do anything, there came a weird little plink from his window.

Jeremy sat up, frowning at the pale pink sky. Was that—?

Plink.

Bemused, he slid out of bed, put his clarinet on his desk, and went downstairs.

He found Colin standing in the backyard, wearing a sheepish expression and a fresh change of clothes. The wind was tousling his hair, and he looked absolutely gorgeous. But also exhausted.

Jeremy leaned against the doorframe. “I have a phone, y’know.”

“You weren’t replying,” Colin said, dropping his handful of pebbles and coming up to the cottage. He gave Jeremy a crooked, knee-buckling smile that did nothing to distract from the dark circles under his eyes. “Fix me a cup of cocoa?”

“No.” But Jeremy stepped inside and held the door open anyway. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at home?”

“Nah,” said Colin, looking away. Mozart hopped up onto the kitchen table and he scratched her chin, getting a loud purr in return. “What are you up to? Your mum’s not back yet, is she?”

“I was practicing,” said Jeremy. He poured some oil and salt into a saucepan and set it on medium heat. Then, he went to the cupboard and dug out a bar of chocolate that his mom didn’t know he knew about. “She won’t be back until about midnight, I think. The BBC kept her busy until around six then Angus insisted on taking her to dinner to celebrate.”

Colin smiled, leaning against the table. “They’re sweet.”

“No, they’re gross, please don’t deviate from the party line.” He fished out the container of corn next, then put the kettle on as well. “Were you serious about the cocoa?”

Colin looked surprised. “Uh, sure. Thanks.”

Ten minutes later, they went into Jeremy’s room, carrying a bowl of fresh popcorn, the bar of chocolate, and two mugs of cocoa. Colin sat on the corner of Jeremy’s bed, and Jeremy took the desk chair, not wanting to assume anything.

“Which one were you practicing?” said Colin, gesturing to the music stand. He took a sip of cocoa, and it gave him a milky mustache.

“Both.” Jeremy shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “The Quintet is easier going than the Agitato, but that’s to be expected, since it’s not as complicated. Plus it’s Mozart.” He caught Colin’s confused look and added, “I play him a lot. More than Mendelssohn, for sure.”

“Okay.” Colin went back into his cocoa. “Do you like him best?”

Jeremy had to smile at that. “I have a lot of favorites. Let’s call him top five.”

Colin nodded, then glanced at the clarinet lying on the desk. Without saying a word, Jeremy knew what he was asking, and reached for the instrument. Once more couldn’t hurt.

He turned on his Bluetooth speaker, cued up the accompaniment, and played through the Agitato, then chuckled at Colin’s expression. “I know,” he said, “it’s a lot.”

“Bloody hell,” said Colin. “That’s fast as lightning. How’re you meant to play that?!”

“Beats me,” Jeremy replied. He switched the track and started playing the Quintet, watching as Colin visibly relaxed, some of the tension draining out of his shoulders.

“That’s so lovely,” Colin said, his voice low. He finished the rest of his cocoa.

“Thanks.” Jeremy turned away before Colin could see him blush. He put down his clarinet, wondering what they would do now. All of his instincts told him that something was going on with Colin, but he didn’t know how to bring it up. That wasn’t really what they did.

Colin shifted onto his stomach, his knees bent and his socked feet propped in the air. He suddenly looked about twelve years old instead of seventeen. “Why d’you play keyboards?”

“Um,” said Jeremy, because that was sort of out of left field. “Because it’s good for me to know how to play more than one instrument. And, y’know, to hedge my bets in case I can’t get any work playing the clarinet. I can always play the piano.”

Colin was silent for a moment, inscrutable. Then, “So that’s what you want to do?”

“Play the clarinet? Professionally?” Colin nodded, and Jeremy said, “Sure, I guess. It’d be nice. But I haven’t really made up my mind yet.”

“Okay.” Colin glanced at the keyboard. “Can you prove it?”

“Prove what?” said Jeremy, all innocence as he shoved more popcorn into his mouth.

Colin smiled. “Come on, that you can play—”

“All right, all right.” Jeremy scooted his chair in front of the keyboard and switched it on. “Any requests?”

“No,” said Colin, still smiling. He pressed his cheek into the blanket and Jeremy had to look away, because God.

“Fine,” said Jeremy. He cranked the volume and launched straight into the main Star Wars theme. He turned to grin at Colin. “Is this what you wanted?”

“You arse!” Colin laughed. Mozart jumped up and lay down next to him, unimpressed.

“Okay, okay,” said Jeremy, switching into Debussy. He played without pause, keeping his eyes on his own hands even though he could play this blind. He couldn’t stop wondering why Colin was here, in his bed, with no warning, no explanation. It made his heart thud and his head spin.

When the last notes had faded into the warm evening air, he risked glancing over his shoulder. Colin’s eyes were hooded, and he had an arm around Mozart, who was purring.

A short eternity passed as they looked at each other. It could’ve been seconds, it could’ve been months. Then, out of nowhere, his voice low and gravelly, Colin said, “My dad… he was in a temper. I dunno, I just had to get some fresh air, so I left.”

Something inside Jeremy either broke or went numb, he wasn’t sure. “Okay,” he said, and turned back to his keyboard. He started playing Chopin’s Nocturnes, deciding that he wouldn’t stop until he’d run through all the ones he knew. It distracted him from the way his chest was aching at the thought of anyone being mean to Colin — Colin, who was sweet and loyal and kind and—

Jeremy gritted his teeth, almost slipping on a note. This was dangerous territory. He couldn’t think like this, not now. Not with Colin right there within touching distance, not with his hands on an instrument that might betray the way he really felt—

No. He had to focus, he had to keep playing. That was all.

The minutes trickled past like velvety water in a stream, and Jeremy had to pull himself back into reality at the close of the final piece. He blinked down at the keys, his fingers warm and electric, and was surprised to find that it was past eleven o’clock. He turned around, ready to say something, but the words died in his throat when he saw that Colin was slumped across the bed, fast asleep.

Mouth dry, Jeremy quietly switched off his keyboard as well as his bedside lamp. Darkness slid purplish-grey across Colin’s softened features and Mozart’s twitching tail, blanketing them in a dark, cozy cloud. Jeremy grabbed his phone and a random book, then silently made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him. His heart was thudding for all the wrong reasons, and he bit his lip as he typed out a text to his mom:

Me (11:08 P.M.): Col slept over, I’m in the living room. drive safe