August - Chapter Ten

Jeremy turned off the burner and gave the gumbo one last stir, just as his mom stepped into the kitchen. She fluffed her hands through her hair, which was all fresh and shiny from the shower, and immediately made a beeline for the half-empty bottle of red wine he’d left on the table. She looked much better now than she had earlier that afternoon — more awake, less frightening, less insane.

He cut her a quick glance. “Comfy?”

Rochelle was wearing a baggy set of sweats and what looked like two pairs of socks. “Yes, very. I dressed to match the weather.”

Rain pattered at the windows in reply. Jeremy split the gumbo into two bowls and slid the platter of red beans and rice onto the table. It was one of their easy nights — reheated leftovers, a fresh pot of tea, a new bar of dark chocolate for dessert — and he was grateful for it. After he’d walked through the front door not five hours earlier, it had taken all of twenty seconds to shove his mom upstairs and into her bed with a warning to sleep for several hours before she dared surface again. A brief, thorough shower, and a long nap with Mozart curled up against his chest had cleared his head and left him feeling reset. As he’d opened his eyes to gaze at the dim lilac light shining on his bedroom ceiling, it had almost felt like all of Glasgow had been a dream. A startling, wonderful, chaotic dream. Even now, he could still feel the ghost of Colin’s weight against his back, Colin’s calluses against his palm, and it made him shiver.

The gumbo was from a batch his mom had made the week before, when there’d been an enormous haul of fresh shrimp that was too well-priced to ignore. Just the smell of it sent him back into his grandmother’s kitchen, wearing a borrowed apron, bell pepper seeds clinging to his forearms as he laughed and sneezed paprika into the air.

“Okay,” his mom said as they dug in. Mozart was lying in Colin’s usual spot, her eyes half-closed. “Business first. How was the audition?”

He’d texted her afterwards, obviously — just a short, ‘crushed it’ — but they hadn’t talked in detail. Jeremy nodded, smothering his gumbo in red beans and rice. It was his favorite way to eat it. “One of my best,” he replied in French. “You should’ve seen the theater, it was twice the size of McKinley’s. I could hear my own footsteps. I played the Agitato first, to get it out of the way. Then they asked me to play something more, so I played some Benny Goodman, ‘Rachel’s Dream.’ You know it, right? I did it in the Christmas showcase.”

“I remember.” Rochelle grinned, her eyes twinkling with pride. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

It took a moment, but Jeremy realized he had. That wasn’t normal, really, when it came to auditions, but, he realized, even if they didn’t give him a spot, it was worth it. He’d felt at home on that stage, grounded. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time, not since he’d arrived in Scotland. “They were very nice, and they seemed to like what I played. I think I have a shot.”

His mom tsked. “We both know you have much more than a shot. When will you hear back from them?”

He shrugged. “Next couple of days. Rehearsals start in two weeks, so they need to finish filling the orchestra pretty quickly.”

“Two weeks,” she echoed, mulling over a spoonful of gumbo. “God, Jer, where did the summer go?”

“Down the beach, probably.” He swallowed a huge mouthful and followed it with a gulp of tea. “Okay, now ask me what you really want to ask me.”

Rochelle collapsed like a marionette with broken strings, her hands hitting the table with a thud. “Thank God!” She dove for the sideboard and grabbed her notebook, flipping to a dog-eared page and pulling out a pencil. A handful of loose notes came spilling out as well, some of them scrawled across creased Post-Its and one, if his eyes weren’t playing a trick on him, on a piece of paper towel. “The mother seat. Tell me all about it. And the Head Acolyte. I want all the details.”

After spilling the beans to her on Friday evening, Colin and Aggie had gone to do the dishes, leaving Jeremy and Rochelle alone at the dining table.

“I’m sorry,” he’d said, looking her dead in the eye. “I didn’t want to lie to you. But it was what we had to do. We had to keep them safe.”

A very long couple of moments had passed while she stared at him, her expression unreadable. “I understand,” she’d said eventually. “If I had been in your position… I would’ve done the same thing.”

Hearing her say that had released some kind of tension he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“Now.” Rochelle had sat up, alert and sharp as a knife. “Tell me everything you know about this so-called Order. And I mean everything.”

“I knew you’d ask me that,” Jeremy had replied, and, to her evident surprise, he’d pulled out her tablet. “I recorded all of my conversations with Guibert, even the stuff that didn’t seem important. I copied and saved them to a folder in your Google Drive.” And he’d opened said folder with a few taps of his finger. “Listen to them as many times as you’d like. I know you’re going to have questions, but I don’t need to answer them tonight.” He’d pushed the tablet across the table to her, looking her in the eye again. “Take however long you need.”

And now, he guessed, looking at her long lists of half-legible notes, she was ready.

So he told her about the Cathedral, and the lawn, and the ginger beer, and Father Clyde, and the hidden staircase, the spooky chapel, the altar, the spell, and—

She bolted upright in her chair, her eyes huge. “The box,” she managed. “The box with the— you have it here? Right now? Here?”

Jeremy fought the urge to scoot away from her. “Yeah, yes, I mean— it’s upstairs—”

“Jeremy!” she screeched. “Go get it, go get it right now!”

“You’re lucky I can open it,” he told her as he came back into the kitchen, box in hand. “Since it’s safe now that it’s on Rowe—”

“Yes,” Rochelle breathed, her eyes huge as she took the box from him with gentle, shaking hands. “I find that fascinating— the idea that these items can attract some kind of metaphysical or spiritual attention, it’s astonishing, really—”

Jeremy sat back down, wondering if maybe he should call in reinforcements. “Mom, you’re doing the babbling thing.”

She nodded, putting the box on the table. She stared at it for several long moments, as if daring it to disappear, then, her nostrils flaring, she reached out, flipped open the catches, and pulled off the lid.

Sitting there on the underside of the lid, as stark and black as they had been the day before, were the same curious symbols, burnt deep into the wood. A whiff of smoke puffed into the air, along with the faint, bitter aroma of heather and stale grass.

“So,” Rochelle murmured, tracing the charred symbols with her finger, “this is where the dragon scale burned away?”

“Yes.” Jeremy went back to his gumbo. “I couldn’t tell you what he did to make it happen. Maybe Guibert could, I’m sure they know the same spells.” He watched the way she stared at the symbols, her lips pursed. “Do you… do you know what they are?”

“Ah, yes.” Then she shook her head. “No. I’m not sure. They look a lot like Pictish symbols. But I couldn’t say anything definitive, it’s not really my area—”

Jeremy frowned. “Pictish symbols? What are those?”

“Here.” Rochelle pulled out her phone and did a quick Google search. She pushed it across the table, pointing to a diagram she’d picked out of a sea of images. “No one really knows what they mean, they’re all carved into these stone markers that are scattered around Scotland, and there aren’t any written records—”

“Colin,” he blurted, his heart thumping in his throat as he stared down at a design that was way too familiar. “Colin’s tattoo—”

She frowned at him for a moment, then her expression cleared. “Oh, yeah— Yeah, now that I think about it. He went a little funky with it, a little minimalist, but that’s where it came from.”

‘Crescent and v-rod,’ the symbol was called. But there was more to it— the more Jeremy looked at the symbols, the more he could see their echoes on Colin’s skin. The curves of the serpent, the piece of cloth, the flower. Colin — or maybe Kosh, or maybe both of them — had woven these symbols into a single, cohesive design and filled them in, making them a striking, decisive solid black. Taken together, it evoked something hidden, something powerful, something beyond description.

Something like Colin, he thought, before he could stop himself. Jeremy cleared his throat, turning off the phone’s screen. “Who were the Picts?”

Rochelle shrugged. “Proto-Scots, I guess you’d say. They lived up here for centuries, and they gave the Romans a real run for their money. They had their own culture, their own way of life, but eventually, they just sort of… blended in with the Gaels and the Angles and everyone else.” She frowned again. “I didn’t think they settled this far west, but stranger things have happened.” Her eyebrow twitched. “Like a dragon living at the top of the hill.”

“But what would it mean?” he pressed. “If the Picts had something to do with—”

“It would make sense,” she replied, her pencil flying across a fresh sheet of notebook paper. “Obviously, this part of Scotland has very strong Gaelic roots, but there aren’t any hard boundaries. I guess it’s possible that some of the Pictish culture found its way to Rowe, and maybe it had an impact on their traditional religious worship. That would explain how it carried over into the Order.”

Jeremy nodded. “If Picts worshipped the same gods— the same dragons, I mean—”

“Actually.” Rochelle held up her hand to stop him. “I’m not sure it was just dragons. At least, not at the beginning.”

He stared at her, his spoonful of gumbo forgotten. “Sorry, what?”

Rochelle flipped through her notes, pulling out a few creased scans of written text from the secret book. She’d circled a few things in bright red, and she pointed to them now. “There are some phrases that I can’t make heads or tails of — Colin didn’t know what to do with them, either. But now that I’ve been sitting with them for a while, I’m starting to think that they refer to some other mythical creatures. They’re only referenced twice, and right at the beginning, then not at all later in the book. Seems like the Order only wanted to put focus on the dragons, since, well.” She shrugged. “The dragons were the source of their power here on the island.”

“I guess so,” Jeremy said. “So what are they? These other beings?”

“Looks like there are three of them.” She pointed to three different phrases. “The Blue Women, the Mudlings, and the Pointed Ones. I think it’s like epic poetry, you know? Epithets?”

Something stirred in the dusty, long-neglected recesses of Jeremy’s school brain, then went back to sleep. “Uh,” he said. “Epithets?”

“Just a phrase or a term that describes someone as what they are. Like ‘Swift-footed Achilles,’ or ‘Earth-shaking Poseidon.’”

“Got it.” Jeremy nodded. “But here, they don’t actually use the name?”

Rochelle shook her head. “Don’t think so, but it’s difficult to tell. I would have a hard time calling some sort of creature a Mudling, you know?”

“So what do you think they are?”

She gave him this bright, impish glance and he smiled. “Well,” she said, unfolding a few Post-Its stuck around the edges of the scans, revealing crude lists and doodles. “I’ve been brushing up on the local mythology, and I have some ideas. I think the Pointed Ones could be a reference to some kind of fairy, or maybe an elf, since they have pointy ears, obviously. If the Mudlings are called that because they live underground, maybe they’re some kind of mole or badger people — but that doesn’t seem to fit, because why would a farming community want to worship the pests that ruin their crops?”

“Fair point,” Jeremy replied, leaning forward to read her notes. “And what about the Blue Women?”

“Ah, now—” Rochelle rifled through another set of papers and pulled out some kind of medieval illustration. It showed a woman perched on a rock in the middle of the water, topless, her face blurry, and her legs— “Lots of possibilities. I assumed that ‘Blue’ has something to do with the water, so we’re looking at mermaids, selkies, kelpies, and sirens. The sirens are a little more Greek, I grant you, but if there are dragons—” She scoffed, a wide, disbelieving grin stretching across her face. “If there are dragons, Jeremy, then who am I to say there aren’t any sirens?”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t help but grin back at her. “You were right, mom. You were right the whole time. About the heresy, and the clan covering it up. All of it.”

Rochelle shivered, hugging her arms against her chest. “Oh my God, I know. It’s crazy, right? It’s completely, undeniably—”

“Insane.” He nodded. “But you were right.”

She sat back in her chair, and her notes fluttered in reply. “I know. I kind of wish I wasn’t.”

Jeremy sighed a little, recalling his last conversation with Guibert. “I know, me too.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love a good conspiracy, but…” She shook her head. “Kind of a steep price, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if I could do it.”

“If by ‘it,’ you mean tamper with centuries’ worth of priceless historical artifacts to erase the presence of the gods you used to worship for the sake of saving a little face, then yeah. I would have to side with you on that one.” A flicker of irritation crossed her features. “I can’t stop thinking about that tapestry. The one in Aggie’s church? God, when you think about how much they cut away… and there was more to it than just the stupid dragon. And who would’ve cared, in the end? If there was another bloody great dragon on another half-dead tapestry somewhere in the depths of Scotland? Nobody.”

“I think the scariest part,” said Jeremy, “was when I was telling Guibert about the Nazis, about how they burned books to rewrite history, and I couldn’t stop thinking that that was what the clan did to him, to the Order, to Amalga, to all of them.” He shook his head. “And he doesn’t even know. Not really. He hasn’t spoken to anyone from the clan, from the village, in decades. He’s never met Robert. He has no idea that the stuff in the castle doesn’t show a single part of the traditions he’s spent his whole life protecting. Or that there are whole generations of people who don’t know about the dragons and the Order.” He swallowed thickly, staring down at his half-eaten gumbo, ignoring his mom’s hand on his arm. “And what about Amalga? She’s killing herself looking after this place, and everyone owes her— and none of them know! None of them know what she’s done.”

Rochelle made a low humming noise, rubbing his arm. “I know, hon. It’s weird and awful.”

“I just don’t understand,” Jeremy went on, dropping his spoon, frustration kicking up in his belly, “why they did it. Why they just decided that the Order and the dragons weren’t part of Rowe anymore. They couldn’t have just woken up one day—”

“No,” she said. “They didn’t. I may not know exactly what happened, but I do know that this isn’t something that people decide overnight. Rowe was moving forward, and the Order represented a part of their history that didn’t seem as important anymore. They probably wanted to believe that they were the ones making the island prosperous, not the Order or dragons or magic. So they decided to make a break, to shift away from the old ways and look towards the new.”

“But there had to be someone in the clan who still believed,” said Jeremy. “Someone who still thought this was important — why else would they leave the book here?”

“I agree.” Rochelle sat back again, thoughtful. “I just don’t know Robert’s family history well enough to tell you one way or another.”

“Do you think there were other copies? Besides this one?”

“Well, I think Guibert probably has at least one in the chapel, since I’m sure they used it for worship. But I couldn’t tell you if any others survived, especially after the Flood.”

“Right.” Jeremy went back to his gumbo. “The Flood.”

A few moments passed in relative silence. Around them, the rain fell in a steady, thrumming patter against the windows, the roof, the stones and the sand. The waves were only a distant, thin roar, and a soft, chilly breeze blew in under the back door.

Then Rochelle spoke up again. “I have to admit… I sort of love that the dragons kept the Christian missionaries out of here just with sheer willpower.”

Jeremy found himself smiling. “Yeah, I know. Pretty funny.”

“Really funny,” she corrected him. “And, I mean, it sure did work. That was, what, a six-hundred year delay? That’s impressive stuff for a bunch of big lizards.”

He snorted. “Mom! Don’t call them that—”

“And they were right to be worried! Christians don’t exactly have a great track record, to put it nicely, and the dragons liked things the way they were. They didn’t want anything to change. Simple problem, simple solution. Magic up a thick, overwhelming fog that turns unwanted visitors in circles the minute they get within spitting distance of the island. Keep your own people protected and your sacrifices up to date. And it worked until it didn’t. Pretty genius, actually.”

“Did you get to the part about the necromancy?”

“Oh my God, yes, I did—”

“What I would give, mom, just to have seen—”

“What you would give? Sweetheart, I love you very much and you basically make my entire existence worthwhile, but if giving you up meant that I could see an ancient Scottish chief rise from the grave? Ugh, no contest—”

“Can you imagine it? Zombies in kilts, ma. Zombies in kilts!”

“Wait!” Rochelle sat up suddenly, clapping her hands together. “I forgot to show you!” She dove for her phone again, quickly clicking through a few different screens. “I called Doug first thing after you left yesterday morning—”

“Please tell me you waited until a reasonable hour,” said Jeremy, wincing on Doug’s behalf.

“Sure,” Rochelle replied absently. “I told him everything — well, not everything, because I didn’t know everything yet — and, basically, he’s on board.”

He blinked at her a few times, feeling dumb. “On board? For what?”

“Making a replica of the cross.” And with that, she slid her tablet across the table.

A brilliant, pristine replica of the dragon cross stared up at him. It wasn’t the same color — instead of silver, it was a waxy, matte greenish white — but the details were perfect, down to the tiny nick at the base.

“Wow,” he breathed, zooming in on the dragon’s face. “It’s incredible.”

“That’s just the prototype, he did it using his 3D printer. He wanted me to okay it before he prints it actual-size and has it cast in metal.”

“Well,” said Jeremy, “I don’t think even the best specialist would see a difference.”

Rochelle snorted. “They would if they picked it up. But he did do a brilliant job. I already gave him the go-ahead, and he’ll overnight it the moment it’s done. It should be here by Thursday or Friday at the latest.”

Jeremy nodded, turning off the tablet’s screen. “A tight window, but we’ll make it work. So how does it feel? Being a criminal?”

His mom hummed into her glass as she took a sip of wine. “Terrible and wonderful at the same time. And don’t ask me that again, because if I think about it too much I’ll change my mind and dive head-first into an existential spiral of doom.”

He grinned. “Got it.”

“And before you ask, yes, I swore Doug to secrecy. He promised me on the life of his two spaniels that he wouldn’t tell a soul. And he’s true to his word, I don’t have any reason to doubt him.” She gave him a sly sort of look. “So how was Glasgow? The rest of it, I mean.”

Jeremy nodded, praying that she wouldn’t notice the blush flooding his face and neck. “It was great. Yeah, it was fun, really fun.”

Rochelle hummed, going back to her gumbo. “Sorry. I’m going to need a little more detail than that, Jeremy. Tell me about Ainsley. What’s she like?”

“Nice,” he replied. “Funny. Really friendly and welcoming, she even had a bunch of her friends over to keep us company. And she’s good at what she does, I saw some of her work.”

“So was her apartment like a full-on studio space? All messy and chic and monotone?”

That made him smile. “No, not really. A little messy, I guess, but all her photography stuff was in one room. The rest of the place was like any other apartment.”

She gave a huge, fake sigh. “How boring. Nothing I can get mad about, unless.” She squinted at him. “Did her friends give you pot?”

He shook his head. “Nope. They were all lovely and super boring but really cool. Besides, I don’t think Ainsley would let her younger brother smoke pot in her own apartment.”

“Point. So how were they together? Ainsley and Colin,” she clarified at his frown. “Were they nice? Friendly?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, a bit confused. “They were fine. Why?”

Rochelle sat back in her seat, taking another bite of gumbo. “Well… word on the street is that they weren’t always on speaking terms.”

“Mom,” he said. “You need to stop saying ‘word on the street.’ I know it’s just Angus.”

Now it was her turn to blush. “Fine. But he says that after Colin’s mom left, Colin didn’t talk to Ainsley for years. It’s only recent that he’s seeing her again, and only when he’s in school.”

“Or in Glasgow, I guess.” Jeremy thought about that for a moment, wondering if it was true. Wondering if maybe that was why Colin had seemed so nervous about the whole thing. “Yeah, I mean… they were nice to each other. They hugged and everything.”

“Okay.” Rochelle shrugged. “I was just curious. You know me and gossip.”

“Yeah,” he said, and suddenly, he couldn’t stop replaying the conversation he’d overheard in the kitchen. I have my rules, Colin had said. Was only seeing Ainsley during the school year one of those rules? What did it matter? What was the reason?

“So what else did you guys do, other than the audition?”

“Walked,” he replied. “A lot of walking.” He talked her through all of it, pulling up the photos he’d taken at the Necropolis and the Botanic Gardens, showing her his favorite out of all the cafés, even telling her a little about his time at the club.

It was a bit of a risk, telling her. Rochelle was cool with a lot of things, but going to a huge club in an unknown city?

Then, to his surprise, she smiled. “I’m glad you did that. Did you have fun?”

“Yeah,” he managed to choke out. “Yeah, it was… God, it was stupidly fun.”

“Good.” Then her eyes tightened a bit. “I don’t need details, because obviously you felt safe and now you’re home in one piece, but please just tell me that you didn’t black out or take any of those insane designer drugs.”

Jeremy grinned. “I didn’t black out or take any crazy drugs. God, mom, give me a little credit, at least.”

She swatted at his hand. “Okay, okay. Giving you credit. But did you…” She waggled her eyebrows. “Meet anyone?”

He groaned, slumping in his seat. “Oh, God, not you too—”

Rochelle was laughing. “Fine, fine, forget it—”

Later, when they’d moved on to the chocolate and the pot of tea, he looked at her and said, “So, mom. Do you want to meet them?”

Rochelle frowned. “Them?”

“Guibert and Amalga. Do you?”

It was as if he’d pressed pause. She froze, going absolutely still, her eyes wide and shining. Several moments passed before she choked out, “Could I?”

He nodded. “I don’t see why not, now that you know. I’d have to ask Guibert first, obviously, but I think he’d be fine with it.”

“Okay, okay.” She picked up her mug with a trembling hand. “I— not this week. I have to get ready for the conference this weekend, and the Games are throwing everybody into a tailspin—”

“Not this week,” Jeremy repeated. “Got it. Next week, then.”

“Next week.” Rochelle blinked at him some more. “Holy shit,” she whispered. “I’m going to meet a dragon.”

He grinned. “Yes, mom. Yes, you are.”

“This,” said Jeremy, “was not something I’d ever thought I’d see in my short, humble lifetime on this great, spinning hunk of rock.”

Colin nodded, shielding his eyes from the sun. “I’d have to agree with you there.”

“More height!” Aggie screamed, one of her tools flashing silver as she waved it around. “More height!”

After a few moments, she sailed another foot or so into the air, drawing her even with the stone truss. “Good, thank you!” she shouted, sending a thumb’s up at Guibert before she went about her work.

“I can’t shake the feeling,” said Colin, “that we’re gonna end up at A&E.”

“Ah,” said Jeremy. “Aggie has a hard head. And we’re literally best friends with a magician, he could probably save her life if it came down to it.”

“Best friends,” echoed Colin. “Not sure I’d call it that.”

Jeremy snorted. “He almost cried when we gave him the blood. I think he likes us.”

“Or he likes that we have a car and gullible parents.”

Jeremy waved an airy hand. “Technicalities.”

After Monday had left them stewing in a dark, humid series of thunderstorms, Tuesday had dawned pale blue and sunny, and Aggie had called it “good enough” before showing up at Jeremy’s cottage with a sack full of new tools and materials, a rock-climbing harness, and a bike helmet.

He’d stared at her in confusion. “What?”

“Trust me,” she’d said. “I have an idea.”

The idea, it turned out, was to make some kind of tether that would keep Aggie suspended in midair, dangling from Amalga’s side as she hovered above the chapel. This way, Aggie could repair the trusses and later, the roof, without having to construct a huge scaffold.

“See?” she’d said, grinning at their horrified expressions. “It’s like a crane, only better.”

“Is it?” Colin had asked her in an unusually high voice. “I’m not sure I agree with your definition of ‘better.’”

After a long debate, it was settled — they would try Aggie’s idea, but if Amalga grew tired, or if it proved to be more dangerous than it was worth, they’d stop at once and think of something else.

“It’d be a real shame,” Aggie had said, “if we got this far and couldn’t get the roof up.”

Guibert had given her a long, piercing look. “That is true.”

Colin had offered to do half the work, to keep Aggie from getting too worn-out or developing vertigo.

She’d eyed him. “Really, Col? You know how to repair a truss?”

“Well, no. But I could watch you.”

Aggie had nodded, as if she’d guessed as much. “You can work on the other parts of the roof once I have the trusses done. It’s easier, anyway.”

So now, here they were. Waiting and watching as Aggie dangled twenty or thirty feet above their heads. Jeremy could hear her humming to herself as she smoothed some kind of white paste over the missing chunks and cracks in the stone. Guibert was up on Amalga’s back, since, apparently, he was the only one allowed to ride her, and he wanted to make sure that the tether didn’t break or slip off her neck.

It was wild. A dragon, her wings flapping in midair, a harnessed Aggie hanging off her side. Jeremy sort of wanted to pinch himself, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining this shit.

Jeremy could feel how nervous Colin was about it, even if he wasn’t showing it. He was standing with his arms crossed and his brow all wrinkly. But Jeremy didn’t know what to say to make him feel better about it, so he didn’t say anything.

“So,” Colin said a few minutes later, out of the blue. “What’d you get up to yesterday?”

Jeremy mulled that over for a moment. He’d stayed inside, because of the weather, and he’d only practiced for an hour or two, now that the stress of the audition was over. Then he’d spent the rest of the day watching Downton Abbey, FaceTiming Jo, and — much to his horror — beginning to review for school. Now that they were in the last week of August, it was feeling a lot closer, like some weird, hulking villain was lurking around the corner. St. George’s was going to be very different from McKinley High — he had to make sure he was ready for it.

Jo had nearly exploded when Jeremy told her about the dancing and the hand-holding. “Colin loves you!” she’d screeched, loud enough to make him very glad that his mom wasn’t home. “He love love loves you, Jeremy!”

“No,” he’d managed to spit out, his face on fire and his fingers tingling. “No, he doesn’t. That’s not what we are.”

“Not much,” he eventually settled on saying to Colin. “I practiced, hung around, read a little. Nothing too interesting.” He glanced at Colin. “What about you?”

“I went for a walk.” Colin cleared his throat. “Needed to clear my head.”

Jeremy blinked. “In the rain?”

Colin shrugged. “I waited until the thunder and lightning had stopped.” A smile played around his mouth. “I’ve walked in worse, Jeremy.”

He swallowed. “I guess so.”

“All right!” Aggie yelled up to Guibert. “On to the next one, please!”

A moment later, she swung a few feet to the left, nearly colliding with the next truss. Aggie let out a shout of laughter, clearly delighted, and got to work.

“She’s mad,” Colin said, shaking his head. “Absolutely mad.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy smiled, fond. “She is.”

“Can’t wait til it’s me up there, instead of her.”

“It’s not so bad. And she’s wearing a helmet.”

“Yeah, but.” Colin shook his head again, looking even more broody. “She likes her risks, our Aggie. Sometimes she doesn’t know when to stop.”

Jeremy thought about that. Colin wasn’t wrong. And then, for reasons that were a complete mystery to him, he found himself saying, “Col?”

Colin looked at him. “Yeah?”

“I heard you. When you were fighting with Ainsley.”

Lots of things flitted across Colin’s face. Surprise, embarrassment, hurt. Jeremy saw all of it.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he added, quickly. “I just wanted you to know that I’m not going to tell anyone, not even Aggie. And I’m sorry that was how things ended for you, in Glasgow.”

A long, uncomfortable pause. Colin just stared at him, his expression still a muddle of emotion. “Okay,” he said, finally.

Jeremy nodded, a blush spreading up his neck. “Okay.” He stepped away. “I’m just, uh, gonna go— check on the chickens.”

And with that, he fled.

The chickens were investigating a fresh patch of thistles along one part of the fence, and Jeremy lowered himself to the ground with a huff, his mind a whirlwind. He couldn’t believe he’d done that — “Idiot,” he muttered, tugging up a clump of grass. Just that morning, he’d reminded himself not to say anything, not to ruin whatever it was he and Colin had had in Glasgow. It had been— God, it had been so perfect, for just a few hours, maybe even longer than that, because even if he hadn’t seen Colin since Sunday afternoon, he’d felt more— at peace? No, that wasn’t the right— that sounded way too fruity and dramatic—

One of the hens — Priscilla, he suddenly remembered — waddled over to him, keeping one beady, unimpressed black eye fixed on his fingers. “I don’t have food,” Jeremy told her, opening his hand and letting the blades of grass drift to the ground. She cocked her head, and now she just looked disgusted. “I know,” he said, leaning back against the fence post as Priscilla wandered back to the group. “I feel that way, too.”

But maybe… maybe it was better like this, if he wasn’t… attached to Colin. If he didn’t feel obliged to protect Colin’s feelings, Colin’s pride. They were friends, and he would’ve said something to a friend. Wouldn’t he? If it was Jo, wouldn’t he feel like he had to tell her, to be honest? But, he reminded himself, if it was Jo, he would’ve said something right away. He would’ve said, Tell me, because I can see how it all sits on you, heavy and constant. Tell me, because you have to tell someone. Tell me, because you’ll feel better if you do. Tell me, because I have to know. I have to know why you are the way you are.

With Jo, it wouldn’t even be a question, Jeremy realized. He would just say something. He wouldn’t turn himself in circles. He wouldn’t be here, sitting by himself in the yard with the chickens and the goats, the shadow of a dragon sliding over his body, wanting to punch himself in the face. So, why? Why was he here? What made this different?

“Friend,” he said aloud, bitter, and went for another clump of grass. This time, he caught the attention of one of the goats — Toffee, he remembered, because of her color. She watched him, her eyes doing that creepy wide-and-flat thing that all goats did, because, he realized, he was messing with her dinner. “Sorry,” Jeremy said, letting go of the grass. It deflated, curling back towards the dirt, drooping and withered.

It occurred to him, with the sudden unhelpfulness of a lightning bolt, that what was going on between him and Colin might, just might, be called ‘friends with benefits.’ Revulsion rose hot and acidic in his throat, nearly choking him, and Jeremy thumped his hand on the ground. He hated that phrase, that label. Once you kissed someone, and they kissed you back, there was no such thing as friendship. He knew that well enough just from watching everyone around him during his first three years of high school. The second you crossed that line, shit changed. It changed, and it was nearly impossible to change back.

Going back. Was that the plan, once the summer was over and they were both in school? Would this, all of it, just fade into their memories, never to be spoken of again? If they even talked, after everything, they probably wouldn’t talk about this. And Jeremy knew, he knew that there was no guarantee for people like him and Colin, people brought together by the strange, random fate of geography or the so-called saving of someone’s life. For now, they lived in the same place, breathed the same air, went to the same stores, helped the same monk, but two months from now?

Colin had his friends at school, just like Aggie had hers. Colin had a different life, outside of Rowe, as did Aggie. Jeremy knew this, he’d heard them tell enough stories by now to know that he was only seeing one side of them, and that when they all went to school, went their separate ways, the rules would change. The lines in the sand would shift, and maybe, maybe, he’d be alone again.

Jeremy sucked in a breath, tilting his head back against the fence post to stare up at Amalga’s soft yellow underbelly. The revulsion had twisted into anger and frustration, a seething, hot mass in his stomach. He hated when he got like this, maudlin and self-pitying and wallowing. It didn’t happen often, and Saturday night had already been a close enough call.

Whatever he was doing with Colin, he didn’t like what it was doing to him.

Summer’s ending, he thought. Whatever this is, it’ll be over soon.

Jeremy’s attention drifted to the garden, which was looking much better now that they’d cleared the stones and Guibert had been helping the plants recover from the storm. He remembered, with a frightening clarity, the couple of hours he’d spent hunched over in the dirt, listening to Guibert list off each plant, each seed, each flower, each root, all in their Latin names.

“Phaseolus coccineus,” the monk had said with a grin, holding a runner bean aloft. “A personal favorite. I could eat them every day.”

“Is there an actual reason you know all this crap?” Jeremy had asked him, loud and pointed. “Or is it just to annoy everyone around you?”

“Good to know it still works.” Guibert had dropped the bean onto the pile in the basket, then glanced around, his expression sober. “No, I— it’s part of my calling, working the land. That’s why the monastery was built like this. To sustain itself.” He’d swept a hand through the air, tracing an invisible line along the land. “Half of this area used to be an orchard. Apples and cherries. The other half was usually wheat. Down there were the beehives. The vegetable garden used to be at the back of the building, just a few paces outside the kitchen. We kept the animals on the other side of the chapel, where they had more space to roam.”

Colin had looked at him with a frown. “What happened?”

Guibert had let out a sigh, his shoulders deflating a little. “Well, there’s only one of us left, now. Not much point in keeping all that when there weren’t many mouths to feed. And I put the wood from the orchard to good use. But—” he’d turned back to the only tomato plant that hadn’t been squashed under a falling stone— “the members of the Order are obligated to tend to the earth, to spend time in our surroundings. It’s in our orders, our oath of fidelity. So I take joy in it. Because I can and I must.”

Those words echoed in Jeremy’s mind as he stared at a cluster of runner beans. He didn’t really understand what it meant, taking an oath for something that you believed in as much as Guibert believed in the Order. It was an action that belonged in another world, another time, a time that felt as far away as the moon. He wouldn’t know how to do that — to throw himself headfirst into something that consumed his entire being, that swallowed him and refused to spit him back out. He couldn’t imagine that kind of devotion. He couldn’t imagine wanting to unmake himself, to unravel his own mind and rebuild it from the ground up.

Guibert had done it. Maybe that meant that he was stronger, wiser than Jeremy liked to give him credit for. But he grew up in this world, Jeremy reminded himself. He’s never known anything other than this. He’s never lived with electricity and Doritos and music. He’s never had to sit with himself while the rest of the world was quiet. Here, the world is always quiet.

Here, you’re always alone.

Jeremy shook his head and stood up, brushing off his palms. He dug his trashy earbuds and his phone out of his pocket, then made his way to the vegetable patch.

Later, he was in the middle of checking on a short row of beets when a sudden shadow fell across the tilled dirt.

Jeremy looked up, squinting against the sun, and pulled out an earbud.

“God help us,” said Aggie. “The boy likes to garden.”

He snorted, sitting back on his heels. “I’m just doing the weeds and whatever. Guibert showed me how and I figured I might as well, since he’s pretty busy.”

Aggie looked up at Amalga, who was coasting on a fresh sea breeze. Below her, Colin was dangling in Aggie’s harness as he patched a hole in the roof of the kitchen, not too far from where Jeremy was working. It was an unfortunate situation that he was trying not to think about. “Well,” Aggie said, “you’re not wrong.”

“How was it up there? Terrifying? You get major brownie points for not pissing your pants.”

“Aw,” she crooned, pinching his cheek. “What a charmer.”

Jeremy tried to shove her away. It didn’t work. “Come on, tell me.”

“Yeah, it was all right. Sort of reminded me of the rock-climbing wall at this old gym my mum used to take me to, only.” She held out her hands palm-up. “That didn’t involve so much mortar. I’ll be lucky if I can scrub this off before I get home.”

He traced one of the splotchy grey streaks with the tip of his finger. “You’re giving me lots of medieval craftsman vibes. It suits you.”

Aggie swatted at him, sending a cloud of grey dust into the air. “I repeat— What a charmer.”

“I’m glad you didn’t die up there,” he said a few minutes later, when they were both sprawled on the ground between the rows of vegetables. “Seriously.”

Aggie’s hand found its way between a cucumber plant and an eggplant bush. She patted his knee. “Appreciate the sentiment, young Yankee.”

“Of course,” he replied. “Winston doesn’t give me free ice cream.”

“I’m choosing to ignore that,” she said, her hand disappearing back through the plants. She was quiet for a few moments, then— “So now that you’ve had a few days to mull it over like the old woman that you are… how’d you like Glasgow?”

The word alone sent a spark of energy down Jeremy’s spine. He let out a breath, hovering his hand in front of the sun, keeping his face in shadow. “It was pretty fucking great, Aggie.”

She let out a yell of delight. “I knew it! I knew you’d love it!”

“Was it even a question?” he said with a laugh. “Me, in a city for the first time in two months? Of course I liked it—”

“Technicalities. You loved Glasgow because it was Glasgow. I won’t hear anything else.”

“Sure, sure.” Jeremy nudged her leg with his foot. “So what’d you get into, when you left me on the dance floor?”

Aggie scoffed, indignant. “I didn’t leave you, I got— sidetracked.”

“Sidetracked?” He nudged her again. “Spill.”

“It wasn’t even anything fun. Kiera got a text from her ex and she absolutely lost it. I spent almost an hour in the bathroom with her and a few of my other mates. I had to steal her phone to keep her from texting him back, and everyone who came in to take a piss had to hear all the gory details as well, so she was just— holding court, and I— Jeremy, I could rehash their entire relationship to you in my goddamn sleep at this point, and that’s not something I’m proud of.”

“Sounds… great?”

“Side effect of having a bunch of drama queens as your mates. Don’t get me wrong, I live for the drama, got my popcorn and everything, but there’s only so many times I can hear about the Valentine’s that he bought her edible underwear, you know what I mean?”

Jeremy winced, wishing that he could fling that mental image into a black hole. “Yeah, okay, I get it.”

“That reminds me.” Aggie shifted onto her side, and when he glanced at her, he saw that she was looking right at him, her eyes level with his elbow. The rest of her face was hidden by the cucumbers. “We never finished our conversation.”

Something in Jeremy’s stomach twisted and his mouth went dry. Above them, Colin hollered something to Guibert and, a moment later, slowly hovered towards the next broken part of the roof. “What conversation?”

“About boys.” Her gaze was steady, unnerving. Like she was waiting. Like she could hear the sirens going off in his mind and just didn’t care. “We were talking and you sort of… you said, or, I guess, you didn’t say… So do you?”

“Do I what?”

“You know, have someone.” Now, she nudged his leg with her foot. “Do you?”

He swallowed with a click. It didn’t help.

“Cheers!” Colin suddenly bellowed above their heads, making them both jump. “I’m done now, Guibert! You can put me down!”

“No,” Jeremy said to Aggie, watching as Colin disappeared through the half-repaired roof of the chapel. “No, I don’t.”

He and Aggie met Colin and Guibert just inside the chapel — Amalga had landed on the lawn beside the monastery, and she was snoozing in the late afternoon sun.

“Good work,” Aggie said, punching Colin on the shoulder. “We’ll make a right architect out of you yet, young Padawan.”

Colin snorted. He was smiling and his face was flushed from the sun, and he was scratching leftover dried mortar off his fingers. Aggie had done some modifications to his toolbelt, including a carabiner strong enough to hold a small bucket full of mortar, and a hook specially made for the finishing tool they used to smooth out the edges. Colin had then rigged a spare burlap sack into something of a fanny pack, which he’d used to carry the stones up with him to the roof.

“That,” Aggie said, pointing to the fanny pack, “was absolutely genius. I’m totally stealing that when it’s time to finish the roof.”

“Speaking of,” Guibert chimed in, from where he was looking up at the trusses. “When should we expect—?”

“About a day and a half, if it doesn’t rain,” Aggie replied.

Guibert nodded, glancing at Amalga. “She’ll make sure of it.”

“Good. Then shall we say… Thursday morning?”

“Fine.” Guibert wandered back over to them, giving them all a shrewd look. “Have there been any developments… regarding the cross?”

“We’re having a replica made,” Jeremy replied, a stripe of heat bursting across the back of his neck. “I’ve seen it myself, it looks exactly the same as the original. We just have to wait for the right moment, and switch the real cross out for the fake one.”

“The right moment,” Guibert echoed. “And when might that be?”

Jeremy gulped, fighting to keep from wincing. Aggie and Colin were staring at him — he hadn’t told them about this, yet. “It will probably be… Saturday, during the Games.”

Colin twitched and Aggie swore.

Guibert was unimpressed. “You can’t do it sooner?”

Jeremy shook his head. “Our contact — Doug, who’s taking care of the replica — his 3D printer broke and he won’t be able to have the cross finished until Thursday. He’s going to overnight it to us, but—”

“Anything coming to Rowe takes another half a day, because of the distance,” Aggie finished for him. “Fan-bloody-tastic.”

“Why during the Games?” Colin blurted out. He was frowning now. “Why doesn’t your mum just wait until—”

“She doesn’t want to risk Robert catching her in the act, and think about it— This way, all the experts will be able to see the real cross in the morning, and when they’re all distracted by the Games, the museum will be completely empty! Robert and his family will be on the Village Green, along with everybody else, so the likelihood of my mom getting caught—”

“All right, all right,” said Aggie, cutting him off. “It’s a good idea. Honestly, it is. It’ll look better for your mum if she lets all those professors get up close and personal with it before she sends it into lockdown. That way, they’ll tell everyone it’s real, and we’ll get loads more people coming to see the shiny, mysterious cross. Nobody gets caught, and the island gets more tourists.”

Jeremy nodded. “That was her line of thinking, too.” He looked to Guibert. “Is it really an issue? If the cross doesn’t get here until Saturday?”

“Sunday,” Colin cut in with a frown. “The Games end Saturday night, and everyone will notice if I leave early.”

“Saturday,” Aggie said to him. “Jeremy and I could meet his mum, take the cross, get it here, and get back to the Games before anyone knew we were missing.” She shrugged. “We’re not competing. No one would notice if we left for an hour or two.”

Colin just looked at her for a moment, and his frown went away. His face was stony, unreadable, and it made Jeremy hold his breath. “All right,” he finally gritted out. “Saturday.”

Jeremy looked to Guibert again. “So Saturday’s all right?”

Guibert gave a nod, inscrutable. “Fine. Just get it here soon. The longer the island goes without it the more vulnerable—”

“We know,” Jeremy cut in. “We’re doing all we can.”

Guibert looked at him. “I know,” he said, his voice softening.

“Besides,” Aggie cracked with a grin, “not much you can do without a roof, eh?”

They all looked up at the ruins of the vaulted ceiling. The mortar was still wet and shining in the watery yellow sun, but the trusses looked much better now than they had earlier in the day.

“You never know,” said Guibert, airy and cheerful. “Al fresco worship would have been quite popular in my early days.”

“You could stargaze,” Aggie added. “Camp out between the benches. Heat up some cocoa. It’d be very cozy.”

Colin shook his head at her. “What are you on about?”

“Come on.” Aggie winked at him. “You know I’m right. Out in the open air, looking at the stars, listening to the waves. Very romantic.”

Colin’s ears went a brilliant red and he turned away, clearing his throat.

Jeremy blinked, dropping his gaze to the floor. What the fuck. What the fuck just happened—

“Jeremy,” said Guibert, all too shrewd. “Why don’t you keep Amalga company before you go? I’m sure she’d enjoy a song or two, if you’ve the time.”

Jeremy nodded, already heading for the altar, where Guibert kept the weird flute. “Sure, just give me a holler when it’s time to go.”

And with that, he fled. For the second time that day.

Amalga was breathing deeply, and for a moment, he just stood there, some ten paces away, watching her iridescent flank rise and fall. Her scales sparkled and glittered in the sunlight, and he could see where some of them had pieces sliced off — obviously, Guibert’s handiwork — and even where one or two scales were missing altogether. The skin underneath was a dull, cobalt grey, crusty and thick enough to snap a sword in half. For the first time, the truth of her age settled on Jeremy in a fresh, but manageable, weight. This dragon had seen things he could barely imagine. Had listened to men argue and fight each other for centuries. Had watched the sun rise and fall more times than she could likely remember or count.

And here he was, an insignificant speck of a seventeen year-old, standing in front of her with a weird flute and crooked glasses. He barely mattered more than the blades of grass bending underneath her enormous claws. She would probably outlive him. A hundred years from now, she would be in the exact same place, and he wouldn’t.

Something about that made Jeremy smile.

Shadowy thoughts, she said, her voice trickling into his mind, for one so full of light.

She hadn’t even opened her eyes. It was a little unnerving. But he didn’t let himself feel too intimidated. Instead, he walked a little closer and sat down in the grass beside her right front foot, well out of range of her fangs and her claws. “I don’t know,” he replied, fiddling with the flute. “I like feeling a little unimportant. Keeps me humble.”

Humility, she mused. Not something in which you need a lesson.

“Aw,” he teased. “That was almost a compliment.”

Jeremy. You are… unbalanced today.

He blew out a quick stream of notes. “Am I?”

Yes. Your thoughts are unsettled. Scattered. I try to reach out to them, absorb them, but they disappear before I can get close enough. A tinge of irritation bled into her words. Dissolving. Like snow in the sun.

“You make me sound a lot more complicated than I am.”

Do I? I think, in reality, you are more complex than you would have others believe.

“Hah,” said Jeremy, feeling a little unsettled now. “Again, with the flattery.”

What is it? What is causing your thoughts to be so… restless?

He lifted an eyebrow, teasing again. “Why, Amalga. I’m touched! I never thought you cared.”

That got her to crack open an eye. One long, unamused black pupil fixated on him, and he grinned in reply.

I can see, she finally said, why Guibert so often suppresses the urge to throttle you.

“You’re such a charmer today.” He fiddled with the flute again. “What would you like to hear? Something classical?”

Her eye slid shut again. Don’t change the subject.

Jeremy sighed, dropping the flute and leaning back on his hands. He wasn’t getting out of this, apparently. “There isn’t a subject to change.”

I sensed you, earlier. You were angry. You’re still angry, you’re just hiding it.

“Maybe a little. But that’s kind of my thing, I’m always angry about something.”

No, you’re not. Her reply was quick, succinct, and it made him roll his eyes. You did not feel this way when last we spoke. You were… more content, perhaps.

“I don’t know,” he said, and it was the truth. “Honestly, I don’t see why this matters.”

It matters because I think it matters. And before you deny it, would you insult me by implying that I only pay heed to topics of little import?

Jeremy had to think about that for a moment to make sure he understood it. “No.”

Good. When he didn’t say anything else, she continued. Come, now. Humor an old dragon. Surely there is some motto somewhere about the consequences of not doing so.

He nodded. “Probably.” He took another moment just to look at her, at the wisdom and the ancient power resting in her reptilian features. Eventually, he spoke. “I’m more… mad at myself than anything else.”

I see. Why is that?

“I… did something stupid. Well, I think it’s stupid. And it jeopardizes something that… was good, at least for a little while. Something that made me happy, a lot of the time. I’m just… upset at myself for doing that, when I know better.”

‘Stupid’ can mean many things, and I sense that what may seem stupid to you might, in reality, be wise. She paused, and when she spoke again, she was surprisingly hesitant. Can you tell me what you did?

Jeremy smiled, rueful. “I guess I just… told someone something that I’d promised myself I would never tell them.”

Why not?

“Because it…” He shook his head. “It hurt them, in a way. And it crossed a boundary, violated their privacy. That’s not something I’ve really done before… to this person.”

But it was honest?

“Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

Did you… were you seeking to gain anything yourself, from being so honest?

That threw him. “No.”

Amalga was silent for several moments. I am having trouble, she eventually said, seeing what, precisely, is the problem.

“The problem is that I probably ruined something that was perfect all for the sake of trying to be a quote-unquote good person.” He scoffed. “Normally, I’m a lot better at compartmentalizing. At being selfish. And I was all set to keep things that way, to not get involved, because that’s not my thing, I don’t get involved if I don’t need to, but then I just. Went and put my foot in my mouth.”

But who stands to gain, if you champion dishonesty and do not entertain a bit of risk?

Jeremy opened his mouth, but no reply came out.

You say you are good at being selfish. That may be true, but you also have a very caring, generous heart. A heart that cannot abide by lying to a close friend, no matter what it may jeopardize — a sunset, a car ride, repairing a roof on an old building.

Heat swept up Jeremy’s neck and his cheeks. She knew who he was talking about. Of course she knew. But damn.

You may dislike hearing it, but you were, in fact, being true to yourself. And you are far too clever to hate yourself for doing something as simple as that.

He let out a huff. “Oh, am I?”

Of course, you cannot control how your someone else will react. It is worth remembering that what may sting today might be healed by tomorrow. She sighed, and a small cloud of smoke seethed out from between her teeth. Never underestimate the power of time, or people. Just as you surprised yourself today, so might someone surprise you in due course.

Too shocked to do anything else, Jeremy just nodded.

Your tangled thoughts make sense now. She sounded way too amused for his liking. It is quite normal, for someone so new to love.

Jeremy’s heart rocketed to the moon just as his stomach dropped to the pit of the earth. Sweat burst on his forehead and his lower back and his hands began to shake. “I—” he tried, and it almost came out like a wheeze. “I—”

Oh, hush. It is obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes in their head. Amalga cracked open her eye again to stare down at him, which didn’t help. Now, I’m ready for my music. Play anything you’d like.

“Right.” Jeremy shook himself, fumbled the flute to his mouth, took a deep gulp of fresh, salty air, and began to play.

It was some time before Aggie walked up to them, picking at a few remaining clumps of mortar on her forearms. “Hi, Amalga. Jer, we’re just about ready to head out.”

“Okay.” Jeremy stood up and stretched, easing out the ache in his lower back.

Aggie eyed him, more shrewd than he wanted to admit. “All right?”

He nodded, and it was the truth. He felt much better now that the initial shock of his conversation with Amalga had passed, and that he’d had some time to himself. “You guys all packed up and ready?”

“Yeah. We’re gonna leave everything here, since we’ll need it again on Thursday.”

“Sounds good.” He gave Amalga, who was now fully awake, a small bow. “Take care, you fearsome old thing.”

Amalga made her odd chittering noise and turned her gaze to the horizon. Try not to get into too much trouble.

Aggie grinned. “No promises.” With that, she grabbed Jeremy and yanked him back towards the monastery.

Colin was still in the chapel, but Jeremy barely glanced at him before he turned to Aggie and said, “Where’s Guibert?”

“Garden,” she replied. “Checking your work, Yankee boy.”

So he was. Guibert was fussing over his eggplants, trowel in one hand, crease in his forehead. He looked straight out of an illuminated manuscript.

“Hi,” Jeremy said. “We’re about to leave, and I wanted to ask… have you thought about the whole… me bringing my mom here thing?”

Guibert just looked at him for a moment, as inscrutable as ever, but then he nodded. “Aye, I have. And I’m going to discuss it further with Amalga but… I believe that it would be all right for her to visit.”

Jeremy stamped down the urge to let out a yell of victory. “I really appreciate it. And so does she, Guibert. You have no idea what it’ll mean to her.”

“Yes, well.” Guibert gave a shrug and went back to his plants. “So long as she doesn’t go squealing about it to all those other historian-types, we shouldn’t have a problem.”

“Don’t worry,” Jeremy told him. “She’d probably die before letting that happen.”

Guibert flashed him an eyebrow, unimpressed.

The boat ride home was fairly normal, if a little quiet. Colin was preoccupied, squinty. It was as if his gaze was sliding past Jeremy and onto the horizon, onto something that was far more distant, less defined.

Aggie was chattering on as usual, talking about how her dad was whipping up massive batches of ice cream in preparation for the Games. Apparently, all the local vendors would have stalls on the Village Green, and Jeremy began making a mental list of every stop he wanted to make. Once he reached ten, he realized that he was going to have to come up with a strict, time-enforced system to get to each stall before they closed.

“What d’you mean?” said Aggie with a frown. “The stalls don’t close until after the ceilidh.”

Jeremy blinked at her. “The ceilidh?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you know? The August ceilidh is always on the Green after the Games end and they do all the ribbons and trophies. They roll out this massive dance floor, Angus’s band takes over the stage, it’s a real party.”

“Huh.” Jeremy leaned back against the side of the boat. They reached the outskirts of Dunsegall and he looked at the hulking side of the castle, looming above the coast. “So what you’re saying is that I could eat myself stupid for as long as I wanted.”

Aggie chuckled. “Yes, you big loon.”

“Exactly what I wanted to hear, thank you.”

The cottage was quiet and the water calm when they finally pulled up to shore. Jeremy waited until they were all walking towards the road before he said, “So what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

Aggie frowned, glancing up from her phone. “I’ve got revision in the morning and I’m working the late shift at the shop.”

“Revision,” Jeremy said. “Anything fun?”

“Ugh. Biology. Then Philosophy, if I have enough time.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were both doing Biology?”

“Yup. Back when we did O-levels, we decided that we’d have at least one overlapping subject for A-levels so we could study together. Tell you what, worked a treat.” She nodded at Colin. “What about you, then?”

Colin shrugged. “Same. I’ve got to be home tomorrow, Dad’ll be out but he’s expecting a delivery and he needs someone there to sign for it.”

Jeremy nodded, keeping his gaze on the cottage even as he felt his heart sink a little. It was starting — they were separating.

There was a bit of an awkward pause. As they drew even with Aggie and Colin’s cars, she glanced at the two boys and said, “Tell you what. How about you both come by around closing tomorrow for a few sundaes and a bit of a gossip?”

Jeremy nodded again, not looking at Colin. “Sure, yeah.”

“Sounds good,” said Colin.

Aggie smiled. “All right, lads.” She spun her keys around her finger and headed for her Jeep. “Sleep tight!”

“Bye,” Jeremy said, giving them both a half-hearted wave. He turned away and headed for the cottage — Mozart appeared near the front door, giving him a reproachful meow, and he picked her up with a smile, resigning himself to a long night of AP Calc review and an episode of Downton Abbey, if he was lucky.

Colin (8:54 P.M.): You can come over tomorrow, if you want

Colin (8:55 P.M.): I’d be okay with it