Scottish Rite (Maggie Devereaux Book 1) Page 20

  ""

  Her eyes widened. Her heart skipped a beat before then flooding her bloodstream with adrenaline. She couldn't have breathed if she'd wanted to. As soon as she had spoken the spell, the candle flame flickered violently and she froze in disbelief as she waited for the candle to rise into the air.

  But then something happened which truly surprised her: Nothing.

  The candle did not rise into the air. It sat, quite gravity-bound, in its brass holder on top of the heavy wooden desk.

  Maggie stared at the candle for an eternity, but she knew it wouldn't move. The adrenaline dump was making her fingers tingle and she could hear the rush of blood in her ears. She had to remind herself to breathe again. Finally she shut her eyes against the candle's light and lowered her face into her heat-swollen hands.

  "Damn," she whispered softly.

  After several moments, Maggie stood up, placed her glasses carefully on the desk and unceremoniously blew out the two candles, leaving the room pitch black. She groped her way to the bed and climbed under the covers, entirely unable to sleep. It was still stuffy in the bedroom and she was beginning to sweat at the temples. She considered the rain beaten windows, but decided to forego the icy chill of a late October night and instead crossed over to the vent in the floor. She flipped the lever back and almost immediately the room began to cool as fresh air swirled into the chamber, chasing out the stagnant, uncirculated air.

  She lay down again, the air from the vent blowing lightly across her face. She was tired and tried not to think about what had just transpired. She couldn't decide whether to be disappointed in the failure of the magic, or in herself for actually believing it would work.

  The fresh, cool air was lulling her to sleep. She rolled onto her side and allowed her mind to replay the images of the day as she drifted off into dreams. Her last thought before succumbing to sleep—a thought she would not remember in the morning—was of the candle on the center of the desk and of hearing a voice, not her own, say, "It flickered."

  23. Inverness

  The next weeks passed by uneventfully, and torturously slow. Fionna's death had cast a pallor over not only Maggie's routine, but that of the entire university community. The police had been closed-lipped about the details of her murder but rumor and half-whispered opinions spread the conclusion fast enough among the halls and classrooms of the University of Aberdeen. The campus was in the clutches of a serial killer.

  For those who actually knew Fionna, it was even more difficult to proceed with day-to-day life. Maggie had seen Ellen a few times over that period and each time it was clear Ellen had graduated to the next phase of grief. Maggie had also seen Will Hopkins once, but he had not seen her walking past him on the crowded sidewalk and had overlooked her wave. He had a lot on his mind, she supposed. As for Sean FitzSimmons, he was nowhere to be found. And Maggie—she had just fallen into a mundane lethargy. In mid-October, before Fionna's death, she had been thinking about organizing some type of party to commemorate American Halloween, so closely related to the Celtic festival of Samhain, with perhaps some ideas gleaned from the Dark Book. But the murders had made a Halloween party seem rather inappropriate, and she had not picked the book up in earnest since her embarrassing attempt at magickry. October 31st came and went with no more than Maggie noticing the date on the MacTarys' kitchen calendar.

  The trip to Inverness had in fact not been cancelled, although it had been delayed until the second weekend of November for various reasons, not all of which pertained directly to Fionna's murder. Sarah Bell had elected not to come after all, and of course Fionna would not be joining them. So on that Thursday morning in mid-November, Maggie could look forward to a two hour drive with just Ellen and, for better or worse, Kelly Anderson.

  Iain had joined the MacTarys and Maggie for breakfast that morning, despite it being Thursday, because apparently St. Andrew's Day was approaching. According to Lucy, a pair of kiltmakers and their store manager could ill afford to be unprepared for the increased tourist interest the celebration of Scotland's patron saint would hopefully create. And in November in Scotland, any increase in tourist interest was good news. When Maggie had inquired about the holiday, mostly out of politeness, Iain had explained that Scots usually celebrated in intimate family gatherings. She had thought he might invite her to spend the day with him, but her downcast mood and the presence of his employers had apparently discouraged him. It was probably just as well. In her current state, she had become exceedingly ambivalent about most things in her life just then, including Iain Grant.

  Ellen arrived at 8:30. She had evidently graduated to the stuporous 'life's-too-short-carpe-diem' stage of mourning, as her face beamed with a smile unimaginable just two weeks earlier. In contrast, Kelly was her usual dour self. Lucy, Alex and Iain all came out to see Maggie off on her long weekend. As Maggie climbed into the back seat of Ellen's Ford Fiesta and pulled the door shut, Ellen kept her eyes trained on the waving well-wishers and purred, "Who's that?"

  "Who?" Maggie replied. There were three people on the porch.

  "That tall, dark, gorgeous man there. The young one, I mean. Please tell me he's not your boyfriend."

  "That's just Iain," Maggie replied, expelling a nervous laugh. "And no, he's not my boyfriend."

  "Good," Ellen cooed as she pulled away. "That'll give me something to do when we get back. Eh, Kelly?"

  Kelly did not turn from the side window as she offered a disinterested "Whatever" in reply.

  Maggie, for her part, crossed her arms and pushed herself back in her seat, her ambivalence over Iain Grant fading fast.

  * * *

  "Inbhir Nis," Ellen announced in Gaelic as the car motored past the roadsign delineating the boundary of their destination.

  "Cool," Maggie replied approvingly. Kelly said nothing.

  "So how big is Inverness?" Maggie inquired as she appraised the surprisingly modern architecture which passed by her car window.

  "Around sixty-thousand," Ellen answered. "Good sized, but not quite as big as Aberdeen. And nowhere near as large as Edinburgh or Glasgow."

  Kelly hadn't said anything for the last hour or so; Maggie wondered whether she was asleep. Deciding that she didn't really care either way, Maggie turned and peered out the window again. Gazing at the bustle of the busy people on the sidewalks, she wondered absently whether Inverness didn't have a university.

  "Here were are," Ellen announced as they rounded a turn and pulled up to a rather average looking apartment building. "Jenny's flat is in this building."

  Soon, the three of them had been warmly received by Ellen's school-days friend. Jenny MacPherson stood about one inch shorter than Maggie's 5'4" but otherwise seemed to sport the same medium-thin build. She too had brown hair, but darker and finer than Maggie's thick auburn locks. She wore brown plastic-rimmed glasses in front of her dull brown eyes and her skin was a pasty white, except for a rather large brown birthmark which bulged slightly from her left cheek. The end result was that Jenny MacPherson looked rather a lot like Maggie, yet at the same time entirely different.

  After introductions and a tour of Jenny's flat, it was quickly decided to head downtown for a bit of sight-seeing and people-watching, followed by a spot of lunch at a place Ellen and Jenny had always gone to before Ellen had left for Aberdeen.

  "So what's the plan for tonight then?" Ellen asked as she popped the last bite of battered cod in her mouth.

  Jenny MacPherson looked at her friend in disbelief. "Thursday night?" she urged, hoping to jog her friend's memory.

  An expectant and rather wicked smile crossed Ellen's lips. "You mean—? "

  "Aye."

  "The Digital Unicorn?"

  "Still open," Jenny confirmed, hardly able to contain herself. "And," she passed a smile and nod around the table, "Thursday night is still ladies night!"

  Maggie's heart sank. A nightclub? S
he was exhausted already. And hadn't there been some talk about some sort of day trip early tomorrow? And 'Ladies' Night?' She'd come to Scotland to study, not to meet boys. And, Good Lord: 'The Digital Unicorn'?!

  Apparently her reaction was not overlooked.

  "What's wrong then, Maggie?" Ellen jabbed. "Too tired already? Or is it that your Iain will be jealous?"

  Before she could retort, 'He's not my Iain,' Jenny jumped in. "Oh, you've a boyfriend then, do you, Maggie? A Scot or a Yank?"

  "A Scot," Maggie replied, trying not to be too irritated by the friendly teasing. "And he's not my boyfriend. He's just—" She wasn't sure what to say next. "He just works at my aunt and uncle's store."

  "More's the pity," Ellen opined to Jenny.

  "Really?" Jenny inquired.

  "Oh, aye," Ellen enthused. "Handsome young lad. Tall. Strapping. Fine dark hair. And, as Maggie said, a Scot. All in all a good catch."

  "Right then, Maggie," Jenny's voice had taken on the aura of cruise director. "You don't have to dance with any of the lads tonight. But you might as well let them buy you drinks. Cover is free on ladies night, so free drinks means a free evening."

  "Well," Maggie had to admit, "that sounds pretty good."

  "What about you then, Kelly?" Jenny turned her attention to the blond American sunk in the chair opposite her. "Have you any objections to the evening's planned activities."

  "To free drinks," she raised an uncharacteristic smile, "I have no objection. To men, well, we'll just have to wait and see."

  * * *

  The Digital Unicorn turned out to be everything Ellen and Jenny had promised. With a dozen speakers blasting house-mix dance music, and with twice as many colored spot-lights flashing over a dance floor the size of a basketball court, the nightclub was packed with revelers. Ladies Night had succeeded in bringing out a large female crowd, but so too had it attracted a large number of young males with one thing on their minds. One such fellow was named Eric and had latched onto Maggie quite firmly once he'd heard her American accent. Maggie found Eric pleasant enough until his third pint, after which he became increasingly loud, incoherent and boring. After his fourth, Maggie found it easy enough to slip from his disappointing clutches and rejoin her friends who had staked out a table near the back of the club to use as a sort of home base. When she arrived, she found Jenny sitting alone at the table, sweaty from dancing and nursing some sort of clear, bubbly drink with a lime in it. A quick glance toward the flashing lights revealed Ellen and Kelly still on the dance floor.

  "Hello, Maggie!" Jenny shouted over the music. "Having a good time then?!"

  "Aye, to be sure," she mimicked the Scots burr she had been subjected to for the last bit of time. As she pulled out a chair and sat down again, she could feel the telltale dizziness that indicated she too had had enough to drink. "I have to admit," she continued, "this is a great place. I wasn't sure at first, but I'm having quite a good time."

  "Aye," Jenny tried to nod as she sipped from her drink. "It's maybe a silly name, I suppose, but—"

  Jenny's sentence was interrupted by the uncharacteristically boisterous entrance of Kelly Anderson.

  "Hi, guys!" she yelled as she fell clumsily into the seat next to Maggie. "What are we talking about? Wow, cool place, Jenny. Is there a waitress around? My glass is empty. Hi, Maggie!"

  "Hi," Maggie replied with a bemused smile. She always found it entertaining to see how other people acted when they got snockered. It also served as a gentle warning about her own condition, should she be tempted to have just one more.

  "So who's that then?" Jenny pointed at the young man Kelly had left on the dance floor. He was still watching after her but had apparently declined to stop dancing just yet.

  "I think his name's Kyle," Kelly giggled through her empty glass as she turned it upside down to acquire its last precious drops. "Or Kevin. Or something."

  As Kelly finished this minimal effort to remember the fellow's name, Ellen plodded over to the table as well, the song having, if not exactly ended, at least merged into the next song.

  "He's cute," Jenny remarked approvingly about Kyle/Kevin/Something.

  "Who's cute?" Ellen asked, sitting down rather ungracefully herself.

  "Kevin," Maggie replied.

  "Kyle," Kelly corrected with a frown.

  "Right. Kyle. Kyle's cute."

  "Who's Kyle?" Ellen looked around, becoming quickly confused.

  "The cute bloke Kelly's been dancing with," Jenny explained, and pointed him out on the dance floor.

  "Oh, aye," Ellen appraised. "He is cute enough. Are you keen on him then, Kelly?"

  Kelly frowned again, this time into her now utterly empty glass. "Whatever," she pouted.

  Jenny was a bit taken aback by the sudden glumness. Maggie wasn't.

  "Come now, Kelly—" Jenny started.

  "No, let her be," Ellen counseled. "Miss Anderson's a wee bit down on men just now."

  Oh really? Maggie thought, her curiosity peaked.

  "Oh really?" Jenny asked for her. "Why's that then?"

  Kelly had not stopped frowning, but it now flared in intensity. "Don't wanna talk about it."

  Jenny smiled around the table. "Come on, then, Kell," she coaxed.

  Kelly just looked away. Ellen, however, leaned forward onto the table. "Well..." she started.

  Kelly's voice sliced through Ellen's sentence. "Don't!" Her pouty frown had hardened into an angry scowl.

  Ellen sat back again, obviously deciding to heed her friend.

  "Well, then," Jenny switched to a new topic. "Maggie had a cutie herself, didn't you, lass?"

  Maggie smiled. "Not much to tell. We danced and talked a bit is all."

  Ellen smiled playfully. "Iain'll be jealous," she teased.

  At this Maggie could only smile as no words came to her, just emotions.

  "Okay, now tell me again who this Iain is?" Jenny asked, her memory blurred by the clear bubbly lime drink.

  Suddenly Kelly returned to the conversation.

  "Let's talk about something else!" she commanded. "I don't want to talk about Maggie's boyfriend." She picked up her glass again. "Where is that damned waitress?"

  So Ellen tried to change the subject. "How's your research coming then, Maggie?" It was the best she could do on short notice.

  "Okay, I guess. I'm making some progress." Then she remembered her last 'progress' meeting and laughed at herself. "Although don't ask Craig Macintyre."

  Kelly's fist crashed down on the table, jarring the glasses in a series of clanks and clinks.

  "Damn it!" she yelled at no one in particular. "I said change the subject!"

  Maggie looked at the other two, wondering what she had said.

  "No, Kelly," she said. "We were talking about Prof. Macintyre."

  "Bastard," Kelly mumbled in reply. "Maggie?" Kelly leaned forward and draped an arm around Maggie's shoulder. "Maggie?"

  Maggie smiled nervously. "Yes?"

  "Maggie, don't—" Kelly stopped in mid-thought.

  "Yes?"

  "Don't—" She was having trouble tracking.

  "Don't what, Kelly?"

  "Don't—Don't let him read your notes!" At this Kelly broke out in drunken hysterics. She dropped her forehead onto the table and slapped at the tabletop with an open palm, all the while laughing uncontrollably.

  Maggie and Jenny laughed too, but more out of discomfort than anything Kelly had said. Ellen giggled too, but she just sat back and shook her head.

  "Get it?" Kelly asked, face still to the table. "He's the professor but you can't let him read your notes!"

  Jenny laughed again, but this time sincerely. "I think she's had enough, eh?"

  Maggie nodded as Ellen provided the formal concurrence, "Aye. I think it's time to go."

  Ellen slipped an arm under her blond friend and helped her to her feet. Jenny opened her purse and extracted her car keys and several banknotes.

  "Can you pay the tab, Maggie?" she asked, shoving the bill
s into Maggie's palm. "We'll put her in the car."

  "Sure," Maggie replied. "Sounds like a plan."

  Ellen and Jenny half-carried Kelly, who was still laughing at her own enigmatic humor, toward the exit as Maggie stood on her tip-toes and surveyed the room for some sign of a cashier or waiter. Their table had been, like all of them, set back a distance from the dance floor to give the club-goers a place to escape from both the pounding music and the prying eyes of other patrons. It was still an hour before closing time, but the crowd had started to thin a bit, so that just before spotting a queue of customers at a cash register at one of the several bars, Maggie again spotted Eric.

  He was seated at one of the more secluded tables, only half lit by the flashing lights of the dance floor. Seated firmly on his lap, mouth attached securely to his, was a very thin, very petite brunette, with shoulder length brown curls and a blouse the same color blue as Maggie's, but three times tighter. Maggie couldn't help but watch this scene for several moments. Then she did the only thing she could do. She walked over to the bar, paid the tab, and left.

  * * *

  The next morning found Ellen still bubbly, Maggie a bit tired, and Kelly wickedly hung over. Luckily, the day trip had had to be postponed until Saturday. When they arrived home in the early hours of that morning, Jenny had had a message. Apparently her boss—she was an architect in a small three person firm in Inverness—had run afoul of some rather important government regulations. Her presence would be required at the office after all. So Jenny went into work and the field trip to Clava Cairns was reassigned to Saturday.

  This was just as well, though, for it gave Maggie and Kelly the opportunity to take a more leisurely tour of Inverness with Ellen, whose frenetic energy was diminished somewhat by the absence of her school chum. When Jenny finally arrived home sometime after six, she was exhausted, and after the previous night at The Digital Unicorn, the evening consisted of a nice dinner at an Indian restaurant near Jenny's flat and a subdued evening of wine and conversation.