Page 13 of Simon Says

“After a day of looking into it, I knew that I wanted to head toward the north of Scotia. Beyond the mainland to the Orkneys. You know where that is?”

Rosie shook her head.

He stood, walked back over to the globe and carefully replaced it so that it was once again a sphere and not a cleverly concealed bar. “Right here.” He pointed. “This archipelago to the northeast of the mainland.”

Rosie didn’t get up, because she could see from where she sat. She nodded.

“It seemed ideal,” he said. “Sparse population. Heavy concentration of sites.” He sat back down. “Just what I wanted.”

Simon swiveled in his chair to look out the window and quickly became so engrossed in his own thoughts it was as if he’d forgotten Rosie was there. She saw drops of rain begin to softly spatter against the glass that held the Director’s attention. Something told her the kindest thing to do would be to sit quietly and wait until he was ready to reveal more.

At length he swiveled the chair around in her direction. “Sorry. I was lost in thought. I don’t often indulge in the retelling of this event. It’s, ah, somewhat…”

“Painful?” Rosie supplied.

He nodded. “I did research into what I’d need to go wild camping. Got a backpack that, when fully loaded, weighed almost as much as I did.” He chuckled. “I took the train all the way to Thurso and caught the ferry. I’d planned to walk around. Hop ferries to get between the islands. And be far away from everything I knew. The city. Black Swan. My teammates. Most of all, vampire.

“I’ll admit it seemed like heaven to me. I’d spent years living in the dark. Vampire hunters work at night for obvious reasons.”

“I know.”

“It was glorious. The green plains. The blue water. The lack of people. I went for three days without speaking to a soul. Had to break the communication fast when I ran out of bottled water.” He shook his head, a look on his face like he was reliving every moment. “Went on like that for ten days. Walked about. Slept on the ground. Now and then I’d stop and talk to shepherds. They have about thirteen different breeds of sheep there.

“You know part of the philosophy behind giving knights bereavement time is to let them grieve. And part of it is to give them a chance to be sure they want to continue. The idea is to go away and think about it. And I did.” Simon stopped to laugh at himself softly. “I actually pictured myself raising sheep. On the Orkney islands. The Hebridean variety. Beautiful really.” He looked at a space over her head and pointed behind her. “There they are.” Rosie turned around to see a framed and matted photograph of black and brown horned sheep that were, as he’d said, beautiful. At the sound of his voice she turned back to face him. “They have horns that jut up into proud points like an antelope and another set that curve toward their necks.” There was a moment of silence as Simon seemed lost in his own thoughts about black sheep with long, pretty brown wool. “It was a life as far away from vampire hunting as I could imagine.”

When he paused again, Rosie nodded to let him know she was involved in the story. Truthfully, she couldn’t imagine Simon raising sheep in any world, but she resisted the impulse to say so. It was his story.

“I fell in love with the place.” He took in a deep breath. “Then I fell in love with a woman.”

Rosie blinked rapidly as if she was trying to process that. The idea of Simon in love was even harder to accept than the idea of Simon sorting sheep.

As the rain continued to patter against the window Simon told Rosie about finding and losing Sorcha.

“I’ve never been able to shake the memory of her face,” he said. “She didn’t look like her departure was, ah, voluntary.”

“You think a visitor took her.”

“I’ve speculated on a thousand different things over the years, each more useless than the last. What I think isn’t worth a pair of squirrel balls. It’s what happened that counts.”

“You’re hoping she’s still alive.”

“Well, of course that’s what I’m hoping. Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst. Isn’t that the way the saying goes?”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Prepared for the worst?”

“Of course not. But I’ll do my best.”

Rosie smiled. “I remember when I was born.”

Simon barked out a laugh. “Now there’s something you don’t hear every day. I suppose you’re the only creature ever born who remembers her birth.”

Rosie nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “In this world.”

Simon grew instantly sober. “Right.”

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