Page 84 of The Mermaid's Bubble Lounge
I laughed. “He’ll enjoy that. No. He’s been a lot of things, farmer and warrior foremost among them. If you want to learn how to handle a sword, any size or shape, Clive’s your guy.”
I looked around for Fergus. He loved to explore, but he always made a point of checking in before running off again. I thought I saw his head pop through a bush for a moment. “Fergus!” I called, but he didn’t reappear.
Bracken looked behind us. “Is he still on the island?”
Uneasy, I said, “I don’t think so. I just saw him a minute ago. Maybe he caught a new scent. He usually shadows me, though.” We walked on, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
“Wait,” Bracken said. “The folly changed.”
I nodded vaguely, noticing a tail whip behind a tree. “We’ve left Canterbury and have entered Middle-earth.” I pointed out areas in the shire taken directly from Tolkien’s stories.
“A horse?” Bracken asked as the tall chestnut mare cantered down the narrow dirt road.
“Yeah. Clive doesn’t like it. He says it’s close enough to the real thing to be deeply disturbing. He grew up with horses and has a way with them. Unfortunately for him, horses don’t like vampires.”
Bracken glanced at me before returning his gaze to the horse. “That’s probably another reason to favor cars. They don’t shy away from him.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way, but he was right. I continued scanning for my little buddy, getting more uneasy. He wouldn’t stay away from me for this long.
When the horse got close, it stamped and shook its head, tossing its mane. Odd. I’d never seen it behave like that. When I finally turned to study the horse, my insides froze. Bracken held out a hand to scratch its muzzle and I threw out my arm, knocking my great-uncle off his stride, as I yanked my axe out again.
Bracken’s hand flicked under my raised arm, casting his spell, and the horse screamed, rearing back, its huge hooves waving in the air before my face. Shitshitshit. I sidestepped the hooves and swung, but it disappeared. I almost landed on my butt from swinging so hard with no target. Luckily Bracken had ducked out of the way.
“Did you see where it went?” I searched the area frantically, looking for any movement, my axe at the ready.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I think the grass on that side of the path moved, but it could have been the wind.” His fingers twitched at his side.
Fergus yelped and I flinched, spinning toward the sound. In the distance, on the hill with the hobbit holes, a massive tree stood, its branches spreading wide, sheltering the hill. With another high-pitched yelp, Fergus raced beneath the tree, coming over the top of the hill and sprinting down the path between hobbit holes. A moment later, he disappeared through a door left ajar.
I took off at a sprint, Bracken right behind me. I looked right and left as I ran, searching for the pooka. “Do you see it?”
“No,” Bracken called, falling behind.
I ran through the meadow and around the pond at the base of the hobbit hole hill before racing up the path. There were seven colorful round doors in total, four on the first level, near the pond, and three on the second, below the tree. Outside each door was a wildish garden of vines and flowers. I slid to a stop in the doorway of the last one on the upper level.
“Fergus?” I barely paused in the front room, as he obviously wasn’t in there.
I heard a whine down the hall and ran, shoving open doors and scanning rooms as I went. “Baby, where are you? Are you okay?” I got to the last room, the bedroom, and heard that quiet whine again. I went to the other side of the bed, but still no Fergus. Where was he?
The bedroom door slammed shut. I brought my axe up and spun, finding Clive leaning against the door. The tension in my body relaxed.
“Help me find Fergus. He’s hurt.” I rushed around the bed and skidded to a stop.
Clive’s eyes were wrong. They were more blue than gray. The way he looked at me was wrong. There was no love. Clive, looking at me like I was a stranger, hurt me in ways I didn’t have the strength to consider.
Clive?
We’re coming, darling.
I stared into the pooka’s dead eyes. He’s already here.
The pooka dove at me as the bedroom door flew open, knocking him off balance. Bracken stood in the doorway, his fingers twitching. I swung, wanting to destroy this counterfeit Clive. He disappeared and I came dangerously close to eviscerating my great-uncle, who, despite his age, nimbly avoided the axe.
I’d barely begun searching the floor for a shape-shifting rodent when I was thrown backward and catapulted through the bedroom window, my stomach landing on the window sill. Bracken lunged and grabbed me, but I’d already been cut to shit. In a folly filling with vampires. Bloody hell.
Clutching the axe like the lifeline it was, I held tight while Bracken lifted me off the glass impaling me, using far more strength than he should have possessed. A crash sounded from the front room.
Was I in pain? Probably, but adrenaline was numbing everything at present. Was I bleeding freely? Also yes. Bracken’s fingers were moving, so maybe he was trying to deal with the horror show I was fast becoming.
