Badder (Out of the Box #16)
Robert J. Crane
1st Edition
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part without the written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, please email [email protected]
1.
Before
“In my day, we ruled the world as gods, and all who beheld us quaked in righteous fear at the sound of our approach.” Her granddad’s voice always filled Rose with a sense of reassurance, that quiet desire to just put her chin in her hands and listen as he spun his tales. She looked up at him now with a smile of wonderment, eyes starry and glazed, as he talked of his own life and the days before. “We battled and fought amongst ourselves, and humans ran, fearful, from the clash of men and women so strong as to defy their ability to understand it in terms that didn’t blast their heads off as surely as if a Brigid had done it for them.” His thick Scottish brogue was the stuff of the Highlands, and it was deep, and rich, and Rose couldn’t get enough of hearing it.
“Rose.” The stern sound of her mam’s voice made Rose jerk her head around. She found the lady herself standing there, disapproving, hands on hips. Her fiery red hair caught the midday light reflected through the window to the living room. Rose looked back at her granddad to see his eye twinkle, and he winked at her.
“We’ll finish this later,” he said, unfurling himself from the footstool where he’d sat and held court, telling her his tales. He stood, strong and tall, hair still dark and full. She knew he was already some two thousand years old. He didn’t look it. He didn’t even really look a granddad, at least not compared to some of the other granddads around.
“No, you won’t,” Rose’s mam said darkly, green eyes flashing, hands still firmly planted upon her hips.
“Ye’re a wee scunner,” her granddad said. “Ye’re my daughter, I’m not your son.” He didn’t sound very serious, more mocking of the idea that she could command him than angry. The twinkle in his eye showed he had a good humor about it all.
“Aye, and she’s mine,” Rose’s mam said, “and she doesn’t need you filling her head with nonsense tales of the past.” Her voice went a note higher. “Those days are long gone, Father. We don’t live like that anymore. We have to exist with the humans now, and not try and rule them. You know that.”
“I know that,” he said, and waited for her to turn. “But it was better before,” he whispered to Rose once she’d turned away. Judging by the slump of her shoulders, Rose’s mam heard that, though. He clapped Rose on the shoulder lightly. “All right, enough o’ that for now. Go on, then. Go outside for a bit, have some fun. Maybe go find Graham. No need to be hanging about inside on a beautiful day like today.”
“Granddad, it’s raining,” Rose said, looking at the open shade over his shoulder. Grey skies were visible, and hints of moisture were coming out of the sky.
“But lightly!” he said. “That’s what we call Scottish sunshine, and you better drink it up while you can.” He favored her with a grin, then placed his hand on her back and gently pushed her toward the door. “Go on, then. Come back before tea. And don’t go doing anything daft, you hear?”
Rose lingered, drifting toward the door. “I hear you, Granddad,” she said, sighing as she left.
Outside, she discovered he’d been right about the sunshine. It broke its way through the clouds, revealing the sparse nature of the rainfall, only a few drops coming every square foot. It was a light drizzle at best, and the village was still awake, and still functioning in spite of the minor precipitation. Rose took in this overly familiar scene with a practiced eye; she’d lived here all her life, had yet to leave, and—well, really, why would she?
Over to the east stood one of the rounded hills that rose like a mountain over the village. It was tall and looked smooth, but it was easily climbable if you knew what you were doing. Hills dotted the ground to the west, too, and the sea was just a bit to the north. Somewhere south—far south—was Edinburgh and Glasgow, and beyond that England and Europe and—
“G’morning, Rose,” Hamilton said, greeting her with that same twinkle she saw in her granddad’s eye. “How are ye doing this fine day?”
“Aren’t you a cheery bastard?” his counterpart said, Tamhas. He wore a grumpy look, eyes narrowed. He was always good for a grouse. Granddad had told her that this old silver-haired bastard had been the finest warrior he’d ever seen. Tamhas had a keen eye, like a hawk, always looking around; she knew he’d traveled all the way to Asia at one point and come back knowing every martial art known to man—or so Granddad claimed.
“How can you be unhappy on a day like today?” Hamilton asked. He was always bright of eye; an actor by trade, classically trained. He’d done quite a bit of work in Edinburgh, Glasgow and even as far away as London before giving it up and coming back home. That had been long before Rose’s time.
“Because it’s raining. Again.” Tamhas seemed to sound like a hawk.
“Did somebody take a wee piss in your tea?” Hamilton winked at her.
“Good morning, Hamilton, Tamhas,” Rose said softly, almost afraid to interrupt their banter. They were like this all the time. She tried to appear nonchalant, and asked, “Have either of you seen Graham this morning?”
Hamilton and Tamhas exchanged a look that made Rose’s cheeks burn. They’d sussed out her intent, that much was plain. “Aye,” Tamhas said, his cranky disposition suddenly lightened in ways that made Rose feel very sorry she’d asked. “I saw him go out that way, toward Miriam Shell’s house.” He put a hand up, pointing the way.
Miriam Shell was a widower. She’d married a human, so that was hardly a surprise. Rose’s granddad had said she’d been born almost two hundred years ago now. He also said she was a randy old creature, and at that thought Rose felt herself pale.
Hamilton slapped Tamhas across the chest, drawing a sharp look in reply. Hamilton gave her a kindly look, his hints of grey hair matching the sky. “He was just helping her with some of her chores, lass. Nothing untoward.”
“Mmm?” Tamhas seemed to get it now. “What? Oh. No, yes—didn’t mean to imply anything.” He lowered his voice, as though he could speak to Hamilton without her hearing it, his lips moving subtly. Rose caught it, though. “You know she’d have him splayed across the bed in two seconds if she thought she could get away with it.”
“Aye, but you dinnae need to say it where the lass could hear you,” Hamilton said under his breath—deep under his breath. “You know she and the lad have a thing going on.”
“We do not ‘have a thing going on’,” Rose said, blushing heartily. Hamilton and Tamhas both looked up, quite startled.
“You…heard that, then?” Tamhas said. He looked ashen.
“Aye,” Rose said, still blushing furiously. “There is nothing between Graham and me, I’ll have you know.”