Chapter 11 #2
And that odor. She covered her nose. Whew.
The air reeked with an unbearable stench.
She choked back a gag. Mercy sakes, what caused that?
Something pungent and acrid, like a mix of rotten eggs, singed hair, and fresh dog shit.
She wrinkled her nose and kept it and her mouth covered with one hand.
Her burning eyes watered until tears streamed down her cheeks.
The memory of lab experiments with smoking sulfur came to mind, but something here was a lot worse than sulfur . . . decaying fish, maybe?
“Taggart, what is that?” she asked from behind her hand.
He lifted his head and sniffed. “I sense nothing unusual. Describe it.”
She squinted and prayed the watery tears blurring her vision would relieve the ferocious burning caused by the toxic ammonia-like fumes.
She cupped both hands over her nose and mouth.
“I cannot believe you can’t smell that. It’s like someone’s filled a hair bag with chicken shit and set it on fire! ”
“Oh, that.” He nodded. “That’s Draecna scat. Dinna worry. When the tide comes in, it will cleanse the feces from the rocks below and the odor willna be nearly as offensive.”
She stared at him then clamped her hand back over her face.
Did he just say that was Draecna shit? This enchanted wonderland that was supposed to sweep her off her feet nearly burned her eyes out of their sockets with its foul odor.
“Can’t you teach them to shit out to sea?
Or will it destroy the ecosystem in this part of the ocean? ”
“Ergonomics,” Taggart replied with a shrug. “They canna fly and shit at the same time.”
She swallowed hard and pinned him with a narrow-eyed look. Surely, he didn’t expect her to believe that load of rubbish. Even a common sparrow could drop a load while soaring overhead. “Let’s just go inside.”
With a wicked grin, he shouldered open the double oak doors at the front of the keep.
The rusty hinges creaked and groaned, protesting at being disturbed.
Their footsteps echoed throughout the hub of the main entryway and into the honeycomb of tiled hallways shooting off in every direction.
Enormous supporting beams stained black with age marched across the vaulted ceiling like the ribs of some prehistoric beast. She slowed until her steps came to a sliding halt and found herself open-mouthed in the center of what appeared to be some sort of welcoming room.
She spun in a slow circle, entranced by the elaborate furniture, the exquisite artwork, and the sculptures gracing the halls.
Mouth shut, she reminded herself as she craned her neck and stared at the massive architecture of the interior of the castle.
Taggart would think her some kind of fool walking around the keep like a slack-jawed tourist. The heart of the castle appeared to be the perfect opposite of the dilapidated exterior.
With a glance back at the doorway, then another at the room, she almost wanted to go back outside and compare to make sure she hadn’t lost her mind.
While outside, the castle had looked a beaten-down Scottish keep, neglected and ravaged by the winds of time.
Once inside, it was like she had taken some sort of potion and found herself the size of a tiny doll inside a giant’s house.
A rich giant that loved extravagant furnishings.
This room was flooring inlaid with gold-streaked marble and vaulted ceilings supported by satin-finished granite pillars.
Burnished mahogany panels covered the walls and gleamed along the curving banisters of the winding staircases.
The finest inlays of ivory, silver, and gold, as well as metals she couldn’t identify, decorated every surface.
She traced her fingers along the sumptuous velvet of a chair, fingering the ornate tassels of an overstuffed pillow, and let the satin threads tickle across her palm.
The opulence amazed her. Pristine antiques strategically adorned the heavy tables scattered through the halls.
Love seats and settees clustered in cozy seating areas.
Again, her jaw dropped at their exaggerated proportions.
The comfort of giants appeared to be the clear intent the designer of this home had in mind.
Craning her neck as she walked under the chandelier, she squinted at the teardrop-shaped facets as the crystals slowly turned in a shaft of sunlight. “Why is everything in this place so large?”
“Because this is our ancestral home, honored Guardian, and we built it for our comfort, not yours.”
Hannah spun about from her perusal of the chandelier to face the owner of the deep, rumbling voice. A battered Draecna with gray, faded scales stood in the doorway's shadow. His eyes were half closed to glowing, watchful slits.
Taggart strode forward and placed himself between her and the beast. “Septamus! That is no way to great the Guardian. Dinna be an arse.”
“My quarrel is not with the Guardian. My ire is with yourself. Why did you tarry so long?” With a hitching slide, as though movement pained him, Septamus grimaced and showed a bit of yellowed fang as he worked his way into the room.
“Are you all right?” Noticing Septamus’s odd, tormented gait, she pushed around Taggart. Her heart went out to the aging Draecna who still carried himself with pride even though in obvious pain.
The beast drew back, lifting his forearms as though he feared her touch would singe him. “It is nothing. Weariness is all. I am too old to power the gateways for as long as I have. That is why I am eager for the hatching of the next clutch.”
“He lies,” Taggart interrupted. “Septamus hasn’t powered the portals in years. The old coward has snarled and gimped between this hall and Erastaed for eons, but refuses to allow anyone to help him.”
Pride could endanger the best of health, and apparently Draecna were as susceptible as humans. She picked up on the stubbornness flashing in his great luminous eyes; sensed it in the way he growled. She grabbed hold of Taggart’s hand and pulled him to Septamus’s side.
“I can understand him, but I can’t heal him. I don’t have your ability to heal. Help him. Lay your hands on him, like you did me. Make him better.”
Septamus’s eyes flared wide, and he retreated a step as Taggart gave him a quick shake of his head. Turning to Hannah, he pulled back and set her hands aside. “I canna heal a Draecna. Forgive me, but my powers canna help them. I have tried in the past, and it doesna work.”
She refused to accept that. “No, there’s something different in the air.
Can’t you feel it?” She couldn’t explain it.
The air tingled. If she had a lightbulb, she bet she could illuminate the room by merely holding it in her hand.
An electrical current surged through her; the hair on her arms pricked and stood on end.
A strange knowing settled in her mind. An eerie familiarity with just this type of situation nudged her.
It seemed so simple. She knew exactly what to do. “Give me your hand.”
She grabbed his hand and tucked it under one arm while she placed her other hand flat on Septamus’s scarred, yellowed chest. As soon as her palm connected with the cold, scaly flesh of the gasping Draecna, she detected a subtle warmth surging into her.
With a smile at Taggart, she closed her eyes.
His healing essence rushed into her like a burning sip of brandy on a cold winter’s night.
A warm, golden glow washed through her being and soothed her soul with a gentle wave.
She felt the sensation travel through her.
The energy concentrated in her belly, then sped into her palm.
The glow dissipated into Septamus’s chest. She immediately missed its warmth.
Septamus roared and pumped his short forearms. His once-faded, gray scales pulsed with brilliant color as though he had returned to the age of a young hatchling just emerging from his shell.
“I am young again. She has taken away the dreaded pleurisy. This Guardian is truly blessed beyond all the others that came before.”
Hannah struggled to catch her breath as she stood with Taggart’s hand still clutched to her chest. With her eyes closed, she ignored the tiny voice in her head, nudging her to release him.
Her heart pounded an excited rhythm, drowning out all other sounds.
Heaven help her. The sensation she felt while healing Septamus.
Taggart had rushed through her like a drug; she needed—no; she wanted more.
It made her wonder what he would be like.
Have mercy, her lonely libido. It had been so very long.
“Hannah?” He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. “Hannah, are ye all right?”
She forced herself to pry her fingers from around his hand and slowly opened her eyes.
She already missed his warmth as she tucked her arms close to her sides.
“I’m fine.” No way was she anywhere near fine.
She ached for his touch. What the hell had she gotten herself into by following him to Scotland?
Septamus rumbled with a throaty chuckle as he combed his claws through his silvery beard. “I believe she is a great deal better than mere fine. I would rate this Guardian as epic.”
“Aye,” Taggart agreed with a wink aimed her way. “She is not half bad.”