Rory (Immortal Highlander Clan McKeran #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“Back home at last,” Harper Ensley told her phone as the rideshare driver pulled up to the Queen Anne house she owned in Pacific Grove, California.

“I’m going to sleep off the jet lag, eat something that isn’t served in a cardboard container, and add lots of new content to the Fear-Faire vault.

Creep it real, my pals.” She ended the recording and switched on her captioning app.

The driver, a hip young guy she trusted and used exclusively, eyed her in the rearview mirror and spoke.

Harper glanced down to see the words That’s a weird way to say good-bye miss ins lee scroll across her phone display.

“When you’re a paranormal vlogger subscribers expect a spooky sign-off.” She winked at him as she switched to the ride share app, punched in a five-star review on the rate and pay screen, and added a generous tip for him. “Thanks for the great ride, guy.”

She hauled her carryon suitcase out of the car, shut the door and waved to him as he drove away.

A slender wannabe Tour de Francer zipped by her and braked to a jerky halt before he looked back at her with a sagging jaw.

He was one of the reasons she wore hoodies, sunglasses and baseball caps out in public; like most norms—what she called ordinary, abled people—he was just reacting to her size.

Being a red-headed woman who stood six feet five inches tall and weighed twice what the biker did made Harper virtually impossible to ignore.

The fact that she was also built like a centerfold only added to the problem.

Hi there, she imagined calling out. Too much for you, okay?

She didn’t say any of that as she walked up the steps and used her key fob to unlatch her front door’s electronic lock. At the same time she pulled out her cell phone, speed-dialed the local weather report, and listened while pretending to answer a call.

“Hey, Auntie Frances. Just got in.” She had no idea if she’d ever had an aunt, but she liked the name Frances. “Yeah, the UK was great. Like beans on toast—who wouldn’t love that? Okay, besides you.”

The biker, who had started to climb off his bike, slowly got back on. Even the pushiest people avoided interrupting someone who was on the phone, which was why it was her favorite way to dodge conversations.

“I brought back some shortbread for you. That good kind in the red plaid box. Yeah, straight from Scotland.” Once inside the house she locked the door, switched off and pocketed her phone, and checked the display on her exterior camera monitor.

“Yeah, Auntie Fran, I’m safely inside now.

Hopefully the Looky Lou gets the message. ”

The biker shook his head as if dazed before racing off.

“Good man,” Harper said, grinning. “I know I’m pretty, but dude, I’d squash you like a bug.”

Morning light came through the stained glass windows of her house, which depicted giant versions of autumn leaves, and spilled pools of orange, red and amber on the hardwood floors.

Harper breathed in, relaxing as soon as the scent of herbs and lemons from her homemade cleaners reached her nose.

Some of her neighbors didn’t care for the snow white and dark jade green colors she’d used to repaint the outside of the old house—Pacific Grovers were pastel snobs—but she’d already cleared it with the historical society by presenting proof that they had been the original exterior colors of the house.

All of the rooms inside were also painted in various shades of green and accented with pure white. Whoever had built the place a hundred years ago had loved the colors.

Because she was alone, Harper turned her security system back on.

That enabled not only the alarms but also the sound-activated sensors.

If anything rang, chimed or otherwise made noise, specially color-coded LEDs would flash on a light bar mounted above the doors throughout the house.

She also had panic buttons installed in every room.

Harper had learned early on in her social media career not to take any chances with her personal safety.

As she dragged her suitcase back to the laundry room, exhaustion weighed on her like a heap of drenched clothes, but that always happened when she flew.

She’d kept the attendants at bay by pretending to nap for most of the fourteen hour flight from Heathrow to Sacramento, but she still couldn’t sleep on planes.

She never wanted to risk dreaming while she was in a confined space she couldn’t escape.

She’d done that once on a train, woke up screaming, and nearly got arrested for it.

Work now, sleep later.

Buying both seats in first class had been pricey, but that prevented anyone from sitting next to her, touching her or trying to chat her up.

Her size made people think it was fine to treat her like a circus side show freak.

She was earning so much these days from her Fear-Faire video channel that she could actually afford to fly on a private charter.

Whenever she considered that kind of extravagance, however, her stomach would tie itself into a pretzel.

Memories of a scrawny, dirty kid eating out of a public park’s garbage cans would come back to her, too.

That always annoyed her. Everything she had, she’d earned, and no one could take it from her.

Moving on.

Harper started her laundry and then went to look for something to eat.

Her beautiful and brilliant personal assistant, Athena Makris, had restocked her with fresh veggies, fruit, juice and coconut milk.

Several bags of bread from the local bakery sat on the counter beside new jars of creamy peanut butter, apple and grape jelly, and a hand-written note from A:

Hope your trip was okay. Snail mail is on your desk. My parents are talking divorce again, so I’m heading down to referee. Demetri’s staying home with the kids. If you need anything, text him. Be SAFE.

She sighed and nodded to herself. The only condition Athena had made about being her assistant 24/7 was that her family always came first. Her elderly parents both had bad tempers, so she usually went south a couple times a year to mediate their worst arguments.

Harper privately thought the old couple deliberately fought to get attention from their daughter.

She also envied Athena that closeness. Thanks to her mysterious origins and screwed-up plumbing, Harper would probably never have a family or kids of her own.

Never tell anyone about us, baby, or go out at night by yourself, she dimly recalled her mother saying once when she’d had too many beers. The monsters, they’ll hunt you down and eat you alive.

Absently she tucked the note into her pocket, where it joined some packets of salt, pepper and sugar she’d saved from her takeout breakfast yesterday morning.

She still could not bear to throw away anything even remotely related to food.

She would unload all her scrounges later, when she took her shower.

Her first priority was making something to eat while she uploaded the content she needed to edit tonight.

Two PB her Fear-Faire audience loved her parodies of haunted walks, and she’d captured some really fun moments.

The video she made about the town in the east of England also made the possibilities list; the ghosts of hundreds of women supposedly haunted the pond where they had been tied to chairs, thrown in the water and drowned by a zealous witch hunter.

Harper had exposed a couple of tourist scammers who used dry ice and strategically placed fans to create ghostly mists.

Her devotees always appreciated her exposé vids and often made them go viral.

What about Scotland?

Forgetting what had happened to her in the highlands wasn’t an option, it seemed.

Harper had gone there to check out the original site of McKeran’s Castle, a medieval stronghold that had been torn down, shipped to California, and rebuilt as a tourist attraction in Monterey.

All kinds of weird had happened from her first night at the B&B in the highlands.

As she uploaded the files from her storage cards, she recalled the vivid dreams she’d had even before she’d checked out the property.

She would have laughed at them as silly nightmares about highlanders battling monsters, including one particular giant, gorgeous guy with the prettiest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

They seemed a little too real, though, and then there was her other problem.

Some of Harper’s dreams came true.

Those dreams in the highlands all began with her being in a room with a huge man.

Sometimes he stood in front of a roaring fire and hammered on things like a blacksmith.

Other times the room was some kind of weapons storage place, where he arranged different blades or repaired things.

He never tried to attack or kill her. In fact, as soon as he saw her he dropped whatever he was doing and came over to pull her into his arms.

Harper never resisted. Why should she? Even while she was asleep, she knew it wasn’t real.