Chapter 4
HELP
We loaded Bunny, Baird's gigantic deerhound, into the SUV and headed for Robbie's pub in Blackwaterfoot.
The moment the word ‘magic’ left my lips, Baird had said we should ask Robbie what he knew.
And frankly, after the year I'd had, I didn't bother arguing.
In a little over twelve months, I'd learned two life-altering truths: first, that my ability to touch objects and see fragments of the past wasn't just some psychological quirk—it was real. And second, vampires were real too.
Robbie—the mysterious island fisherman-turned-pub owner, the one the locals whispered about, the one who never seemed to age, and the man Baird had sought out after being turned—had become both mentor and father figure.
Robbie had made it clear there were other things in the world that were real too: magic, for one, and those who practiced it.
Yet every time he spoke of it, he'd casually make the sign of the cross.
A vampire, crossing himself. The irony wasn't lost on me.
And yet, there was something about the way Robbie did it—quick, almost furtive—that suggested his wariness wasn't theatrical.
Despite all he was, all he'd seen, speaking about magic seemed to make even him uneasy.
And if what I'd felt when holding the ruby was any indication, maybe I needed to start making the sign of the cross too.
We sat in our usual spot by the fire, the warmth seeping into our bones as Bunny lay sprawled on the stone floor, blissfully unaware. The three of us leaned close around the small table, voices low, careful not to let the madness of our conversation carry to curious ears.
“Tell me again what ye saw,” Robbie said, his voice a low rumble. His iridescent eyes flickered in the firelight, catching and refracting it like polished opals.
To an untrained eye, it might have seemed a trick of the light, nothing more.
But I knew better. That shimmer wasn't natural—it was the subtle, otherworldly glow all vampires carried when they weren't actively suppressing it to pass for human.
Robbie, though, rarely bothered to hide it here in his own bar.
And if some unfortunate patron caught sight of his eyes—if their gaze lingered too long, lips parting in startled recognition—Robbie would simply glamour them, erasing the memory before it had time to settle. Here, in this place, he could afford to be himself.
“It pulsed with power…and it spoke to me,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
A part of me still felt caught in the ruby's thrall, like it had left some faint, electric residue inside my skin.
“There was this endless, spiraling figure eight all around me—darkness and light, birth and death—not separate states but part of the same whole. And what it showed me…” I trailed off, searching for words that felt too small to contain the enormity of it.
“It was like a single thread pulled from its history. Just…a glimpse.”
“And ye think the woman ye saw was a vampire.” Robbie's voice cut through my thoughts, low but edged with skepticism.
The incredulity in his tone set my teeth on edge.
I shot him a look, sharp enough to draw blood.
“Yes, Robbie. That's exactly what I think.” Somewhere deep down, I suspected he didn't entirely trust me—not yet.
Maybe he still thought I was one bad day away from packing up, leaving the island, and fleeing back to Massachusetts.
Leaving Baird. But I wasn't going anywhere.
I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest.
Baird caught the look on my face and blanched, his jaw tightening. “Mira's sight has never been wrong, Robbie—and ye bloody well kens it. So stop being a crabbit auld git,” he said tersely, the edge in his voice cutting through the low murmur of the pub.
I'd never mentioned it, but the way Baird always leapt to my defense made something in my chest ache—in the best way. My love for him deepened each time, impossibly so.
Robbie's mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite an apology, his iridescent eyes catching the firelight.
“Well…I suppose I ken someone ye could talk tae,” he said at last, the words heavy with reluctance.
“But she's no the sort to appreciate uninvited guests. Lives alone on a wee island close by. I can go speak to her, see what she thinks.” His forehead was creased, and he drummed his fingers on the tabletop, staring into the flames as if weighing his options.
“I'll go the morn. Maybe she'll agree to see ye, maybe she won't. I cannae make any promises.”
“Who is she?” I asked, leaning forward, my curiosity sharpening. Whoever this woman was, Robbie seemed both reluctant and wary—and that only made me want to know more.
Baird chuckled low in his chest, ignoring the daggered look Robbie shot him across the table. “She's a witch…” he said, dragging out the words with a smirk. Then he added with a wink, “and Robbie's old flame.”
Robbie's kaleidoscope eyes flared in the firelight as he bristled, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “That's ancient history, and ye ken it, Baird Campbell. Best shut yer geggie afore I put ye through that wall.”
But Baird only laughed harder, clearly enjoying himself.