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Authors: India Drummond
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even if he wasn’t quite sure he could wrap his head around the idea of faeries being real. But judging Eilidh by her actions meant, first and foremost, finding out what those actions had been. He’d avoided the thought because he didn’t want her to have been involved in Robert Dewer’s murder. But she knew more than she’d told him, and it was time to find out.
Technically, he shouldn’t go anywhere near her. She was a witness, and he wasn’t on the job until the OHA said so. But it seemed like nobody had paid much attention to Munro’s report about the witness who said she’d seen an “angel”. He needed to clear this up, one way or another, because something drew him to Eilidh. It wasn’t necessarily sexual, although she was stunning. It felt deeper than that, like he recognised her, even though he was certain he’d never laid eyes on her before. Perhaps it was that feeling that made him believe her claims about being fae.
Munro checked his pulse and started to slow his pace. He did a fifteen-minute stretching routine, then jumped in the shower. His determination only grew, now that he’d made up his mind. He dressed and grabbed his wallet and keys, making for the door. His car was still at the police station, so he walked to the bus stop to catch the next ride into the city centre. He wouldn’t have to search for her long. She was nestled in his thoughts like a pebble in his shoe. His mind pointed toward her as if she were true north.
He got off the bus in front of the city’s only cinema and headed toward the High Street. She pulled him toward her. It only took two blocks to realise where he was headed—back to St Paul’s, the scene of the crime.
For twenty-five years, it stood abandoned, growing more derelict with each passing season. Munro always liked the church with its octagonal base and three-story steeple, but it would never feel the same after finding the body, heartless and still. When he reached the church, Munro glanced up, past the boarded-up windows and doors. She was in there, somewhere around the third floor. He felt her stillness.
“Eilidh,” he said, as softly as a whisper. A small tremor reverberated through the ancient stone. He touched a cornerstone. Knock, knock.
“What are you doing here?” The voice came from behind him. A copper Munro didn’t know very well.
He turned and met the constable’s eyes. “Just having a wee look, I suppose. Any new word?”
“I heard you were off sick or something. Too bad. CID probably would have let you in on the case, since you found the body.”
His name popped into Munro’s head. PC Gordon. But what was his first name? Munro couldn’t remember. The kid was that new. “I’m all right. Be back as soon as I get word I’m cleared. Tomorrow. Maybe the next day.”
Gordon eyed him suspiciously. Maybe the young PC thought he was skiving. Munro wouldn’t blame him. He looked fine, and more to the point, he felt fine.
“Aye. We’ll probably have it wrapped up by then.”
Munro wanted to laugh. The kid didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. “Oh yeah? You on the case?”
The kid straightened his uniform shirt. “I’m doing my bit.” Pointedly. As though Munro wasn’t doing his.
“Aye, I’ll sleep better knowing that,” Munro said. He glanced up at the steeple where he knew Eilidh perched. Could she hear him? He slapped his palm against the old stone wall one more time. It was warm to the touch. Alive. It stopped him in his tracks. He could feel its density and age and was suddenly aware of the shifts in the earth that had first formed it, the water that had sluiced over it, the chisel that had hewn it from its resting place. A slight glow wove through invisible faults deep in the rock.
“Hey, you all right?”
Munro removed his hand from the wall and turned to the PC. Concern had replaced suspicion on the kid’s face. “I’m fine,” Munro said. “Just forgot to
Technically, he shouldn’t go anywhere near her. She was a witness, and he wasn’t on the job until the OHA said so. But it seemed like nobody had paid much attention to Munro’s report about the witness who said she’d seen an “angel”. He needed to clear this up, one way or another, because something drew him to Eilidh. It wasn’t necessarily sexual, although she was stunning. It felt deeper than that, like he recognised her, even though he was certain he’d never laid eyes on her before. Perhaps it was that feeling that made him believe her claims about being fae.
Munro checked his pulse and started to slow his pace. He did a fifteen-minute stretching routine, then jumped in the shower. His determination only grew, now that he’d made up his mind. He dressed and grabbed his wallet and keys, making for the door. His car was still at the police station, so he walked to the bus stop to catch the next ride into the city centre. He wouldn’t have to search for her long. She was nestled in his thoughts like a pebble in his shoe. His mind pointed toward her as if she were true north.
He got off the bus in front of the city’s only cinema and headed toward the High Street. She pulled him toward her. It only took two blocks to realise where he was headed—back to St Paul’s, the scene of the crime.
For twenty-five years, it stood abandoned, growing more derelict with each passing season. Munro always liked the church with its octagonal base and three-story steeple, but it would never feel the same after finding the body, heartless and still. When he reached the church, Munro glanced up, past the boarded-up windows and doors. She was in there, somewhere around the third floor. He felt her stillness.
“Eilidh,” he said, as softly as a whisper. A small tremor reverberated through the ancient stone. He touched a cornerstone. Knock, knock.
“What are you doing here?” The voice came from behind him. A copper Munro didn’t know very well.
He turned and met the constable’s eyes. “Just having a wee look, I suppose. Any new word?”
“I heard you were off sick or something. Too bad. CID probably would have let you in on the case, since you found the body.”
His name popped into Munro’s head. PC Gordon. But what was his first name? Munro couldn’t remember. The kid was that new. “I’m all right. Be back as soon as I get word I’m cleared. Tomorrow. Maybe the next day.”
Gordon eyed him suspiciously. Maybe the young PC thought he was skiving. Munro wouldn’t blame him. He looked fine, and more to the point, he felt fine.
“Aye. We’ll probably have it wrapped up by then.”
Munro wanted to laugh. The kid didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. “Oh yeah? You on the case?”
The kid straightened his uniform shirt. “I’m doing my bit.” Pointedly. As though Munro wasn’t doing his.
“Aye, I’ll sleep better knowing that,” Munro said. He glanced up at the steeple where he knew Eilidh perched. Could she hear him? He slapped his palm against the old stone wall one more time. It was warm to the touch. Alive. It stopped him in his tracks. He could feel its density and age and was suddenly aware of the shifts in the earth that had first formed it, the water that had sluiced over it, the chisel that had hewn it from its resting place. A slight glow wove through invisible faults deep in the rock.
“Hey, you all right?”
Munro removed his hand from the wall and turned to the PC. Concern had replaced suspicion on the kid’s face. “I’m fine,” Munro said. “Just forgot to
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