“Are you serious, Marley? You think I’m going to catch that?”
“Use your magic.”
I fidget, adjusting my position on the tree. “No. You carry it.”
He stares at me and I look away. There is a pause long enough to tell me that he’s considering whether or not to press the matter, but he decides not to. He swings the tote over his shoulder and shadows my path along the branch of the tree.
“What’s wrong with good, old-fashioned bedsheets tied together?” he mumbles, reaching me next to the trunk.
“We’re too high up for that,” I reply, wincing as I take a quick look down. I need to be careful about my route. “Follow me slowly and if you hear a crack, don’t grab whatever I’ve just grabbed.”
“Obviously.”
I start my descent. It’s clumsy and haphazard, but I don’t lose my grip. I can hear Marley slowly following behind me.
“If you do fall, just use your powers,” he says pointedly. I grimace.
“Shut up.”
“I mean it. What’s the use in flight if you can’t use it to save yourself from a neck break?”
“I said be quiet.”
I’m distracted enough to misjudge a hand placement. My fingers slip. I let out a noise of fear.
Marley grabs me. Our palms grip together in silence, in the dark, and the unspoken question sits between both of us.
Why can’t I use my powers?
Neither of us speak. We make it to the grass and I shush him, not sure if all of the family are asleep or not. We need to get away from the house. He hands me my tote bag and the book in silence, and I point wordlessly towards the loch. He nods once.
We start to move.
Once we’re away from the house, I let out a puff of air.
“What kind of Hidden Folk live in these parts?” Marley asks.
I sit down by the water, calmed by its presence, and I flip open the book. I’ve made some preliminary notes on what I’ve seen since arriving at Loch Ness. “More than I’ve found, I know that.”
“Such as?”
“Blue Men.”
“What?”
“Blue Men of the Minch. And whatever you do, don’t call them Kelpies. It really offends them. They look like blue versions, but don’t bring it up.”
“Sure,” Marley says sardonically. “The next time I’m chatting with some Blue Men of the Minch, I’ll be sure to keep any comparisons to Kelpies on the down-low.”
He’s joking because he has never quite recovered from the Kelpies. They are strange, alluring yet terrifying, water horses that will save your life or end it depending on their mood. They worked with me to save Marley from Inchkeith Island, but he has never been able to relax around their watery manes and cold eyes.
I like them. Everything about them is designed to frighten and repel me but I like them. I can’t help it.
“What else?” Marley asks, reading my notes on the Blue Men. He turns the page and frowns as he sees that it’s blank.
“Yeah,” I say, a little embarrassed. “I’ve been a bit busy.”
Before he can challenge me by saying “with what?”, as I’ve clearly got no magical improvements to show for this alleged busy-ness, I change the subject.
“Fae were seen snooping around,” I reiterate. “I doubt they’re looking for me.”
“If Opal thinks—”
“I know they’re not,” I say. I cannot tell him how I know, only that I do. “This place… it’s quieter than Edinburgh. It may look emptier or simpler or even completely deserted. But it’s not. It’s teeming with magic.”
“Well,” Marley looks around at the vast loch and the trees surrounding it. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
“This place is made up of so much water,” I say excitedly. “That’s how I know. It’s full of new things to find. And whatever they’re hunting, it’s around here somewhere.”
We look out at the water. Something hoots in the distance. The loch is so still, like glass. A great mirror that allows you a reflection, but not a glimpse at anything deeper beneath.
Marley settles in front of the water’s edge and gestures out at the vastness. “Do you think—”
“No.”
He groans and raises an eyebrow at me. “Ramya. It might just mean—”
“The Fae are not up here,” I say dourly, “to hunt down a manufactured tourist trap. Something that does not exist. Something that locals MADE UP to lure people here so that they would spend money. And by the way, most of the living locals hate that silly story. It was started by some chancer hundreds of years ago, and they’re stuck with it.”
