Page 3 of Farlan (Immortal Highlander Clan McKeran #3)

“I’m afraid I have to leave tonight,” she lied. “Thank you anyway.” Ending the call, she dropped the phone in her bag.

A knock on the front door heralded the arrival of the thrift truck, and Grace spent the next hour supervising the removal of her mother’s clothing and accessories.

About half the garments in the gigantic walk-in closet still had the tags on them, she noted.

Tonje had kept everything in excellent condition, saving the original boxes and dust bags for her shoes and purses.

Watching them go proved very satisfying; Grace imagined a lot of shoppers would be very happy to buy her mother’s precious things at thrift store prices.

You might have been the most selfish person in the world, Mother, but in the end even you did some good.

A cold, disembodied voice in her head answered that with, Yeah, sure, like spending all your fucking money and leaving you poor as shit. Now what are you going to do, Worthless?

A fter the thrift truck left, Grace went to drop off the keys at the realtor’s office, and then heard her stomach give a feeble growl.

She walked down the street to the first diner she saw, where a server showed her to a slightly shabby booth.

For the first time in her life she didn’t ask for the cheapest low-calorie dish on the menu but instead ordered a veggie burger with onion rings and an extra-large lemonade.

When the server brought the meal Grace sat for a moment to admire it.

She definitely hadn’t thought of eating this much food since high school.

It smelled wonderful, so why were there tears in her eyes?

She blinked them back and took a sip of the sweet-sour lemonade, which had been freshly squeezed and tasted delicious.

I can eat whatever I want now. All the time, too.

Eating slowly so she could appreciate every bite—and not make herself sick in the process—Grace stopped thinking.

All that mattered was living in the moment now; she never had to do anything for anyone ever again.

The veggie burger had been cooked perfectly and tasted exactly like the real thing.

The onion rings had a wonderful crunch and tasted glorious dipped in the spicy dressing that came with them.

The rich food had so many calories her agent would have screamed at her for eating even half of it, but Grace didn’t care.

She didn’t have to live like a hamster anymore.

When the server came to clear the table, she ordered a cup of coffee and a wedge of carrot cake.

If you’re going to sin, another model had once told her while hiding in a restroom to munch on a chocolate-glazed donut she’d smuggled into a shoot, sin big.

As she savored her dessert, Grace thought of how she’d climbed on a scale at least three times a day back in New York to keep an eye on her weight.

Most days she’d only eaten one meal, the calories of which she’d counted and then worked off by jogging in the morning and doing aerobics in her apartment at night.

If she kept to her vow to quit modeling she could have meals like this for the rest of her life, which would be wonderful.

She’d probably keep exercising, though, or she’d end up obese like her mother.

Was that why she ate all that gourmet food? Because she stopped caring about everything except gobbling up whatever she wanted?

Grace would never know now, and she wanted to be sorry about that, only she couldn’t.

While she’d worked like a slave to give her mother what she’d wanted, Tonje had never cared about her.

Now she should be happy it was over, and yet the loss had set her adrift.

For the last nine years her only purpose had been to make money for her mother.

Now and then she had dreamed about the day she would be freed from Tonje’s demands, but she’d never given any thought to what she’d do.

It seemed as if she had existed only to please her mother, who had never been satisfied with anything she’d done.

Why can’t I just be happy that I paid my debt to her? Why can’t I imagine how I want to live now?

“I’ve never seen anyone put away food like you do, honey,” Jean, her server, said as she rung up her check on the register. “You must be one of those people who can eat whatever you want.”

That reminded her unpleasantly of how much Tonje had weighed when she’d died.

“I’m lucky, I guess,” she said as she gave her a twenty, and made a silent vow to make this the last time she gorged on anything.

“You look so familiar, too.” The older woman made change, and then snapped her fingers. “I remember now—you’re the girl in all the Foreshore ads. They were so nice.”

“Thank you,” Grace told her, and then handed her the change back as a tip before leaving .

On the way back to her hotel she thought about the Foreshore campaign ads she’d done two years ago.

Shoots like those were always scheduled six to eight months in advance, which meant working in mid-winter.

The client had required Grace to pose while wearing only a thong bikini for hours in freezing temperatures.

Thanks to the spindrift and whipping winds on the beach location, the makeup artist and hair stylist had been forced to do touchups on her every five minutes.

The photographer had complained about Grace’s goosebumps and the way she shivered.

Can’t you control yourself, Blondie? You’re supposed to be a pro.

Grace didn’t have to go back to New York.

She had sublet her apartment to a catalogue model desperate for someplace cheap.

By tomorrow her spiteful agent would probably terminate their contract and hold back any payments to her until Christmas.

She also had no car, no job, nowhere to live and only a thousand dollars in the bank from her last gig that she hadn’t yet sent to her mother.

She’d never done anything except work in a boutique and model.

Because California was just as expensive as NYC she’d probably end up broke and homeless by the end of the month.

But despite all that, there was one thing left that she absolutely had to do .

I have to find out what happened to my grandmother.

She changed lanes, made a U-turn and headed for McKeran’s Castle, parking in a wooded area a short distance past the property.

Waiting until dark before she got out of the car gave Grace a chance to reconsider what she was about to do.

Like every other illegal activity, she had no experience with breaking and entering; she wasn’t even sure how to go about it.

Yet every time she touched her grandmother’s locket, which hung around her throat, she knew she couldn’t give up before trying.

She’d read everything she could get her hands on about the place and the legend of the cursed clan.

Some conspiracy theorists had put out ridiculous claims, such as the castle being alive and eating people, but one paranormal vlogger proposed that it could be the gateway to a parallel universe.

By following the little map on the back of Inga’s message, Grace might be able to find the entrance to the time trap. Then all she had to do was...

This is impossible. I don’t know what I’m doing. I must be going crazy.

Could she blame her mother’s death for all these irrational urges she’d been having?

It was true that she had no motive for giving away all of Tonje’s clothes rather than selling them.

She just couldn’t bear to touch anything that had belonged to her mother, as if it had been coated in poison.

Yet she seemed to be heading in the same excessive, self-indulgent direction herself.

She’d already broken every dietary rule with lunch.

What was next? Buying designer purses and shoes she’d never use?

Encasing pricey tchotchkes in plexiglass cases?

Giving free gourmet meals to anyone who would sit and listen to her?

I wouldn’t be questioning myself if I was crazy. I’m just grieving.

It didn’t seem like the grief was keeping her from doing stupid things.

Intellectually she knew there was no chance for her to find her grandmother.

Inga Holm didn’t even know Grace existed.

She’d never once come back to explain herself to Tonje.

She had to be dead by now, too. As she thought that, Grace climbed out of the car and eyed the wrought iron gates with the big B attached to them.

She walked up, standing for a moment to study the entrance.

Right. You’re going to climb that fence, trespass on private property you’ve been told you can’t visit, and break into a medieval castle. In an ivory linen suit and matching pumps, no less.

The headlights from an approaching vehicle made Grace step back into the shadows, and then she saw the gates swing open for the car.

Hurrying after the driver, she made it through the gates before they closed again, and hid in a dark niche of the wall.

A short time later the car came back down the drive and left.

She waited another few moments to make sure no one returned before she walked up the driveway to the enormous building looming at the end of it.

Immediately she got the sense of being in the presence of something very old and, strangely, alive.

Tiny red flecks in the dark stone walls seemed to glitter for a moment as she approached, but that was probably a trick of the moonlight.

It disappeared when she took out her phone and switched on the flashlight mode before studying the front facade.

So you’re the thing that ate my grandmother.