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In which this was not how Arabella was planning to end her evening.

Arabella…

“You’re gonna be mighty gowpin’ tomorrow, but you’ll survive.” Connor is my ambulance technician and clearly not into it for the bedside manner. However, he did a quick and tidy job of stitching the gash in my foot from the broken bottle and examined the road rash on my elbows and knees.

“Thank ye.” I slide awkwardly off the seat in the back of the ambulance and test my foot. I can hobble, at least.

The two very dead bodies and gallons of blood splashed everywhere drew out the whole neighborhood, everyone jostling for a look.

Detective Inspector Christie cut through the crowd earlier to introduce herself and waited for me to get stitched up. Now, she cocks her head, looking me over. “Ye look like something I just cut out of a shark.”

She’s not wrong. The blood on me is congealing and making my shirt stick to my skin, which feels like it’s trying to crawl off my body. I need to peel off the clothes that are about to go into the incinerator and wash all this disgusting stuff off me.

“I was really hoping for a shower and some ice cream tonight,” I say shakily, shoulders twitching against my gore-covered shirt. “I canna say this was part of my plan.”

“Aye, murder and near-dismemberment rarely are,” she agrees, ignoring my involuntary gag. “We need to clear the street and ye need that shower. How about I come up in twenty minutes, then?”

Her partner ambles over to us. He’d been talking to my neighbors, and as expected, no one heard or saw anything until I screamed. “One question,” he asks, “everyone says ye were screaming for your mum. But ye live alone, aye?”

If Detective Christie’s eyes rolled any further back, they’d be lodged in her brain stem. “Here’s your chance to detect, Detective Roy. Do ye see all these women here?” She gestures to my neighbors. Meera set down her soup ladle long enough to put on some shoes and the other women from my building are still standing close. “In a neighborhood like this - no offense, Miss Blair -”

“None taken,” I shrug.

“A woman screams ‘Mum!’ because every soul possessing a set of ovaries is gonna come charging out of the house, even if their wee one is present and accounted for, even if they dinnae have a bairn. It's a bone-deep instinct,” she lectures him.

My neighbors are nodding approvingly.

“True that…”

“Aye, that’s how it is…”

“Waiting for one of these dossers to charge into battle?” Meera flips her hair back, pointing her soup ladle at a group of men holding lager cans and enjoying the neighborhood drama. “Not likely.”

Detective Roy’s young and I can tell he’s torn between excitement for his first big murder case and a wee bit of fear of my neighbors.

“I canna believe I worked my arse off all these years to be carrying this lad who still looks like he just stepped out of the Academy.” I dinnae think Detective Christie means for anyone to hear that, but she is still facing me and it’s easy to read her lips. I give her a small smile when she realizes it and she rolls her eyes again.

I canna look at the alley, where the crime scene is buzzing with investigators, and suddenly, everything caves in on me and I’m crying, making tear tracks through the dirt and blood on my face.

“Here now, you’re coming with me.” Meera’s got her arm around my shoulders, leading me toward my flat. She snags my backpack along the way as she hustles me up the stairs. “Ye need a shower. Then food. S… clothes, fuzzy…” She turns to me, looking stricken. “Sorry! I gotta remember to face ye when I’m talking.”

“You’re doing grand.” I’m ashamed I broke down in front of everyone like that. I never cracked when the kids at school gave me shite, talking and laughing behind my back, knowing I usually couldn’t hear them. I’m not gonna do it now.

Once we’re in my flat, she pushes me toward the bathroom. “Throw those clothes out into the bedroom and I’ll bag them up and take them to the bin.”

“No,” I shudder, “the incinerator.”

Meera nods firmly. “Aye. And I’m bringing my smudge stick up. We’re gonna sage the shite out of this place.”

When I emerge from the bathroom, only after I’ve used up all the hot water and plenty of the cold, Detective Christie is waiting for me in a bit of a standoff with my neighbor, who’s balancing a covered dinner plate and a bag of clothes.

“I must speak to Miss Blair alone,” she says firmly.

“And maybe she’s needing some emotional support,” Meera retorts.

I’m standing between them to catch the conversation and finally groan. “Let’s just get this over with, aye? Meera, thank ye. Can we talk tomorrow?”

“Of course,” she says, thrusting the bag of clothes at me. There’s big sweatpants worn soft from many washings and a t-shirt that looks familiar, likely I’d lent it to her at some point. And fuzzy socks. “Are ye sure ye dinnae want to sleep on my couch tonight?”

I want quiet. I need it to be quiet soon so the blaring alarms that keep ping-ponging in my brain will stop. Though one day soon it will be completely silent, and that is terrifying, too.

“I’ll be fine, thank ye, love.”

She presses something into my hand, leaning close enough to nearly bump noses. “Here, take this. It’s my black obsidian arrowhead for protection and clearing negative energies.”

I can feel the tears well up again. Why is this woman kinder to me than my own family? “I could tell ye were about to kick some serious arse with that soup ladle tonight.”

She laughs, giving me a hug before heading for the door, giving Detective Christie a last suspicious glare.

The detective’s examining my tiny living room closely, but not like she’s judging me. My couch may be from the charity shop, but everything is clean and the multi-colored rag rug I’d braided myself covers all the worn spots on the floor.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “Where’s Detective Roy?”

“I tasked him with measuring the blood spray on the pavement.” I must be going pale again because her eyes widen. “Ach, that was insensitive. Here, sit down. I know this is your place but can I make ye a cup of tea?” Her gruff tone definitely softens when she’s one on one. She has short, sensibly cut brown hair streaked with gray and her blue suit is clearly chosen for comfort and ease of movement.

There’s a hot cup of tea in front of me by the time I’ve pulled on those nice fuzzy socks. I drink it while her cup cools on my little table.

“Hell of a night, aye?” She’s watching me keenly and now I’m feeling uncomfortable.

“So bad,” I nod fervently. “I just… it was so bad.”

“You’re a fierce wee thing,” she says approvingly, “ye fought two men off. I’m assuming those teeth marks in that bald bastard’s hand are from ye? Bit clear to the bone on his thumb.

Nice work, that. ”

“Um, did ye find anything in the car?” I ask, “A name from the license plate, maybe?”

“Stolen. No leads there,” she says, still watching the play of emotion on my face. “Any idea why those two arsepieces targeted ye?”

Now’s the time to tell her about the conversation between those men at the party, about reading their lips. About my mystery man and how he materialized out of thin air to kill the bastards trying to kidnap me.

I don’t say any of that.

“It was so fast,” I say, “I’ve never seen either one of them before.” This part is true.

“And the person who managed to kill ‘em both within seconds?”

Shuddering, I take another gulp of tea. “The guy in front holding my legs got pulled away and before I could even get my feet under me, he’d taken the man who’d been dragging me backwards as well.”

“So it was a man?” She leans forward.

“I dinnae know, whoever it was never said anything. But I canna imagine a woman doing that much damage in seconds.” I think about it. “Though that would be brilliant, wouldn’t it? With your training, I’m thinking ye could.”

She shrugs modestly. “Not that fast, I fear.”

The detective is good, I’ll give her that. She asks me the same questions in a slightly different way in a bit of a different order until I’m nearly nodding off to sleep.

“I think we’re done here, Miss Blair.” She tucks her little notepad in her jacket and hands me a card. “I’ll be checking in on ye, but if ye think of anything, even if it dinnae seem important, give me a call, aye?”

“Thank you.” Following her to the door, a horrible thought occurs to me. “If they’re part of a crew or something, would someone else come after me?”

“I’m going to keep a squad car outside for a day or two, step up the rotation of the street police walking by your place.” She smiles, which is actually a little shocking but makes her look very nice. “At this point, I dinnae believe they’re anything other than two arsepieces hoping you’d be a quick snatch and grab. Your mysterious rescuer, though… I’m looking into him a bit more.”

“Oh, okay,” I smile weakly. “Well, goodnight. And thank ye for the tea.”

She’s whistling as she heads down the stairs and I shut my door. And lock it. Then push my chair across the room to wedge it under the handle. I check the locks on every window. Twice.

There are two groups of people who know who I am and where I live. The man who saved my life tonight, and the men who were planning to kill him.

I sit in bed until the sun rises over Glasgow, waiting for something.

I just dinnae know what.

Gowpin’ - Scottish slang for extremely sore

Dosser - Scottish slang for a lazy man