Page 36 of The Mermaid’s Bubble Lounge (Sam Quinn #8)

THIRTY-SIX

Bloody Hell

Bracken scribbled in his journal as we made our way through the tunnel.

“That’s the only separate, contained room, probably because of the ocean. Do you see the light up ahead?”

Bracken glanced up and nodded.

“That’s Canterbury in the Middle Ages, when Clive was alive.”

Bracken’s step faltered with that news, and then he pocketed his journal again. The tunnel opened and we were walking through green fields, the spires of the cathedral rising impossibly high off to our right. We crossed a wooden bridge spanning the Great Stour river.

Bracken stopped halfway over and stared down into the water. “Fish?”

I shook my head. “They’re like the sea monsters in the ocean. They’re there and they respond like the real thing, but they’re not alive. They’re pieces of dragon magic.”

Bracken stared around us in wonder. “The grass, the trees, the birds I’m hearing, the butterflies fluttering over the flowers…none of it is real?”

I shook my head again. “No real sun, remember? We’re underground.

Do you feel that, though? It’s still warm on our faces.

There’s a breeze, carrying the scent of freshly tilled earth and wood smoke.

Don’t let the real–artificial thing weigh you down.

Just enjoy your visit to the Canterbury of a thousand years ago. ”

We walked in silence for a while, Bracken absorbing everything he could. “Can we enter the cathedral? Are there interiors to these cottages, the church, or are they facades?”

“They’re complete, inside and out.”

“Amazing,” he murmured. “They can recreate any time period? How in the world can they accomplish that?”

“No idea.” I smiled, tipping my face back to the sort-of sun.

“Dragons are ageless. Maybe they were here for it.” I pointed to the thatch-roofed homes.

“The cottages are very simple, which Clive says is accurate, but they all have the basics needed to live in this time period. Up ahead, do you see the fields and the plow?”

Bracken nodded.

“That’s Clive’s family farm.”

Bracken turned sharply. “He was a farmer in life?”

I nodded, remembering how he looked plowing that field in Leticia’s memory.

“I never would have guessed that. I thought maybe a member of the aristocracy.”

I laughed. “He’ll enjoy that. No. He’s been a lot of things, farmer and warrior foremost among them. If you want to learn how to handle a sword, any size or shape, Clive’s your guy.”

I looked around for Fergus. He loved to explore, but he always made a point of checking in before running off again. I thought I saw his head pop through a bush for a moment. “Fergus!” I called, but he didn’t reappear.

Bracken looked behind us. “Is he still on the island?”

Uneasy, I said, “I don’t think so. I just saw him a minute ago. Maybe he caught a new scent. He usually shadows me, though.” We walked on, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

“Wait,” Bracken said. “The folly changed.”

I nodded vaguely, noticing a tail whip behind a tree. “We’ve left Canterbury and have entered Middle-earth.” I pointed out areas in the shire taken directly from Tolkien’s stories.

“A horse?” Bracken asked as the tall chestnut mare cantered down the narrow dirt road.

“Yeah. Clive doesn’t like it. He says it’s close enough to the real thing to be deeply disturbing. He grew up with horses and has a way with them. Unfortunately for him, horses don’t like vampires.”

Bracken glanced at me before returning his gaze to the horse. “That’s probably another reason to favor cars. They don’t shy away from him.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way, but he was right. I continued scanning for my little buddy, getting more uneasy. He wouldn’t stay away from me for this long.

When the horse got close, it stamped and shook its head, tossing its mane.

Odd. I’d never seen it behave like that.

When I finally turned to study the horse, my insides froze.

Bracken held out a hand to scratch its muzzle and I threw out my arm, knocking my great-uncle off his stride, as I yanked my axe out again.

Bracken’s hand flicked under my raised arm, casting his spell, and the horse screamed, rearing back, its huge hooves waving in the air before my face.

Shitshitshit. I sidestepped the hooves and swung, but it disappeared.

I almost landed on my butt from swinging so hard with no target.

Luckily Bracken had ducked out of the way.

“Did you see where it went?” I searched the area frantically, looking for any movement, my axe at the ready.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I think the grass on that side of the path moved, but it could have been the wind.” His fingers twitched at his side.

Fergus yelped and I flinched, spinning toward the sound.

In the distance, on the hill with the hobbit holes, a massive tree stood, its branches spreading wide, sheltering the hill.

With another high-pitched yelp, Fergus raced beneath the tree, coming over the top of the hill and sprinting down the path between hobbit holes.

A moment later, he disappeared through a door left ajar.

I took off at a sprint, Bracken right behind me. I looked right and left as I ran, searching for the pooka. “Do you see it?”

“No,” Bracken called, falling behind.

I ran through the meadow and around the pond at the base of the hobbit hole hill before racing up the path.

There were seven colorful round doors in total, four on the first level, near the pond, and three on the second, below the tree.

Outside each door was a wildish garden of vines and flowers.

I slid to a stop in the doorway of the last one on the upper level.

“Fergus?” I barely paused in the front room, as he obviously wasn’t in there.

I heard a whine down the hall and ran, shoving open doors and scanning rooms as I went. “Baby, where are you? Are you okay?” I got to the last room, the bedroom, and heard that quiet whine again. I went to the other side of the bed, but still no Fergus. Where was he?

The bedroom door slammed shut. I brought my axe up and spun, finding Clive leaning against the door. The tension in my body relaxed.

“Help me find Fergus. He’s hurt.” I rushed around the bed and skidded to a stop.

Clive’s eyes were wrong. They were more blue than gray. The way he looked at me was wrong. There was no love. Clive, looking at me like I was a stranger, hurt me in ways I didn’t have the strength to consider.

Clive?

We’re coming, darling.

I stared into the pooka’s dead eyes. He’s already here.

The pooka dove at me as the bedroom door flew open, knocking him off balance.

Bracken stood in the doorway, his fingers twitching.

I swung, wanting to destroy this counterfeit Clive.

He disappeared and I came dangerously close to eviscerating my great-uncle, who, despite his age, nimbly avoided the axe.

I’d barely begun searching the floor for a shape-shifting rodent when I was thrown backward and catapulted through the bedroom window, my stomach landing on the window sill. Bracken lunged and grabbed me, but I’d already been cut to shit. In a folly filling with vampires. Bloody hell.

Clutching the axe like the lifeline it was, I held tight while Bracken lifted me off the glass impaling me, using far more strength than he should have possessed. A crash sounded from the front room.

Was I in pain? Probably, but adrenaline was numbing everything at present. Was I bleeding freely? Also yes. Bracken’s fingers were moving, so maybe he was trying to deal with the horror show I was fast becoming.

“Sam!”

Bracken and I exchanged a glance and then moved. Clive was silhouetted in the front doorway. He raced toward me and then got body slammed by someone coming out of the kitchen. They grappled a moment and then Clive had Clive by the neck, trying to separate his head from his body.

Bracken threw a spell. One of them screamed but they both crumpled to the ground, continuing the high-speed brawl and barreling into the front room. The sounds of wood splintering and glass breaking followed.

Bracken and I ran, both tense and ready. I felt the other vamps closing in on this hobbit hole. They sent a buzz through my blood.

Envisioning my magic uncoiling in my chest and then dancing down my arms to my fingertips, I readied one of the few spells I had in my arsenal, one I’d stolen from my aunt when she tried to kill me.

I didn’t know if it’d work on the fae, but it was worth a try; Bracken’s spell barely slowed the pooka down.

I wanted to disorient him, hoping that might give me another moment to swing my axe.

I slid into the front room, axe poised at the ready, and found Clive with his arm around Clive’s neck, crushing it, though he seemed frozen in the act.

“Sam, help me.” The Clive in front tore at the immovable arm around his neck. He had Clive’s British accent and his gray eyes.

Too many things happened at once: The vampires burst through the door, Bracken threw his spell, both Clives convulsed, Vlad sprung forward to pull the Clives apart, and Thi shouted to kill them both.

Blood dripped into my eye. I knew my blood called to the vampires assembled, but I couldn’t deal with them right now.

The pooka was wearing my husband as a disguise, taunting me to kill my love.

I’d give it to him. He was a quick study.

This new Clive glamour was much better than his previous attempts.

“I’ll do it,” Pablo grumbled, trying to take Vlad’s place.

I shoved both men out of the way. Pablo went flying into the desk under the front window.

Vlad caught himself and stepped out of my way.

When I felt Thi and Joao readying to attack me, I held up my free hand.

Over my shoulder, I growled, “If either of you makes one move to stop me, I will kill you. Do not doubt my ability to do it.” I was past caring.

I stepped closer. The Clives were identical, but I knew my husband. I threw the spell I’d been holding, the one that felt as though your brain turned to glass and shattered. It was hopefully raining glass in his mind right now.

“Samantha, don’t!” Cadmael shouted.

Clutching his head, the gray-eyed Clive gasped, “Sam, no. Darling, it’s me.” He even had Clive’s accent down.

My Clive, eyes black, stared back at me, unmoving. I threw Abigail’s death spell at the pooka, hoping to force a shift to stop the pain and heal.

“She’s killing him,” Joao hissed. “Cadmael, stop her.”

I saw more movement by the door and then heard Vlad tell the others to shut up.

I wiped my hand on my dress. I didn’t want the blood running down my arm to make the axe slip. “Bracken, the one in front. Spell him again.”

“My dear, are you sure?” Bracken thought I had the wrong Clive too.

“I know my husband. Spell him.”

Bracken flicked his fingers and the gray-eyed Clive’s back bowed in agony. Finally, there was a flicker. Please, God, please. Don’t let me be wrong.

The gray-eyed Clive flickered, barely keeping his form, and then he began to shift. I surged forward, swinging with all my might. There was a loud, percussive pop, and then he was gone. For good this time.

I dropped the axe and flew to Clive. His arms came around me.

“Everyone out,” Vlad said. “You, too, old man. Give them a minute.” He ushered them out and away from the door.

I held Clive as tightly as I could. “Are you okay?”

“Darling.” He brushed away my tears with his thumbs. “You’re the one ripped to shreds, not me. When you killed him, the spell he’d put on me lifted.”

I looked down all the trails of blood running down my body. I was bleeding badly, but I didn’t really feel it. It was more like I was watching a movie. “Can you close them up? The others are far too interested in my blood.”