Chasing Shadows(7)
I offered to help Mark haul his belongings up to the apartment and he accepted with a smile. We made small talk as we made several trips back and forth; he asked me about my dogs and the other animals on the farm, mentioning that he recognized Herugrim’s name from The Lord of the Rings. I told him that all four of my horses had names from Tolkien’s masterpiece because he’d actually modeled the elves loosely around the ancient Celts, and since Herugrim’s great-grandsire was named Celtic Thunder I was simply keeping up with tradition…sort of. The sire and dam I currently had were named after swords and their twin sons were named after horses from the trilogy.
“Actually, this was Hadhafang’s last year for breeding,” I informed him as we were carrying the last of the boxes up. “She’s twenty now and to have any more would be too much stress on her body.”
“You gonna keep her?” Mark asked, setting his box down and taking the one I carried from me.
“I’ve actually been considering donating her to a children’s farm. There’s a special one in Connecticut that caters to children with serious illnesses,” I said. “She can be ridden for another few years and the children would get so much enjoyment out of her. She’s got the perfect temperament to be around children.”
“That’s real nice of you,” Mark commented. “What about the others?”
I shrugged. “Hasufeld I’m selling in the spring, and Herugrim I’m considering selling to another breeder who wants to breed champions of his own, so that Brego can take his place here. Means I’ll have to get me another good mare, but that won’t be too difficult.” With a sigh, I reluctantly fished the apartment key from my pocket and handed it to him, then turned for the door. “I’ll leave you to get settled, since there’s still a little more to get done in the barn.”
“Hey, when do I get started? Tomorrow?”
I nodded. “Up at seven to feed and water. The cows and horses get turned out at nine, pigs let out into their pen and chickens into theirs at the same time, all get brought in at dusk. Water and food in the troughs once the animals are inside. The horses get a good brushing each night. The pigs’ outdoor pen is cleared of manure every morning before they’re let out, and all the indoor stalls are cleared after the animals are let out. The chicken coop I also clean daily after the birds are outside. Eggs are collected each morning after the chickens are let out for the day—keeps ‘em from pecking at you when you pick up their eggs. Stalls are completely mucked once a week, and so is the birdhouse. Every other day, I ride and check the fences. And one day next week I’m going to be harvesting my last cut of hay. Friday I’ll also be heading to Tractor Supply for feed.”
Mark nodded as I spoke. “Sounds like tomorrow’s gonna be a busy day.”
“Indeed it will, Mark,” I said, opening the door. “Better get plenty of sleep.”
I descended the stairs and went back to work, trying to keep my mind off of the man walking around above my head. I kept reminding myself that there was plenty of time to get to know one another and sort out the truth, but I couldn’t help wondering about his origins, whether or not he knew he was different, and why in the world he had a shapeshifter for a pet. Thinking about Angel made me wonder what her agenda was, why she was pretending to be this docile canine when she was definitely much more than that. What was she up to?
As if responding to my thoughts, Angel walked up to the open gate of the pigpen and sat on her haunches, watching me. I stopped and leaned on the pitchfork as I returned the dog’s steady gaze.
“Why are you here?” I murmured aloud. “Does it have something to do with Mark being a dhunphyr?”
Though I had been mostly speaking to myself, Angel had still heard me, and at my last she nodded slowly. I felt my eyes widen a fraction. Not because she had understood me—I knew full well shapeshifters could understand human speech in animal form—but because she had responded at all. I stood straighter as I looked down on her.
“You’ve known the whole time, haven’t you?” Another nod. “We’re gonna talk, Angel, or whatever your name is. Because that man up there is important to me, and I won’t have him harmed, is that understood? If whatever you’re about is about hurting him, in any way, make no mistake—you will regret it.”
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Three
Angel barked once and stood, turning abruptly and darting out of the pen. She ran for the open tack room door and I could hear her padding up the stairs, where she scratched on the door to the apartment and Mark let her in a moment later. I resisted the urge to follow her, knowing that I had no real excuse for going back up right now.
With a groan, I set about finishing my task, as I still had the chicken coop to clean. As I worked, my mind was abuzz with thoughts about Mark and what Angel was really up to, as well as how I needed to find a way to get out of tracking down my alter ego or falsify my attempts to find her, because I certainly couldn’t tell Diarmid that I was the one writing the books.
Or could I, I wondered? Despite the fact that I had disowned him, and eschewed the fact that I was half vampire by having as little as possible to do with anyone from that world, the fact remained that Diarmid Mackenna was my father, and he loved me…as much as a sociopathic, egomaniacal murderer loves anyone. He valued me above his other “children” because I was of his own flesh and blood, and even after I had told him how much I hated him, he still professed to love me. I was still his favorite even though I refused to return his calls or his letters, even though the only time I saw him was when he forced me to by showing up at my door.
I’d run out of my Coming of Age ceremony in a fit of rage because it was either leave or kill the bastard, and I knew there was no way I could win a fight against him—and believe me, I’d wanted to try. But I’m no fool. At the time he’d already been alive for over five hundred years and I was only fifty, and even though many years had passed since then, his being over half a millennium older than I meant he would be extremely difficult for me to kill. Plus, he was my father, and I don’t think that even in the grip of righteous anger I could have committed patricide.
I’d sworn off the vampire world and I’d sworn off human blood, and for twenty years I roamed the world seeking peace—and an escape from the horror that had been revealed to me. Diarmid had followed, had attempted to convince me of his sorrow and his regret. I believed not a word. After I bought my land and set up my farm in 1846, once he saw the lifestyle I was planning to lead he backed off, but he still sent me a gift every year on my birthday and at Christmas, and he would pop up for a visit on occasion—though I hadn’t actually set eyes on my father in almost two years. I had reason to wonder whether he would actually strike at me for being “the betrayer of vampire kind” when I supposedly meant so much to him.
Then again, Diarmid was always trying to make himself look good to the Ancients. I could only hope that if he ever found out, his love for me (as twisted as it was) was stronger than his ambition to be one of them.
By the time I finished clearing the indoor pig pen and had cleaned out the chicken coop, it was starting to get dark. Normally I’d have finished long before now, but Vangie and Mark (especially the latter) had proven to be major distractions. I quickly shooed the chickens into the coop for the night, making sure they had water and food inside before latching the door. I then turned my attention to the pigs, and was just getting the last of them inside when Mark came down from his apartment, followed closely by Angel. I tried not to let my wariness of the dog show on my face, and in truth it wasn’t all that difficult: One look at Mark and I found myself smiling.
I also tried to ignore the singing of my nerves as he drew nearer, but that task wasn’t as easy. “Are you, uh, getting yourself settled in alright up there?” I asked.
Mark smiled at me. “Yeah, getting there, except I forgot to stop and buy some food. I got nothin’ to eat up there and I’m kinda starving.”
“I’m hungry myself,” I admitted as I closed the gate that let the pigs outside and then eased myself out of their indoor pen. “But I’ve got cows and horses to get in yet. I kind of got behind schedule today.”
Mark glanced out at the slowly darkening sky. “Well since I’m probably to blame for that, why don’t you let me help you—I gotta learn how to round ‘em up anyway, right?”
I grinned. “Alright, why don’t you? But I think your dog should stay here in the barn. I’m afraid a strange dog might frighten the horses, and Angus is touchy enough without the added anxiety.”
His eyebrows rose. “Angus?”
I nodded. “My bull,” I said. “All the cattle are Holsteins because they make the best dairy cows. I harvest the girls’ milk when they’ve calved and it lasts me a long while. But bulls of all cattle breeds are notoriously temperamental. He’s not going to like having a stranger out in the pasture as it is, and the dog would just make it worse.”