“Engines don’t have much to do with magic, either,” Jack said. “But drùidhs are supposed to serve the good of mankind, and this earthquake will definitely be a good thing for a lot of people—especially Megan.”
Matt eyed Jack with guarded interest. “Drùidh is a rather unusual word for you to use,” he said softly.
“But one you’re quite familiar with.”
“Says who?”
“Say my ancestors.” Jack shrugged. “And for all I know, there may have been a few of your ancestors kicking around in my dream, too. Look, the bottom line is, I know you’re a powerful drùidh. So I’m asking you to create a natural disaster for me, just big enough to expose the oil sitting under that tundra. Once it’s common knowledge that it exists, the company Mark Collins is working for will lose its competitive edge. The Canadian government will hold on to the mineral rights, and it will be their decision what to do with that oil. Collins will no longer have any reason to come after Megan, and your father-in-law won’t go after Collins. Everyone wins—except for Mark Collins and the oil company he’s working for.”
Matt was silent for several seconds, then quietly asked, “If you’re so knowledgeable in the ways of our ancestors, why don’t you simply create your own natural disaster?”
“Just because I know what needs to be done doesn’t necessarily mean I can do it.”
Matt continued studying Jack, this time the silence stretching interminably. “So the reason that man was murdered in Canada, and you sent Megan home, and the threat followed her here, is all because there’s oil under the tundra?”
“Yup. And best as I can figure, someone hired Collins to make sure the oil wasn’t discovered until they could secure the rights to that area. That’s why he planted one of his students in the survey Megan was working on: to report if something was discovered. But once the government knows the oil is there, Collins will be out of a job and Megan will be safe.”
“And so you need an earthquake just big enough to make the oil…what? Bubble up to the surface?”
Jack nodded. “The moment the seismic alarms go off, that section of tundra will be crawling with geologists. They’ll find the oil, and it will be on every news station around the world by noon that day.”
“You want an earthquake,” Matt repeated yet again. “So that Greylen won’t have to deal with Collins himself.”
“Simply getting rid of Collins will only solve Megan’s problem temporarily. The oil company would just hire another Mark Collins, and the new man would discover Megan was part of the original mess.”
Matt nodded. “That makes sense.” He looked directly at Jack. “In fact, everything you’ve told me so far makes sense—except that I can’t quite reconcile how you’re handling Megan’s problem with how you’re handling my brother’s.”
“I gave Kenzie a week, and I’ll honor my promise,” Jack told Matt. “So instead of brewing a storm cloud over my head, why don’t you wave your magic wand and send that slimy beast back where it came from?”
“Because Kenzie has asked me not to.”
Great. Just damn great. “So anything the brother of a powerful drùidh wants, he gets? Even if it means a dragon is running around Pine Creek, breaking into shops? What happens when someone is working late in one of those shops? Are you willing to tempt fate just to indulge your brother?”
Matt laughed, though he sounded anything but amused. “Hell, Stone, I all but sold my soul for Kenzie. Tell me, what lengths would you go to for Megan and your son? Or for any member of your family? Would you be willing to walk through the fires of hell for them?”
“I already have.” Jack turned and walked off the porch toward his snowmobile. He stopped on the edge of the shoreline and looked back. “The sooner that earthquake happens, Cùram, the better for all of us. And I’d appreciate it if we could keep this little matter between ourselves.”
“Megan hasn’t told you about the magic yet,” Matt stated. He suddenly lifted one brow. “Or is it you who haven’t told her yet, Coyote?”
Jack smiled. “We’ll both get there eventually.”
Matt nodded. “Then I will keep this between us. And I will stay out of your matter with Kenzie, as well. My brother must walk his own path, just as you must walk yours.” Then he grinned at Jack. “Keep your television tuned to the news tomorrow morning, Stone, and see what happens when shadow and light work in harmony.”
Jack gave Matt a wave and walked down the steep shoreline to his sled. O-kay. Either he’d just put Canada on the map as the newest nation to give OPEC a run for its money, or he’d turned it into the next world disaster-relief recipient.
He zoomed across the cove and up onto his lawn, grabbed his pack, and headed around the house to his porch, taking the steps two at a time. He opened the screen door and spotted an envelope taped to the window.
He dropped his pack, tore open the envelope, and read the invitation written in Megan’s bold scrawl. YOU ARE INVITED TO GÙ BRATH AT SIX TONIGHT.
Jack shoved the note between his teeth, unlocked the door, picked up his backpack, and walked into his house with an eager smile. Nothing like ignoring a girl for a few days to get her to take matters into her own hands. Maybe after dinner with the parents, he’d take his little warrior for a moonlight stroll and see if she wanted to rip off his clothes again.
Chapter Twenty-three
D inner turned out to be a birthday party for Elizabeth’s youngest boy, with nearly every kid in town in attendance. Grace told Jack he was welcome to join the adults in the living room; no, he wasn’t expected to bring a present; yes, Megan was around someplace. “Feel free to hunt her down,” Grace had offered just as the birthday boy—Joel, Jack thought his name was—demanded his gram’s attention in the kitchen. Apparently there was a major crisis over the cake’s looking like Big Bird instead of Curious George.
Feeling a bit overdressed in the tie and blazer he wore under his police jacket, Jack lingered in the huge foyer of the MacKeage fortress for several minutes, working up the courage to venture into the chaos. In that time he witnessed no fewer than a dozen kids, ranging in age from five to thirteen, sliding down the curving banister at breakneck speeds—with no adult to supervise them. The kids did appear to have a method to their madness, though. The older ones slid down first; then one stayed at the bottom to catch the younger kids while the others guarded the youngsters sliding past them on their way back up the stairs to do it all again.
Several other girls and boys came charging down the hallway with wooden swords, engaged in a fierce battle over a confused but definitely excited puppy. Jack scooped up one of the female combatants just as she was about to be flattened by an older kid catapulting off the end of the banister. He swung the toddler up against his chest and found himself face-to-face with beauty personified—wielding a sword as long as she was tall.
“Poweeceman,” the girl said, patting the badge on his jacket. She used her sword, smacking him in his head, to point at the ongoing battle. “Save Puddles.”
“You’ll probably need several pair of handcuffs in order to do that,” Camry said with a laugh, taking the girl from him. “Which one are you?” she asked the toddler.
“I’m Peyton, Aunt Campy,” the girl said, putting her hands on her hips in disgust—her sword missing Jack only because he managed to duck.
Camry laughed and set her down, then patted her bottom to send her on her way. “Go save Puddles yourself,” she instructed. “We MacKeage women fight our own battles, young lady.”
The girl took off after the disappearing mob of young clansmen, her sword held over her head as she let out a battle cry that shook the rafters.
Before Jack could say hello or ask where Megan was, Camry slipped her arm through his and dragged him into the chaos. “Come on, Jack. Let’s get you a drink.”