Page 16
STERLING
Satisfaction blooms in my chest as I stand at the side of the barn, watching my human eat the food I left for him. Food I stealthily collected myself from various unattended locations around the village. I peeked through the kitchen window and watched as he and his friend ate the bread and meat I left and now he has an apple clenched between his teeth as he locks the door to the farmhouse.
Caspian makes his way to his car, checking the backseat before he climbs in. He’s starting his day much later than usual, which doesn’t surprise me given the night he had. After I crept out, I followed a strange scent deep into the woods bordering his property, but I found nothing suspicious. While my senses are superior to a human’s on dry land, they are far better in water. My ability to scent things in water is fine tuned like a shark and my hearing much like a dolphins, hearing in high frequency, across miles.
Caspian’s car starts, and I inch further along the wall of the barn to get a better look as he drives down the gravel path that leads to the causeway. His peaches and fresh grass scent fades away and I come out of my hiding place and enter the lighthouse, climbing the stairs to the room I’ve been using.
It’s cold and damp in here, with moss growing between the bricks. There’s an old heater connected to the wall next to the single bed, but I haven’t used it. My fur keeps me warm enough when the nights grow cool. The room is not much, but I noticed soon after arriving that Caspian never enters the lighthouse, and the window cut into the thick brick gives me the perfect view of the main property. It makes this the perfect place to hide and keep an eye on my precious human.
There’s a staircase at the end of the room which leads to the other floors. I follow it up to the gallery, which runs around the lantern room, giving me a three-sixty view of the farm. My eyes scan the horizon. There are no boats out in the cove today, and nothing besides a family of sea lions on the beach.
They’re interesting, those mammals, because they don’t look or smell like they should. There’s something about them I can’t pinpoint, but if I had to guess, I would say they are more like me than they are any of the other aquatic life off these shores.
Walking slowly, I move to the other side of the gallery, pausing to study the paddocks where Caspian keeps a flock of Shetland sheep and two tiny goats. Everything is still and pleasant.
Until the sound of tires on gravel, too early to be Caspian, has my ears perking up. At the sight of the unknown car stopping at the gate, I shift. The bones in my feet bend and reform into paws, my fingers extend, claws ripping from the ends, and my fangs elongate. My tail swishes behind me, and I wiggle my nose to capture a hint of the new arrival.
He’s an older man, who has a faint stench of sweat and rotting fruit clinging to his grey suit. He pushes open the gate, then returns to his car and drives through, coming to a stop outside the farmhouse. When he opens the door again, a shadow-like entity flows out of the car behind him, then slithers beneath the farmhouse door.
Moving quickly on my hind legs, I gather my clothing, then hurry down the stairs and out the front of the lighthouse, covering the distance to the back of the main house. There, I shift into my human form, taking a moment to run my tongue over my teeth and finding them smooth. I dress quickly, then move towards the front of the house, pausing before rounding the corner. I dip down, rub my hands in the flowerbed so they’re covered in soil, and casually saunter toward where the man is standing with his hand on the front door handle.
He freezes when he sees me, his eyes widening momentarily before he schools his features. I’ve never seen him before, but now that I’m closer, I get a better whiff of his scent and it’s eerily familiar.
“Hi. Can I help you?” I ask, rubbing my dirt-covered hands on my trousers.
The man removes his hand from the door handle, straightens his suit jacket, then tucks one hand into his pocket while the other fiddles with the strange necklace hanging from his neck – a silver chain with a small glass dome filled with blue sand.
“I’m a friend of the late Mr Brody,” he says, his eyes darting to the farmhouse and then back to me. “And you are?”
I reach out a hand, which he looks down at, reluctant to take. But eventually he does. “Sterling Ward. The gardener.” I squeeze his hand tight enough that I know I’m causing him pain, but he doesn’t flinch, just locks eyes with me and nods.
“I see.”
“What brings you down here today?” I ask, breaking our connection.
He hesitates for a beat and I step closer, his scent ripening into something bitter, making my nose twitch.
“Just wanted to stop by and pay my condolences.”
“You could have sent a card.”
His nostrils flare, and he takes two steps away from me, then rubs the necklace between two fingers.
“I have business with Caspian,” he admits. “I was hoping to speak with him.”
He looks at the farmhouse again, and I angle my body so that I’m now next to the front door.
“He’s not in.” I point to the only car on the property. “You can see his car is gone.”
The man says nothing, but his eyes don’t leave me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this guy could sense that I’m not human. Most people I’ve encountered over my long life don’t believe in the supernatural, but he’s looking at me right now like perhaps he does.
The smile he aims my way is wide and fake. Evil in a designer suit.
“Not to worry,” he starts. “I’ll catch up with him another day.”
With that, he turns towards his car, but looks over his shoulder every few steps. He’s wary of me, but I don’t scent fear on him. Annoyance, yes, but not fear.
I interrupted whatever he was doing here, and he doesn’t like that, but he’s also not afraid that I’ll hurt him. Or maybe he thinks he could stop me if I tried.
