Roots & Fangs

Roots and Fangs

Skye Eagleday and Ripley Sage

Chapter One

Yep, I’m doing it, McKay said as he put his passport back into his pocket. I fly into Chicago and then it’s straight on—you know I really mean gaily forward—to Edinburgh.

You’ve sure been talking about it long enough. Ever since we met as high school freshmen both you and your grandfather talked about going to Scotland as if it were your destiny, his friend Karl sighed. Well, good on you for making your dream come true. I’m just wondering if the whole country is as hunky as you are or if they sent all the really good looking ones out here to the colonies.

I don’t know if the United States was ever considered a colony of just Scotland. I skimmed through some history until I got bored. I got confused over the King of England also being the King of Scotland. I know that’s how Charleston came to be in South Carolina, but I don’t know if that really qualified it as a colony of Scotland by itself because it was originally Charles’ Town and named for King Charles.

Yeah, replied Karl. I’m still not exactly sure how the United Kingdom works and I’m from Canada. It’s the 21st Century and you’re required to pledge allegiance to the Queen. Imagine my surprise when we moved to the States and I was told I was now supposed to pledge allegiance to a piece of cloth with a questionable design. But as a Canadian, I also won’t try to understand American history. However I know for sure the province of Nova Scotia was an official colony of Scotland.

And this is why I got bored trying to sort through the history. My eyes just glazed over. He let an older flight attendant in a hurry rush past him.

Then let’s go back to something more interesting, meaning you. I was curious if the pretty factor in Scotland was high or if you’re a fluke. He heard Karl’s cat in the background. This happened every time they talked and McKay wondered if using the phone got the cat’s attention the way opening a can of anything did. Maybe your grandfather was exiled for being too devilishly handsome. Based on the gif you emailed me of him in a kilt on the cover of a magazine when he was your age, I’m willing to believe that.

I suspect the Pretty Gene for Scots is just as random as it is for most places. However, speaking as a proud ginger I am pleased to report Scotland has the highest percentage of redheads in the world.

Funny—I would have guessed Ireland.

Ireland came in second. He paused in front of the Departure display screen to reassure himself his flight was still on time. But I can see where you might make that mistake.

What do I know? I’m Ukrainian where we’re all Ice Queen blonde. The only one in my family who’s a redhead was Aunt Sophie and we all thought it was Lady Clairol and not genetics. Look I gotta go—my mom’s just pulled up in the driveway. I wasn’t expecting her for another hour. Promise to check in with me regularly. Everything worked out fine with my cousin taking over your place here so that’s one thing you won’t have to worry about.

Always good to hear. I’m also renting out my Granddad’s condo, which will relieve me having to pay the mortgage for the next six months. I gave them the option of renewing the lease if I decide to extend my stay in Scotland but this also gives me the option of relocating where I choose to go to grad school. Listen—I’ll let you go. Say hello to your mom for me and I’ll call you next week when I have a better idea of where I’ll be. He stopped in front of his gate and found an empty seat. As he was putting his phone away into his bag he lovingly touched the leather cover of the journal he had found in his grandfather’s things.

He had never associated his grandfather as the type who would keep a diary. Still, it had taught him a lot about things Logan McKay must have considered important. Unfortunately there were whole sections of things written in words he didn’t recognize. Google Translation had whimped out on him. The journal was just a little smaller than the new tourist guide that was also in the bag and he stacked one on top of the other.

He reached in and held the small stone in its tanned deerskin bag. It was the last thing his grandfather had given him before he died. He had had trouble speaking and McKay only knew his last words were to return the stone to where it belonged. But then Logan died without providing him any directions and he had found nothing in the journal that was actually helpful. He hoped by discovering Logan’s home that would serve as the place the stone should be brought back. For all he knew, even stepping on Scottish soil might be enough but in McKay’s experience things were seldom so simple.

He had shown the stone to Mahihkan Macdonald, the Metis artist he had met when he had returned to deal with Logan’s estate. As an artist, Mahihkan specialized in using stones for ceremony. He was also a Loup-Garou, a Canadian version of a Werewolf. But even Mahihkan was stumped.

I’m sorry—I’ve just never seen anything like it. I can tell you something about the triskele design carved on the surface—its three spirals differ in interpretations depending on history and place. It can mean creation-preservation-destruction, spirit-mind-body, life-death-rebirth, or even mother-father-child.  I can see it’s an ancient piece. I know stone carving but this technique is unique. The only other thing I can tell you is I’m not sensing anything magical or spiritual about it. Something treated with such care and something this old should have absorbed something. But it just feels like a rock picked up randomly. That makes even less sense to me, but I can only tell you what I know. He returned the stone to McKay who put it back into its pouch. He hadn’t taken it out again.

Now that he’d face no further security checks, he placed the small pouch back around his neck the way he had seen his Grandfather wear it from the first day his Grandfather had brought him back from the foster home. McKay was zipping up his bag when he heard a woman yell, It’s you!

He looked up to see the brown eyes of a middle-aged woman magnified by her coke bottle bottom glasses. Pardon?

I see you every time I brush my teeth. You’re the one that launched the Mint-Honey flavor for Wiseman’s Organic Toothpaste. You’re even on the tube! I’ve used Wiseman’s ever since Whole Foods started carrying the products. Ha—my husband calls it Whole Paycheck. Are you a Wiseman?"

He froze for a moment. She had spoken so quickly he was still trying to process what she was saying. He realized she had finished with a question. McKay—my name is McKay but I will always be grateful to the Wiseman family. Their campaign paid for the tuition of my last year in college. Although just between you and me, my favorite flavor is Cinnamon but Honey-Mint is a close second.

Over here, Jonathan! she yelled, turning away from McKay and waving to a gray-haired man. Look who it is! It’s McKay—he’s the boy on the toothpaste tube! Jonathan looked both confused but accepting.

It’s a really good tasting toothpaste, he said politely. He led her away while she kept talking non-stop.

McKay’s flight into Chicago was uneventful. He spent most of it reviewing his guidebook. He wondered if people in Scotland buying a guidebook to America would find the culture as complicated as he found theirs. He had a layover he used to charge his phone, then got ready to board. He was pleased to see the flight wasn’t very full. He held out his boarding pass for a strikingly handsome flight attendant looking sharp in the airline’s dark uniform. The other man’s hair wasn’t as vivid a red as McKay’s and he had a short beard and mustache that were the color of bright copper. Welcome aboard, Mr. McKay. Might you be going home?

In a way. I was born in the States but I’m trying to find the route my grandfather took when he left the Old Country. McKay’s gaydar had clicked on with first eye contact. A gay flight attendant. Who knew?  McKay had the whole row to himself.  But as he was putting his bag away the hunky flight attendant had walked behind him.

Mr. McKay, he said softly, There was a problem with your seating arrangement. Could you bring your bag and come with me?

McKay was puzzled—as a professional model he was used to regular air travel, both national and international. He didn’t see how there could have been an error. At least not on his end.

He followed the well-shaped buns of the man in front of him. They roundly filled out the navy blue seat of his pants. He was so focused on them he didn’t realize he was now in the business class section.  There you go, Mr. McKay. Your new seat is 1A, and here’s your new boarding pass. He put the pass into McKay’s hand, letting his own hand remain a couple of heartbeats touching it.

"OK, thought McKay, He’s not a subtle guy. Aloud he said, What have I done to deserve the upgrade?"

Consider it a random act of kindness from your fairy godmother. He smiled and there was a powerful sense of interest existing on many levels.

Fairy? Given the fact he had spent the summer with a Canadian Loup-Garou lover who had ended up reluctantly introducing him to the Supernatural community, now even small clues reminded him magic was always around you, just waiting out of the corner of your eye. He knew fairies existed. He had just never met one before.

Well, just your regular rainbow kind of fairy. About the only wishes I can grant involve an upgrade or a free drink. My name is Jordon and I’m the Purser which makes me head bitch of anything outside of the cockpit.  It’s a light load tonight, so I’ll have a lot of time on my hands. We can have a chance to get to know each other better. So sit back and relax and let me know if you’d prefer a glass of champagne to start with or do you want to go straight to the whisky? His order placed, McKay sat down and watched a few more people trickle into the seats around him.

Jordon smiled at him as he did the obligatory Safety Speech. Ladies and Gentlemen—boys and girls. Just in case none of you have been in an automobile since the 1960s, I am required by law to share with you the following information. Here’s a safety belt, he said, clicking it in a showy manner. I need for it to fit low and tight about your hips just like the black leather jockstrap I’ll be wearing later on tonight after we land in Edinburgh. McKay laughed as did a lot passengers back in economy.

Jordon replaced his model safety belt with a bright yellow air mask. For parents traveling with children—-hmmm, why? If you as a parent are traveling with two of your children, for Goodness’ sake—what were you thinking? Just remember in the unlikely event these snappy yellow masks come down, you should consider strapping the mask on the smart one — the one who will pump the most money into your own retirement fund.  And if you don’t like my jokes, you have six ways available to walk out, he grinned, pointing out the exit signs.

Later on Jordon asked quietly, How was the steak? The flight attendant topped off McKay’s wineglass. Some of the other passengers had passed on dinner and turned off their lights right after takeoff. A heavyset man three seats over was lightly snoring.

Very tasty. He held up his glass in a toast. He was at that enjoyable stage of knowing he was a little buzzed but still in comfortable control.

In a few minutes Jordan passed