Storm Warrior

this small country. That is, until she’d spotted the distinctive metal collar around his muscled neck. It was wide and ornate, almost like a broad silver torque. Perhaps it was a replica of some ancient design. Maybe the animal was part of the tour, a living prop?

She grabbed the flowery sleeve of her traveling buddy, a tall white-haired woman named Gwen, whom she’d met at the beginning of the tour. “He’s here again.”

The older woman looked over her glasses with bright eyes, spotting the animal at once, even as she clutched her travel bag to her chest. “How fascinating! I wonder what kind of energy such a creature would have. Probably negative, don’t you think?”

“Energy?”

“I’m sure it’s a grim, you know, just like the ones in my books. A barghest. What the Welsh call a gwyllgi, though goodness knows I’m not pronouncing it right. A messenger from the faery realm.”

“A messenger of what?”

“Why, whoever sees a grim is usually dead in a month and almost always by violent means.”

“Great. So, it’s the canine version of the Grim Reaper?”

“Not quite. A grim only heralds death, it doesn’t collect souls. At least that’s how the old stories go, but I’ve never read of a grim being out in broad daylight, have you? Are its eyes glowing red?” Gwen frowned as she strained to see.

Morgan hid a smile. As a child, her nainie—the Welsh word for grandma—had told her stories about the grim, but she hadn’t thought of it in connection with the flesh and blood animal that sat not thirty yards away. Gwen loved all things supernatural, however, and of course she would think of the dog in paranormal terms first. To each his own. Morgan chose to humor her friend, dutifully shading her pale-blue eyes and squinting. The dog’s baleful eyes seemed amber, almost golden. “Nope, not even bloodshot,” she reported.

“Well, it’s probably just an ordinary dog then, but I suppose we shouldn’t take chances. I don’t want it heralding my demise or yours.” Gwen laughed, a pretty sound that reminded Morgan of delicate glass wind chimes, and turned to follow the group that was now shuffling its way to the bus. Morgan looked back at the dog. She’d always had a deep affinity for animals, a connection to them, and although the mastiff was intimidating, she sensed a great sadness radiating from him.

She’d taken only a few steps toward the animal when the bus driver sounded the high-pitched horn, signaling it was time to leave. Crap. “Do you need help? Are you lost?” she called out to the dog. She’d often been teased for talking to animals as if they were people, but she felt strongly that animals understood intent if not words—although many understood words better than their owners gave them credit for. “If you could just tell me what you want, I’d love to help you.” The dog blinked suddenly, rapidly, but otherwise didn’t move. His expression remained mournful, his tail unmoving. To Morgan’s practiced eye, the animal didn’t appear neglected. His black coat was as glossy as a raven’s wing, and although he was lean, she could see no ribs in the broad, muscled body, no evidence of hunger. What did the dog want? Why was he following the tour bus? And why had the other tourists failed to take notice of the unusual canine? They should have been talking about it, quizzing the staff, and taking photographs. Instead, no one seemed to pay the dog any mind except Morgan and Gwen.

The horn sounded a second time, and reluctantly she obeyed. After she took her seat beside Gwen, she looked out the window, but the dog was nowhere to be seen. There were only the rolling green hills and the silent ruins.

Wales had plenty of large modern motels, but this tour featured smaller historic lodgings. Part of the tour group was booked into the Three Salmon Inn, and the rest, including Morgan and Gwen, in the smaller Cross Keys Hotel. Morgan thought the centuries-old building was charming and comfortable, but to Gwen it was downright exciting.

“They have a ghost here, you know. Some say it’s a serving girl, and others say it’s a monk.”

Morgan’s eyebrows went up as she perused the menu in the hotel dining room. “Isn’t there a big difference between the two?”

“Well, a mysterious figure in a long gown could be either one, now couldn’t it? It says in the pamphlet that’s all that anyone has seen of it. I wish I could see it.”

“You’d really like to see a ghost, wouldn’t you? Most people would run the other way.”

“Most people would rather not have proof that other worlds exist,” said Gwen. “But I prefer to be open to all possibilities.”

“My grandmother used to say something very similar.”

Gwen smiled as if the remark pleased her immensely. “I think the roast beef sounds good, don’t you?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. I like those little Yorkshire puddings that come with it. Although I’ve never understood why they call them puddings—they’re much more like a crispy little bun.”

The waiter collected their menus and their orders, and Gwen pulled a book from her handbag. “Look what I found in the gift shop here.”

Morgan took the proffered book—A Field Guide to the Ghosts of Wales—and thumbed through it. The older woman had collected several paranormal writings along the tour and probably had enough to fill a suitcase by now. Morgan had never met anyone who was so enthralled by supernatural topics. Well, there was her veterinary partner Jay…He seemed to be enthralled with anything that was strange or unusual. She was certain she’d never get a word in edgewise if Jay and Gwen should ever meet.

“Every single castle, hotel, pub, and crossroads we’ve seen so far has allegedly been haunted,” Morgan said. “I’m starting to wonder if the locals make up ghost stories on purpose to attract tourists.”

Gwen laughed heartily, her voice like a cheerful cadence of bells. “Well, now, child, they’ve certainly attracted me!” Still chuckling, she took the book back and began reading a passage aloud.

Morgan didn’t have to wonder what her Welsh grandmother would have said. Nainie Jones had been certain of the existence of spirits, just as she had firmly believed in the Tylwyth Teg, the Fair Ones. As a child, Morgan had listened for hours to her grandma’s faery stories, hanging on every word. Believing. But by the time Morgan reached her early teens, her belief had naturally faded. More than that, she’d discovered the fascinating world of science and already knew she wanted a career in veterinary medicine. She still loved to hear Nainie’s stories, of course, but had mentally filed them with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. Her grandmother had sensed the change.

“Some people don’t believe because they’re afraid to, or they believe and hope they’re never proved right. There are many things all around us that are old and powerful,” Nainie had explained one day. “Magics and mysterious realms, strange peoples not of this world. They’re not to be feared but to be respected, and it’s long been a gift in our family to know them. If you keep your heart and your mind open, one day a leap of knowing will come to you too.” Nainie had pulled the shiny silver necklace from inside her dress and looped the long, cool chain around her granddaughter’s neck. She pointed to the carved medallion with the smooth, polished stones surrounding it. “This has been in our family for generations, and it’s time it came to you. Keep it with you until your heart calls for it, my darling one. It’ll help you to have faith, and it’ll show you truth when you need it most.”

Morgan had had no idea what Nainie was talking about. It felt like another faery tale. A leap of knowing—what on earth was that? It sounded like her grandmother was talking about her uncanny ability to sense the future. After all, Nainie had always known who was at the door before they had a chance to knock, what was in the mail before the postman brought it, and sometimes what was going to happen to a friend or relative several days in advance. But Morgan didn’t have a psychic bone in her body, as far as she could tell.

Her grandmother wouldn’t explain further, just assured her that she would learn for herself in due time. Morgan was pleased with the necklace, however, and solemnly promised Nainie she would take good care of it. Later, alone in her room, Morgan promised herself to someday visit Wales and see the land that had sparked all the wonderful old stories. Years had passed before she could finally manage the trip, but she wasn’t disappointed.