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Amber didn’t answer. Water dripped from somewhere and the sound echoed off the rocky walls. Other than that, complete silence reigned here. Was this what it sounded like in a grave or a crypt?
No sounds came from outside, either. That meant the police weren’t looking for her in the ruins. Yet. They must think she was making a run for it.
“Do ye want to hear a story while we wait?” Sìneag said.
A story? It was an odd thing to do while waiting to be captured by the police, but maybe it would keep Sìneag from asking any personal questions. And it might help Amber relax a little.
“Yes, please,” Amber said.
“Well, ye canna see it, but we’re sitting right by that ancient rock I mentioned.”
As she said that, something began glowing to Amber’s left, and she jerked away.
Sìneag laughed. “Aye, that’s it. Do ye see the carving glowing?”
Amber watched in disbelief as the glow grew stronger. It was a picture resembling a child’s drawing—a circle made of three waves and a thick line. Next to the lines was a handprint etched right into the rock.
“What the hell is that?” Amber said. “Why is it glowing?”
“Ye wilna believe me. None of ye mortals do at first. But ’tis ancient Pictish magic. It opens a tunnel through time.”
Amber didn’t know whether to laugh or run? “A what?”
“A tunnel through time. Those who go through the tunnel, meet the person they’re destined to be with.”
The hell?
“And there’s someone for ye, too, Amber.”
Amber frowned. “How do you know my name?”
“If I told ye I’m a Highland faerie who loves matchmaking people, even if they’re separated by time, would ye believe me?”
This was sounding more and more ridiculous. “No.”
She laughed. “’Tis what I thought. But there is a man ye’re destined to be happy with, and he lives more than seven hundred years in the past.”
Feet pounded outside and neared the entrance. Cold crept down Amber’s spine.
Sìneag turned to her and took her hands. With the glow from the rock, Amber could distinguish her face. Sìneag’s eyes were wide and worried.
“Just remember, ye need to look for Owen Cambel.”
Someone was coming down the stairs. A man swore, something heavy fell, and more F-bombs followed.
“Go through the tunnel, Amber,” Sìneag insisted. “Either that, or prison.”
Go through a tunnel in time seven hundred years back? Someone was coming. Light from a flashlight moved across the wall.
“Don’t move!” a man called. “Police!”
Amber’s heart beat violently against her rib cage.
“Put yer hand in the print, and think of Owen,” Sìneag said.
A gun clicked. “I’m armed. Do not move.”
I must be crazy.
