For a moment I stare at Gavan and then burst out laughing. He joins in, leaving Ren looking back and forth between us, utterly bewildered.
After that we fall silent, the candle burning down while we wait the night out. We doze sometimes, jerking back to wakefulness when we hear the unearthly shrieks of the creatures, though they sound mercifully far from the cottage.
Just after the clock in the kitchen has gently chimed four in the morning, a volley of shrieks from nearby sends me scrambling to my feet, the gun raised, Ren and Gavan flanking me.
They are at the cottage in seconds, banging at every window, screaming, attacking the front door over and over. I hear a clang; metal hitting the stone stoop. Then the cries move, coming from outside the parlour window, followed by the frantic sound of bodies crashing into the outer shutters so hard the inner ones shake. They know exactly where we are. Wide-eyed, I turn to the boys, to see their faces stark and pale. Gavan presses fingers to his ears, and I do the same, keeping my gaze on the shutters, praying they’ll hold.
The whole thing lasts around a minute. Then it stops and the night is as silent as before. I take my fingers from my ears and listen. Nothing.
“What the hell was that?” Gavan sounds as shaken as I feel, and I lower myself back to the seat, my legs turned to jelly.
Ren remains standing. His eyes are gleaming. “I think that was retaliation. I think it means we got one.”
“Should we look?” Gavan asks.
I shake my head. “No. Ren’s right. Let’s wait for the sun to come up.”
There’s no chance any of us will sleep now, so we take the candles back to the kitchen, and I start pulling out food, preparing to cook. While Gavan leans over the Naomhfhuil book once more, Ren gently jostles me aside, taking the bacon and eggs from my hands.
I stand back and watch in silence as he cooks, heating a skillet and adding butter, before laying the rashers in the spitting fat. He takes a handful of chives growing on the windowsill and tears them up, sprinkling them over the bacon, then cracks the eggs in alongside, their yolks cheery and wholesome. It smells amazing: smoky from the bacon, sharp from the chives. My mouth starts to water.
“Butter some bread,” he tells me, and I find the last of the loaf I made, a little stale now. I slice it, then toast it, spearing it and holding it to the flames inside the stove, working alongside Ren as he tends the eggs and bacon.
Out of nowhere I remember his suggestion that we run away together, to play at husband and wife. I think of his arms around me, my cheek against his chest.
Hoping any blush can be put down to the heat of the stove, I sneak a glance at him. His hair is falling into his eyes again. How does he see at all? I think, stopping myself from reaching up to push it aside. His hands are sure as he moves the food around the pan, flipping the bacon and tilting fat up over the yolks.
“Plates?” he says, and I leave my toast resting on the lip of the door, dashing to fetch plates, returning in time to stop it from burning.
I balance the plates along the hob to warm them, putting a slice of toast on each and buttering it. While Ren adds bacon and eggs, I butter three more to make the toppers.
When Ren squashes his down, golden yolk oozes out from the sandwich and he smiles: a pure, joyful smile.
He carries his and Gavan’s to the table, and I take mine, nudging away the Naomhfhuil log so we are spared the images for a moment.
We chew in silence, the food fortifying us, taking away some of the horror of the night and giving us fuel for what’s to come. I lick yolk from my fingers, colouring when I see Ren watching me, his usually pale eyes darker. We look away from each other at the same time.
When I carry our plates to the sink I see a chink of grey light fighting its way through the gap.
I look at the clock. Five thirty. “Dawn’s coming,” I say. “We need to decide how we’re going to do this.”
“You’re the one with the gun,” Ren says.
“Talking of, do you have any others?” Gavan says.
“I have the flintlock,” I say. “And now we’re here in the cottage, I have bullets and gunpowder. Have either of you used a gun before?”
Both of them shake their heads.
“Then you’re not having one.”
“How do we defend ourselves?” Gavan asks.
“We stay behind Alva.” Ren grins.
“Fine,” I sigh. It is a fair point. “One of you can have the gun, after I show you how to use it. And there’s an axe, wherever Ren left it. But also, yes – stay behind me.”
In the end Gavan takes the axe and I give Ren the flintlock gun. I make him show me how to cock and fire, over and over, only loading it when I’m happy he knows what he’s doing.
“You only get one bullet at a time,” I remind him. “So don’t fire too soon. And aim for the chest.”
“Surely the head would be better?”
“Aye, if you knew how to shoot it would. But we’re going to have to proceed assuming you’re not a crack shot. The chest is larger, you’ve got a better chance of hitting it, and it’ll slow it down at least.” I shiver.
“Do we even know if bullets can kill them?” Gavan asks.
“Of course they can,” Ren says, but he doesn’t sound sure, looking at me for an answer.
I hadn’t even considered it.
“I don’t know,” I say slowly. What kind of creature can survive a serious gunshot? “I suppose we’ll find out.” I try to sound confident.
Neither boy looks convinced.
We stand at the front door, straining to hear beyond it. I wonder if the creatures are standing on the other side, doing the same thing.
“All right. Gavan, you open the door, and let Ren and me deal with anything out there,” I say. Gavan nods, and I turn to Ren. “Now remember – you only get one shot, so make it count. On three,” I tell Gavan, his hand ready on the latch, while Ren and I point our guns. “One. Two. Three.”
Gavan opens the door, and Ren fires the gun.
The sound echoes into silence.
“Are you joking?” I speak at last through clenched teeth. “What did I tell you?”
“I panicked!”
I growl and move forward, the gun raised and ready. Beyond the door the sky is pale lavender on the horizon, still deepest blue above. Once I reach the frame I turn, looking around. There’s no sign of the creatures, but the shadows are still too long for my liking. I want to be able to see more. Especially as Ren has just announced to them we’re here.
I step back, and close the door.
“Are they out there?” Gavan asks, his knuckles white on the handle of the axe.
“I can’t see anything, I think it’s still too dark. Let’s give it another ten minutes or so,” I say, before adding, “We can reload the flintlock and give Ren another lecture about responsible gun use.”
“I look forward to it,” Ren says, gleeful malice in his eyes. “Who better to teach me?” And I remember pressing the mouth of that selfsame gun to his temple, hard enough to leave a mark. Apparently, so does he.
My face burning, I snatch the flintlock from him, gritting my teeth when he laughs, and head to the study to reload the gun. Ren follows, laughing softly.
Ten minutes later, we leave the cottage once more. Ren grips the axe, Gavan now holds the gun and has been thoroughly drilled in its use, and outside those shadows have lessened, revealing nothing sinister in their wake.