Page 53 of Dance in the Stones

Damon stopped mid-step. “Did you…”

“No.”

They watched the machine gurgle to life, brewing coffee neither of them had prepared.

“Well, that’s helpful,” Damon said slowly. “But also deeply weird. We probably wouldn’t want that to happen if we had visitors.”

It wasn’t just the coffee machine. The fire in the hearth flared higher without either of them touching it, chasing away the morning chill. And there, on the kitchen table where Redford had searched yesterday without success, sat the leather-bound journal documenting the sanctuary’s early operations.

Redford picked it up, flipping to the page he’d wanted. “I looked for this for twenty minutes and couldn’t find it.”

“The castle brought it to you.” Damon poured coffee with hands that weren’t quite steady. “It’s anticipating what we need.”

“Or trying to be useful.” Redford sat, cradling the warm mug. He got the impression Damon was both uncertain and fascinated. “What does your hellhound think?”

Damon closed his eyes, clearly checking in with his beast. “Alert, watchful, but not seeing any threat. The only thing that confuses us is that hellhounds are immune to all magic, and yet I couldn’t translocate out of our bedroom. I’m not sure how that happened.”

“Maybe the castle knew you didn’t really want to go,” Redford teased.

They spent the morning studying the papers Damon had collected from the crystal room. It was slow going, as every passage had to be translated and a lot of it was written using terms that hadn’t been heard for centuries. As they worked, they were both conscious of the castle watching them, while keeping the fire well stoked and the coffee pot full. It was almost domestic, if Redford ignored the fact it was a semi-sentient magical fortress providing the comfort.

After a late brunch, they headed to the castle to meet Malcolm. The contractor was already at the west wing, consulting with Gordon who’d come to sign off the final structural assessments.

“It’s the strangest thing,” Malcolm was saying when they approached. “I’ve been having odd luck all morning. Needed my level, and it just appeared on the scaffolding where I was working. I could’ve sworn I left it in the truck.”

“Probably misremembered,” Gordon said, but he was frowning at the wall he’d been examining. “Though I’ll admit, this section we were worried about? It’s stable now. I would’ve bet money it needed reinforcement, but the mortar’s solid.”

Redford caught Damon’s eye and winked.

“The old girl’s helping out.” Malcolm patted the stone wall affectionately. “She knows we’re trying to fix her up proper.”

Gordon laughed, shaking his head. “You’re getting sentimental in your old age, Mal.”

“Maybe.” Malcolm’s expression was thoughtful as he gazed up at the tower. “Or maybe she appreciates the attention after being neglected for so long.”

After Malcolm and Gordon left to check another section, Damon leaned close. “The castle is helping them, too, making the work easier for them.”

“Checking us out,” Redford murmured. “Seeing if we’re serious about restoration and reopening the sanctuary, perhaps.” He touched the stone, feeling that vast awareness stirring beneath the surface. “It’s been abandoned for a long time. Maybe it just needs to know we’re different.”

“Well.” Damon’s hand covered his. “I guess we’d better prove ourselves worthy then.”

Moira Campbell arrived precisely at two o’clock, her silver SUV crunching up the gravel drive. The Highland Pack Alpha emerged looking every inch the authority figure - tall, red-haired, with a presence that commanded respect simply by existing.

“Redford. Damon.” She shook their hands, her grip firm. “Thank you for meeting with me again.”

“We’re glad you reached out,” Redford said. “Let us show you what we’ve completed so far.”

They led her through the west wing, pointing out the reinforced structure and all the updated utilities. Malcolm’s crew had done exceptional work, and the space felt welcoming.

Moira examined everything with a critical eye, asking pointed questions about security and what kind of protections were in place. Redford answered honestly, laying out their current capabilities and limitations.

“We’re not trying to become a fortress,” Damon explained. “But we can offer discretion and distance from major cities. The people in the closest village are friendly and are genuinely happy to see people working on the castle again. As far as worries about tourists, I don’t think that will be a problem. People with no attachment to this area tend to forget this place exists unless they’re specifically looking for it.”

“That’s invaluable.” Moira paused by a window overlooking the Highlands. “I have two residents who need sanctuary urgently. A young fox shifter named Finn - he’s seventeen - and his older sister Kara, who’s twenty-two. They were filmed mid-shift by hikers three weeks ago. The footage went viral before they could stop it. Now they’ve got amateur ‘investigators’ tracking them, trying to prove paranormals exist.”

“How immediate is the danger?” Redford had already decided he’d help where they could.

“They’re at my packhouse now, but the attention is getting worse. Someone posted their last known location online yesterday. We’ve had humans showing up at the property line with cameras.” Moira’s jaw tightened. “They’re terrified - Finn especially. He’s just a kid who lost control of his shift at the wrong moment.”