Finn Finnegan (5 page)

Crouching down by its folding steps, he stretched out an arm. The reek of a septic system in desperate need of emptying assaulted his nose. His fingers scrabbled across the asphalt as he tried to fish the keys closer. A fat drop of rain splashed the back of his neck.

At that moment, a hoarse caw split the air. Finn twisted his head around. A crow stood on the top step, its claws scraping against the aluminum tread. Boy and bird eyed each other. Before Finn could move, the crow shook out its damp feathers and flapped away.

“Um … excuse me? Could you help me?” asked a soft voice behind him.

Finn jumped, banging an elbow on the undercarriage. Cursing under his breath, he scooted out from under the RV and stood up. A teenage girl stood nearby, the increasing drizzle softening the curls in her brown hair.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to scare you, but could you tell me if there's a bus stop nearby?” She edged closer, a gentle smile curving her lips. Droplets glittered on the tips of her sweeping eyelashes, framing hazel eyes. Thunder boomed again as the rain began falling harder.

Finn found himself smiling back with a loopy grin. Keys forgotten, he wiped his hands on his jeans. “I don't know, but I can ask my—”

A pale beam shot over his shoulder and spotlighted the girl's face. With a snarl, she flung up an arm. Her features began twisting and shifting with a moist popping sound. Her head jerked back and forth. Finn gasped, unable to move.

Stabbed by the light from Gideon's moonstone, the Amandán groaned. Its pelt rippled as it transformed into a distorted half-ape, half-human shape. Snapping its jaw, it shook itself like a dog, water spraying from mossy green fur.

“Ah, fresh meat,” the creature grunted, curling its lips back in a yellow-toothed grin. As Finn stood frozen with shock, it stretched black-tipped fingers toward his face.

Something grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him backwards.

“Are ye trying to hold hands with the bleedin' thing?” Gideon thrust him to one side. “Now, watch and learn, boyo.” The light faded when the Knight shoved the stone in his pocket. His bronze blade was a blur in the rain as he slashed and stabbed at the goblin. He drove it back, trapping it against the side of the camper. “Fetch the other weapon whilst I keep it occupied,” he called over the roar of the downpour. “Hurry!”

Finn dove under the RV and lunged for the keys. Scrambling to his feet, he rushed to their truck. His hands shook as he fumbled to unlock the door. Jerking it open, he scrabbled under the seat, grabbed the weapon, and raced back. He shook wet hair out of his eyes and took a stance beside his master, worry worms squirming in his gut. The knife felt heavy and awkward in his hand. As he watched, the creature swayed back and forth, flinching away from the burning touch of the Knight's blade.

“So, ye've come to pick a fight, have ye?” Gideon said. “And just when will ye manky beasts realize Eire is lost to ye forever? And that ye will never win this war?”

“‘Twill be ours again,” the Amandán snarled back. “Right after we spit out the bones of all De Danaan and their mortal allies.” It made a rude gesture. “Invaders. Thieves of our earth.”

“Ye should have fought harder, then, to hold the green land.”

With its mouth stretched in rage, the Amandán lunged at the Knight, hissing, “
Poc sidhe.
” Its fingertips whispered past the Knight's face.

Gideon jerked his head back just in time. Feinting to one side, he dodged under the goblin's reach. “‘I am a boar enraged,'” he shouted as he came in low and buried his blade in the Amandán's chest. Lightning cracked overhead and drowned out the creature's shriek. Gideon leaped back. He grabbed Finn and whirled around, shielding the boy with his body.

The Amandán exploded. It sprayed the back of Gideon's work shirt with gray-green ash and vanished. The knife clattered to the ground.

Finn sucked in a shaky breath as Gideon released him. He turned around and stared at the mound of powder a few feet away, his heart hammering against his ribs. “Is-is it dead?” He hoped his master didn't notice his voice cracking.

“Oh, ‘tis not dead.” Gideon bent over and picked up the weapon. He held it between thumb and finger to rinse it off in the diminishing rainfall, the cloudburst as quick to leave as to arrive. “Amandán are almost impossible to kill. All I've done is weakened it. ‘Twill take some time for that one to gain enough strength to reform and attack again.”

Finn stepped closer and poked at the sodden mess with his toe. The rain was already washing away the traces of left-over goblin. He grimaced. “
Bleh
, that stuff stinks!” He waved a hand in front of his nose. “Smells like burnt rubber.”

“Aye, it does. Which is why an apprentice with even a modicum of intelligence would not stick his bleedin' shoe in it.”

While Finn scratched his head, trying to determine if he had been insulted, Gideon walked over to the truck and rummaged through the storage bin in the back, finally locating a rag. With a few swipes, he dried the blade and slid it back into its sheath, under the tail of his shirt.

“Quite a beginning to yer apprenticeship, eh?” He propped an elbow on the side of the truck bed. His blue eyes twinkled as he wiped wet ash from his cheek. It left a smear across his lean face.

Finn grinned back weakly and nodded, his pulse slowing. He gathered the plastic bags still sitting by the passenger side and tossed them into the cab, then joined the Knight.

For a few minutes, they stood side by side, watching the storm clouds race eastward. Around them, shoppers emerged from their cars, having waited out the storm before heading to the store.

After a moment, Finn wrinkled his nose and sniffed. Trying to act nonchalant, he eased away from the goblin puddle.

Gideon slipped off his shirt. “Best get used to the stench, boyo.” Holding it out, he examined the stained material. “A good scrubbing and ‘twill be respectable again.”

Finn nodded. His eyes widened when he noticed a Celtic knot tattooed on the swell of muscle of the Knight's right arm, just below the sleeve of his master's tee. The green lines of the sigil wove in and out, around and back, in a pattern with no beginning or ending. A wisp of a memory washed over him. A memory of a similar tattoo on his father's arm. “My da had one,” he said, almost to himself.

“Did he? The mark of Knighthood?”

“Yeah.” Finn frowned. “My uncle's a Knight, too, but he doesn't have one.”

“Yer da and Uncle Owen are of a younger generation of Tuatha De Danaan. Fergus was a rare one to have followed the old custom.”

“Oh.” Finn hesitated for a moment, then looked up at his master. “Just how old
are
you?”

“Thirty-seven,” he said offhandedly. He tossed the shirt into the bed before heading for the cab. Finn trotted around to the other side and climbed in.

As the truck coughed to life, Gideon glanced over. “I best teach ye how to remove goblin remains from yer clothing. We'll begin with me shirt.”

“Me? Why do I have to do it? It's not mine.”

“I dinna write the rules. It clearly states in the ‘How to Train Yer Apprentice' manual that the apprentice does the laundry.”

“Can I see this manual? When we get back?”

“I seem to recall that I've misplaced me copy.”

“So, how do I know you're not just making all this sh—crap up?”

“Because I am Gideon Lir, Knight of the Tuatha De Danaan,” he proclaimed in a solemn voice. “And our word and our honor are the one and the same.”

Finn muttered something under his breath that rhymed with “
ghoul skit” as
they rolled out the parking lot and headed for home.

The Journal of Finnegan MacCullen: May 22

This is so lame!!! And I hope Gideon reads this so he knows I think this is totally unfair and stupid!! And lame!!!

Guys don't do journals. It's so…so girly! What does a warrior need a journal for, anyway?

Gideon told me…no, wait…
ordered
me to write down what I learn each day. He said starting it on my thirteenth birthday would mean a lot to me when I got older. And then he told me that he still keeps one.

Wow, like
that's
something to brag about?

What I Learned Today:

Amandán
means
Fool in
old Gaelic (the language of the Celts).

They sometimes trick (or fool) us and also mortals by taking on the appearance of a person or some other object. That's so they can get closer and kill us. They can't hold the shape very long, which is good, because then we'd be
really
screwed when it came to hunting them.

They believe in this ancient legend that, if they kill every single De Danaan in the world, then they can return home to Ireland and reclaim it. Which doesn't makes sense to me. I mean, don't they know there's like six million humans living in Ireland??? I don't think
they're
going to be too happy sharing the island with stinky green goblins with bad breath.

Amandán kill with the
poc sidhe
. If they touch your face or head with their fingers, it gives you a cerebral hemorrhage. What humans call a stroke. That's
what poc sidhe
means: fey stroke. Gideon pronounces it
poke she
.

We got an Amandán today. Well, Gideon got it. I just watched. It was a lot bigger and faster than I had imagined. A lot smellier, too.

A lot scarier, too.

The ceremony totally sucked. My stone wouldn't work. But I did okay with the knife. He told me De Danaan used to use swords and spears more, in the old days, but it got too hard to hide them under our clothes around humans. Now, we just use knives and daggers. Makes sense.

Gideon just came by and told me I can sleep in tomorrow morning because we're going to be up late doing some training tomorrow night. That's good, because I'm fried already!

And it's only my first day.

This is going to be a lot harder than I'd thought.

The Journal of Gideon Lir: May 22

Ye gods.

Never in all these centuries of battling the beasties have I witnessed such a bold attack by an Amandán. My instincts tell me that something is amiss. What it is, I do not know, but I've not lived all these years (thirty-seven decades, to be exact—I did not lie to the boy) without listening to my instincts.

And it seems Finnegan has been granted a generous share of the Celtic temper—something we have in common, to be sure. His warp spasm caught us both by surprise. It was all I could do to keep
mine
under control.

But the lad did well with the Song—and he has a fine, tenor voice. The words sang through him like a true Tuatha De Danaan when he used his weapon. Regretfully, his mortal blood prevents him from using the moonstone's magic.

And not just any moonstone, but his da's. It is a sorrow for him, although he tries to hide it.

“Unbelievable.” Gideon shook his head as he stared across the kitchen table.

“What is?” Finn asked, cheeks bulging with shepherd's pie as he sat hunched over his meal.

“Yer manners. Or lack of.” Gideon reached across and pushed Finn's elbows off the table. As the boy straightened, he added, “And ease up. Ye needn't wolf yer food like that. I'm not going to thieve yer dinner.”

“Sorry. Bad habit.” Finn scraped the bowl and licked his spoon clean. He looked over at the stove. “Can I have some more?”

“
May
I have some more.” Gideon corrected him. “And yes, of course. As I've said before, this is yer home now.” He waved a hand around the room. The last rays of the late-afternoon sun warmed the kitchen while a green-scented breeze wafted through the open window over the sink.

“Thanks!” Finn hopped up and headed over to the stove. He filled his bowl to the rim with chunks of beef and vegetables, and then topped it off with a generous dollop of mashed potatoes. He

hesitated, then added a second spoonful. “I like this,” he said over his shoulder.

“Shepherd's pie?”

“No. Well, yeah, the pie's good.” He sat back down. “I mean, having extra.”

“Extra?”

“You know. Extra food. Extra room.”

“Things were a bit tight, eh? At yer aunt and uncle's?”

Finn nodded as he dug in. “We always had enough. But never
more
. Sometimes, they kind of forgot…me.”

For a brief moment, Gideon saw the hurt dart across Finn's face, the faint scattering of freckles across his nose standing out against his pale skin. The hurt of being the unwanted one, the mixed breed in a family of pure bloods. The additional burden on an already overburdened family.

If I offer any comfort or sympathy, he'll take it all wrong
, Gideon thought. “Well, I'd eat hearty, if I were ye. We'll begin training right after supper. As soon as ye're finished washing the dishes.” He rose and carried his own bowl over to the sink. “And no bemoaning yer fate as an overworked apprentice.”