The Hound at the Gate (4 page)

Punching her brother in the ribs with a solid
whump
, Savannah finally broke free. “I tried to tell you.” The others were laughing too hard to speak.

“Does he look, you know,
mad
?”

“It's hard to tell,” Savannah said.

A tiny part of Finn's brain noticed she was the only one who wasn't laughing. A larger part of his brain was busy being furious at Rafe and Lochlan for not warning him.
Thanks, guys. Thanks a lot for having my back. See if I rescue your butts from the Amandán next time they want to eat
you
for dinner
.

“Old as the Rockies, eh?” said a deep voice in his ear.

Shoulders hunched, Finn turned around to face the fiddle. “Just kidding,” he mumbled. Dread turned to relief when Gideon's mouth twitched.

“You should be—your accent was deplorable.” He looked over Finn's head at the rest of the party. “Forgive me for arriving late,” he said to Susanna Steel. “And thank you, again, for having us to supper this evening.”

“Our pleasure.” She smiled. “We wanted to see you four before you left for the Festival.”

The Knight inclined his head, an old-fashioned gesture that charmed Susanna Steel and caused Mac Roth to scowl. Before sitting down, Gideon adjusted the sheathed knife hanging from the back of his belt.

“Do you ever go
anywhere
without a weapon?” Rufus Steel joked, pointing the spatula at him.

“Ye gods, no, Rufus.” Gideon smiled back. “Why, I've run into a fair share of those goblins in the oddest of places.”

“And what has been the oddest?” Susanna Steel asked, her South African accent a delightful counterpoint to the pale green of Gideon's Irish lilt.

“Walmart.” Both master and apprentice answered at the same time.

“‘A weaponless Knight is a lifeless Knight,'” Finn added, quoting Mac Roth's favorite saying. The redheaded giant beamed at him.

“'Tis the same for apprentices.” Gideon looked pointedly at Finn. “I'll wager you forgot yours.”

“Nope,” Finn said proudly. “I mean, no, sir.” Pulling up his pant leg, he revealed an ankle sheath and knife strapped around his calf.

Rufus Steel carried a tray of grilled hamburgers over and joined the party. “I have to admit, I'm still having trouble wrapping my head around the fact that my neighbors are really members of a mythical race of Celtic warriors who hunt goblins in our neighborhood.” He passed the tray, studying the Knights and apprentices. “I guess the scientist in me can't quite believe all this is real.”

“I understand your doubts,” Mac Roth said. “Especially since we've seen very few of the beasties for more than a month now.”

No sign of Iona, either
, Finn thought.

“Even so,” Gideon said. “Be on your guard, Rufus. The Amandán may retaliate, believing you and your family are now our allies.”

The conversation flowed around the table. While Rufus Steel and Gideon debated the merits of various models of trucks, Susanna Steel lectured Mac Roth about Colorado's high altitude and the need for sunscreen, especially on redheads like himself and Finn. The four teens looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Rafe cocked his head toward the hallway, a silent question on his face. The other three nodded.

Swallowing the last bite of burger, Finn waited until Gideon finished speaking before asking. “We're all done eating. Can we go?”

“I don't know—can you?”

Finn gritted his teeth. “
May
we go?”

“Go where?”

Anywhere there's not a bunch of adults
, Finn almost blurted out. He caught himself in time.

“Family room,” Rafe jumped in. “Play some video games.”

“Keep that door open,” Rufus Steel ordered.

“What's with the door thing?” Finn asked as they made their way down the hall to the den.

“It's Savannah's fault. She and Davis were in there last week working on homework with the door shut, and Mom got mad.”

“Why was your mom angry?” Finn asked.

“Who's Davis?” Lochlan demanded.

“Mom thinks a young lady should not be in a closed room with a boy,” said Savannah, mimicking her mother's accent. She kept her face averted while she searched for the television remote. “And Davis is a friend from math class.”

What does she mean
, friend
?
Finn thought.

“What do you mean,
friend
?” Lochlan pressed. “Like…like a
boyfriend
?”

“No! Davis is just a friend who happens to be a guy. Like you and Finn.”

But I don't want her to like me as
just a friend.
At least, I don't
think
I do
. Finn wasn't sure what was worse—feeling confused or being confused about feeling confused. For a brief moment, he found himself wishing that he could just stay thirteen the rest of his life.

He winced as he recalled sitting side-by-side on top of the picnic table with Gideon a few weeks ago, the late afternoon sun warm on their faces while they had The Talk. Even though Finn had insisted he already knew most of the details and how everything worked, at least in theory, Gideon had pressed the issue.

So, torn between embarrassment and curiosity, Finn had listened as his master, apparently quite comfortable with the subject, went into detail. A lot of details. At one point, the Knight had even offered to take Finn to the library to look at anatomy books. “If it would help you understand your body.” Finn had hastily declined after imagining a scene with his master striding up to the reference desk and asking the librarian, most likely a woman, if they had any books with pictures to help explain puberty to “the boyo here.” He shuddered anew at the thought.

“Your body is forging new paths, Finn lad. All that is happening with you is quite natural and is simply the next step on your journey to manhood,” his master had said at the end. “Besides your body changing, your thoughts and feelings are also changing. It can be a bit confusing, so speak with me whenever you have questions or concerns. There is nothing to be embarrassed about, for I was once thirteen like you.”

Watching his friends, one Fey and two humans, arguing who was going to play first, Finn shook his head.
Things are a lot different since you were my age, Gideon
.

The Journal of Finnegan MacCullen: Wednesday, September 18

Finally! We're all packed. Gideon wanted to have the truck loaded so we can leave at the butt crack of dawn. Sheesh.

What I Learned Today:

I like Savannah. But so does Lochlan. I think even more than me. And if I like Savannah like a girlfriend-kind-of-like, would that mess up being friends with her?

“H
ow much longer?” Finn pressed his face against the truck window as the vehicle labored up the narrow mountain pass, tires spinning on the gravely road. With little to see in the gray of predawn but thick pines on either side of the road, he slumped back down.

“The valley is just ahead.” As the grade steepened, Gideon downshifted, wrestling with the reluctant stick shift.

“About time. I've been stuck in here for over three hours.”

“And you slept for two of them.”

“Nothing else to do.”

“Weary of our new truck already?” Gideon caressed the steering wheel.

Finn snorted. “You call this
new
?” He gestured through the scratched windshield at the hood, its dark green paint pockmarked with dents from being caught in too many hailstorms, then down at the seat. A piece of duct tape, like a misplaced racing stripe, covered a rip in the fake leather between them. “It's like
three times
as old as I am.”

Gideon pointed to the dashboard. “It has a radio,” he said proudly.

“But it gets crappy reception this high in the mountains.”

The master ignored the comment. “And seat belts.” He glanced over with a frown. “Which I told you to put on when we left the house.”

“What about you?” Finn clicked his into place across his lap. “And don't tell me Knights don't have to wear them. You're the one who busted his ribs and got a concussion when we rolled off the side of the mountain.” He shuddered at the memory of finding his master bleeding and unconscious after their old truck had plunged off the high road last month. And of the desperate hours that followed, fighting for their lives against both goblin and sorceress.

As if reading his thoughts, Gideon nodded. Driving one-handed, he fastened the belt. “There. Safe as if my mum cradled me in her arms.”

Finn tried to imagine the Knight as a youngster. A picture of a toddler with black stubble on its chin and a dagger clenched in a chubby hand popped up. Shaking his head clear before the next image involving a diaper could take root, he rolled down the window. The wind roared in, filling the cab with the rumble of the engine and the cold of a high mountain dawn. His pulse sped up when they turned another bend. Gideon switched off the headlights as, behind them, the first rays of the sun cleared the rim of the earth.

A valley opened up before them, surrounded by rock-strewn hills. Looking westward, Finn could see a snowcapped range protecting the vale. A river chasm, narrow and deep and running west to east, split the valley in half. He caught glimpses of churning whitewater gleaming in the new sun as it flowed from the mountains. North of the river, a haphazard cluster of tents was tucked amongst groves of pines and aspens.

“Gideon, what are those?” He pointed to lights gleaming in the shadows of the trees. “I thought there wasn't any electricity and all that.”

“Most likely lanterns or even campfires. Some, like Mac Roth and Lochlan, arrived yesterday evening.”

Gideon pulled off to one side and parked the truck alongside a handful of other vehicles. Finn brightened when he caught a glimpse of Mac Roth's red Jeep a few cars away. A foot trail led westward from the parking area before disappearing into a stand of pines.

Peering out the back window, Finn noticed an archway, crafted from fresh-cut boughs and still dotted with pinecones, straddling the path. The apex rose higher than Mac Roth's head. His mouth went suddenly dry when he spied a shadowy figure standing motionless in the middle of the archway, blocking the way through the trees.

“Is that
him
?” Finn asked, pointing to the figure. Apprehension of what was about to happen twisted his gut into knots. Celtic knots, at that.

“Aye.” Gideon peered at him. “Nervous, are you?”

“Yes, sir. A little.”

The Knight nodded in understanding. “Nothing to fear, boyo. 'Tis but a tradition. Remember what I told you earlier—there'll be some parts of the Festival that'll seem a bit…medieval.” He climbed out and pulled on his canvas hunting jacket. Its dark green color was faded with age.

Swallowing, Finn followed. Grateful for the warmth of the puffy ski jacket that Gideon had purchased at a second-hand clothing store, he zipped it up to his chin, then took a deep breath and fell in behind his master. The grass, wet from the previous night's rain, soaked shoes and cuffs of jeans as they walked across the meadow grass toward the piney gate. Around them, the daylight grew. A bird called a sleepy note, then stilled.

A few feet from the grove, Gideon halted. He held up empty hands. Finn mimicked his master.

The figure emerged from the shadow. About the same height as Gideon, the man walked closer, movements slow and formal. Dressed in the colors of the Festival with a russet shirt and brown pants, the man sported a wild mane of brown curls reaching to his shoulders. A torc gleamed faintly around his neck. A horn, taken from some massive bull years upon years ago and curved like a crescent moon,
hung from a strap across his chest. In one fist, he held a long, curving prong from an antler. It shone ghostly pale in the early light. As he drew nearer, Finn noticed the tip was sharpened to a nasty-looking point. And stained black.

Taking a stance in front of Gideon, the man pointed the antler tine first north, then west, then south, then east, making a circle. He then directed it at the waiting Knight. “I am the
C
ú,” he proclaimed, pronouncing it like
Coo
. “The Hound that Guards the Gate. Declare yourself.”

“I am Gideon Lir of Clan Lir. Descendent of the Black Hand. Knight of the Tuatha De Danaan.”

“Do you submit to the will and laws of the
Rath
?”

“I do submit.”

“And how do you pledge your word?”

“Blood oath.” Gideon dropped to one knee in front of the Hound and tilted his head back.

The Hound approached closer. He pressed the tip of the prong against Gideon's throat, right under the jawbone. A pause. Then, with a flick of a wrist, he nicked the exposed skin. Blood welled up from the small cut.

It took every bit of willpower for Finn to keep his feet from walking out from under him—presumably to head back to the truck. Or High Springs. Either one was fine. Heart thundering, he watched as the Hound stepped around the still-kneeling Knight and came toward him. A drop of blood glistened on the point of the antler.