Finn Finnegan (18 page)

He soared upward and landed with a soft thump on the shingles. Dropping to his hands and knees for balance, he kept low as he crawled up the slope toward the chimney.

“Hey, how did you get up there?”

Finn jumped. He looked down. Rafe stood near the street, oddly foreshortened as he peered up. Ignoring the question, Finn forged ahead. Reaching the ball, he leaned over and swatted it, sending it rolling down to Rafe. “Here it comes!”

As the other boy ran across the lawn in pursuit, Finn scuttled back the way he had come, sliding down to the roof's edge on his bottom. He halted, feet braced against the rain gutter.

I hate this part
, he thought, looking down between his knees at the narrow strip of grass. He swallowed.
Just do it, before anyone sees you
. He eased upright and balanced on the very edge, singing softly, arms stretched like wings.
Here goes
.

He stepped off the roof, and out into thin air.

Landing with a grunt a moment later, Finn blew out his breath in relief. He glanced back up and shuddered.
I don't care what Gideon says about it getting easier—it still freaks me out
.

“Whoa! That was insane.”

He spun around.

Rafe stood by the corner of the house, eyes wide and the basketball tucked under one arm. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then finally shook his head. “Okay. How?”

“How, what?”

“Dude, how did you get up there and then jump down, without breaking a leg or something?”

“How did you think I did it?”

“Let me guess. Wings?”

“You mean, like on a bird?”

Rafe growled and threw the ball at Finn. Hard. It smacked him in the gut.

“Okay, okay, I get the message.” Finn rubbed his stomach and walked over to Rafe. “I used the…um, the tree.” He pointed to the tall cottonwood flanking the far corner of the house. Its limbs brushed against the bricks. “I got high enough on the trunk, then pulled myself over the rain gutter and then just wiggled onto the roof.” Finn tensed as he waited.
He is
so
not buying this
.

Rafe raised his eyebrows as he stared at the tree. “Well, I guess that makes sense,” he said doubtfully, scratching the back of his head. “But what about you jumping—”

“Finn?” Mr. Steel strolled from the backyard, wiping his hands on a rag. “Would you like to stay for dinner? I just got the barbeque working.” He looked over at Rafe. “What do you say, son? Shall we torch some meat tonight?”

Rafe laughed. “And leave the insides all bloody, and watch Dr. Mom freak out? Sure.” He turned to Finn. “Want to stay?”

“Thanks, but Gideon wants me home by four.”

“Is your guardian pretty strict with you about being on time?” Mr. Steel asked, a curious expression on his kind face.

“I guess.”
But not as strict as he is about holding my weapon correctly when I'm hunting goblins
.

“So will you be going to Red Rocks Middle School in the fall? With the twins?”

“No, sir. I'm homeschooled.”

“I see.”

Before Mr. Steel could ask another question, Finn checked his watch. “Thanks again for asking me to dinner. I better go.” He nodded at Rafe. “See ya.” He spun on his heels and trotted across the street, aware of their gazes on his back.

Pulling the gate securely behind him, he checked the bronze wire, then looked up at the slap of the screen door. Gideon appeared on the porch carrying a glass of iced tea in one hand.

The Knight sank down on one of the battered lawn chairs, with a contented sigh. The frame creaked as he settled back. “‘Summer afternoon. The two most beautiful words in the English language,'” he quoted, offering the glass to Finn as he walked up the steps.

“Shakespeare?” Finn took a big gulp, then handed it back.

“An American. Henry James.”

Finn nodded, distracted. He hoisted himself up on the porch rail, one arm looped around the post as he swung a foot. Something about Mr. Steel's questions niggled at him.

“Hey, Gideon? Why would Rafe's da ask me—?”

He froze when several crows sailed into their yard, landing with a flap and flutter of midnight wings. The birds strutted around, croaking, jerking their heads to and fro. As the De Danaan jumped to their feet, a dozen more landed on the nearby power line, jostling for position. The wire sagged under their weight.

“Get inside,” Gideon shouted, over the deafening cawing. His knife flashed in his hand.

Finn bolted for the house, his master on his heels. As the Knight stopped to secure the bronze-clad door behind him, Finn raced through the house. Sliding across the kitchen floor, he kicked the back door shut, the glass panes rattling from the impact. After throwing the dead bolt, he hurried to the sink and peered out the window Cloud shadows drifted across the yard as another storm brewed over the mountains.

Crows lined the stone wall like blackened teeth.

Finn stared, the hairs on his arms standing straight up, unable to take his gaze off the birds. After a few moments, he tore his eyes away and leaned over. Tugging up his pant leg, he slid the knife free, then straightened and looked out.

The crows had vanished.

Finn whirled around as Gideon rushed into the kitchen. The Knight sighed with relief at the sight of the back door, bolted and secured.

“Did ye see anything?” Gideon took a stance next to Finn, scanning the yard. The afternoon darkened as the rainstorm approached the city.

“Just a few seconds ago, the crows were all over the place, but then they disappeared when I wasn't looking.” Finn peered up at his master's profile. “Does that mean the Amandán are gone?' he asked, hopefully.

“Not bleedin' likely.” Gideon gestured with his chin. “Look, ye.”

Finn whipped his head around. “Oh,” he breathed, eyes widening as he stared back out.

Crows fought for position along every inch of the stone wall, their sharp beaks needling each other. As Finn watched, a dozen more crash-landed into the flock. Hoarse cawing battled with the first rumble of thunder. The gloom thickened; a bolt of lightning speared the sky. Finn flinched, almost dropping his knife.

“Steady.” Gideon clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “We are well protected here. Nonetheless, we'll stand vigil tonight, just to be certain.” He let go and ran a thumb along the blade of his knife, as he studied Finn.

Finn nodded. “So, what do we do now?” He hoped the Knight didn't catch the faint quiver in his voice.

“The first order of business during a siege is to secure the walls or perimeters. We've done that. And now…” his voiced trailed off as he searched through a drawer. Pulling out a whetstone and a small bottle of honing oil, he handed them and his knife to Finn. “Here. Give the blade's edge a kiss.”

Finn screwed up his face. “You want me to do
what?
”

Gideon laughed. “I want ye to sharpen it a bit more. Which is the second order of business.” He waited, expectant.

“Make sure your weapons are ready?” At Gideon's nod, Finn dribbled a few drops of oil on the stone, smeared it around with his thumb, then began drawing the weapon across it, first one side, then the other. A rhythmic
sweesh, sweesh
filled the kitchen, muffling the sound of the falling rain.

“Flatten the angle of the blade a bit more.” Gideon observed him for another moment, then went over to the refrigerator. He pulled out a platter of cold roasted chicken and a loaf of brown bread and placed them on the table, next to a basket piled with apples. After a moment's thought, he added several carrot sticks.

Continuing the task, Finn clenched his jaw at the next explosion of lightning. After the thunder faded a few seconds later, he glanced out the window and cleared his throat. “Looks like the birds have taken off again,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Aye, they may do that from time to time, depending on the Amandán's location, back there in the woods.”

“Is it normal for them to surround a house like this?” He laid the whet stone on the counter and wiped the blade on a clean cloth.

Gideon hesitated for a moment, then spoke softly. “No, boyo, it is not.” He finished setting out the impromptu supper and turned to face the apprentice. “I'll tell ye the truth of it—I'm not sure what the beasties are up to.” He walked over and took the weapon back. Grunting with satisfaction, he put it away, then gestured toward the table. “We should eat whilst we can. It may be a longish night.”

Gideon shifted his weight to his other leg as he stood watch in the darkened kitchen. Dragging a hand down his face, he grimaced at the stubble along his jaw.
Perhaps I should grow a beard again. T'would save time shaving, to be sure. Why, I haven't worn one since…

He shoved the rest of the thought away and kicked it back into the corner of his heart. Clamping down on his memories with an iron will, he glanced through the window to scan the yard for the thousandth time. He frowned when a single crow appeared, almost invisible in the inky night. It flapped awkwardly, with soaked wings, before landing on the wall.

“Finn,” he called over a shoulder. “It appears the beasties are drawing near again.” At the lack of response, he turned and hurried through the shadowy house to the living room.

A figure sat slumped on the wide sill, silhouetted against the front window. A whuffling sound echoed through the silent room.

Fast asleep, I'll warrant
, Gideon thought.
Well, I cannot expect an old head on young shoulders. I best wake him, though
.

With the stealth of a hunting wolf, he edged around the furniture and eased closer. Narrowing his eyes, he peered into his apprentice's sleeping face pressed against the glass. A line of drool slid from the corner of Finn's mouth and trickled down the pane. A knife was loosely clasped in one hand.

A snort of laughter escaped the Knight.

At the sound, Finn lurched to his feet, then stumbled, wind-milling his arms for balance. As he fell backwards, the tip of his knife snagged the curtain next to him. With a cry, Finn crashed to the floor. A moment later, the drape followed in a puff of dust, the drapery rod a second after that. It whacked him on the head with a sharp crack.

“They're in the house,” Finn shouted, his voice muffled by yards of fabric. He began kicking frantically.

Dodging the flailing feet, Gideon peeled the curtain off his apprentice. Once Finn emerged, the Knight took a step back and tried to quell his laughter. He failed.

“It's not funny.” Finn shoved the rest of the material to one side and scrambled to his feet. He glared up at the Knight before retrieving his blade from under the pile. “What are you doing, sneaking up on me like that and then growling in my face? You're lucky I didn't knife you.

“Aye, that I am.” Gideon waved a hand in dismissal when Finn started to pick up the drapery and rod. “Leave those for now. We need to reconnoiter a bit, outside.”

“Are the crows back?”

“Only one, as yet.” Gideon led the way to the kitchen door. He peered out, then slid the bolt, slowly and silently, and inched the door open. “Behind me, now,” he whispered. “And instant obedience if I order ye to retreat. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gideon swung the door further ajar and stepped out into the night.

The stars winked in and out of view as the last of the storm clouds drifted away. Rain-soaked pines perfumed the air. The solitary crow fluttered its wings, then stilled.

Signaling Finn to wait, Gideon stalked further into the yard and paused by the picnic table. He cocked his head to listen for a moment, then motioned for Finn to come along.

Knife at the ready, he joined the Knight. Together, they crept toward the stone wall; Finn winced with each step as his shoes squelched in the sodden grass.

When the De Danaan reached the center of the yard, the crow opened its beak. Master and apprentice froze. The bird closed its beak again.