Finn Finnegan (14 page)

Gideon stood in the middle of the living room, a puzzled expression on his face as he watched Finn sleep.
I did not think the chore list was
that
tiresome
, he thought. He stepped closer and frowned as he noticed the boy's left arm.
And just how hard were you punching that bag?
Taking a seat on the nearby coffee table, he patted his apprentice's knee. “Wake up, boyo.”

Finn blinked and looked around blearily. “What's wrong?” he said, in confusion. He sat up gingerly, trying to tame his rumpled hair with his good hand.

“I should ask ye.” Leaning over, Gideon slid a hand under Finn's swollen wrist, supporting the boy's arm as he peered at it. “Boxing a bit too enthusiastically?”

“Uh…yeah. I guess I went after it pretty hard.”

Gideon flexed Finn's wrist a few times, and raised an eyebrow at Finn's yelp. “It's just a sprain, ye wee baby,” he teased. “And ye call yerself a De Danaan—maybe I should take that tore back.” He released Finn's arm and rose. “We'll apply a cooling poultice, and then I'll wrap it for ye. T'will be right as rain by tomorrow.” He headed for the kitchen, the apprentice on his heels.

While Finn took a seat at the kitchen table, Gideon soaked a rag in a wide-mouthed jar of
slainte
nettle brew he kept in the refrigerator. “Keep the cloth draped around yer wrist until ‘tis no longer cold,” Gideon instructed him as he bustled around preparing sandwiches. Carrying lunch to the table, he handed one of the plates to Finn and joined him. “By the way, I've a bit of news for ye.” He took a bite of his roast beef sandwich, and grunted with approval as he licked mustard off his thumb.

“We're getting a computer?” Finn's face lit up. “Finally! Even sharing with my cousins was better than—” He stopped when Gideon shook his head.

“Ye know how tight our budget is. The value of gold is low right now, so our monthly stipend is low. Once the global market for gold picks up, we'll look into getting one, eh?”

Finn nodded. He scooped up a handful of potato chips and shoved them into his mouth. “So, how does that work?” he asked, crumbs sputtering out of his mouth. “I mean, do we really get a pile of gold each month?”

“Finnegan MacCullen! For the hundredth time, do not speak whilst eating! Ye gods, it's like living with a feral child. I should just tie ye up to a post in the backyard and feed ye out of a bowl on the ground.” He shook his head when Finn burst out laughing, choking on his food and spewing even more crumbs.

“Now, to answer yer question, all De Danaan receive a set amount of funds deposited into their bank accounts each month from a common reserve. That reserve is based on gold accumulated from trade as well as plunder in the ancient days. Mac Roth believes that's where the Irish legend of the leprechaun's pot of gold at the end of the rainbow might have come from.”

“But we're Tuatha De Danaan. Fey, not leprechauns.”

“Aye, but mortals have twisted and blended truth and legend so much that very few, if any, humans know or understand that other beings share this world.”

Finn began to speak, then stopped and stuffed the last of the sandwich in his mouth. Careful to swallow before talking, he asked. “So, what was the news?”

“Mac Roth and Asher will be hunting more often with us.”

He made a face. “Why?”

Gideon gazed across the table for a moment, his eyes glancing at the tore around Finn's neck, and then down to his injured arm. “For protection.”

“Protection?”

“Aye. With the beasties becoming bolder, there is safety in numbers.” He rose. Gathering the empty plates, he placed them in the sink and began running the water. Speaking over his shoulder, he added, “So, we've decided to band together. That way, Mac Roth and I can hunt more productively and provide additional supervision for ye two hooligans.” He flipped a towel over one arm and started to wash, then raised his eyebrows when Finn joined him, elbowing him aside.

“I got it. I made that promise, remember?” Finn explained. He paused at Gideon's look of astonishment. “What?”

“Why, nothing. Nothing at all.” The Knight smiled to himself and draped the towel over Finn's shoulder. “Keep yer injured wrist out of the warm water if ye can.”

“Yes, sir.” Finn grinned when Gideon cuffed him affectionately, his hand lingering on the boy's head for a moment.

“Good lad.”

“Right. Grip it tight, now,” Gideon instructed. He began pounding in another nail, anchoring a narrow strip of bronze sheeting to the window sill. The
twonk-twonk
of each hammer strike rebounded off the glass pane and echoed around their front porch.

Standing shoulder to shoulder with his master, Finn held the metal in place with his good hand. As Gideon worked, Finn watched him out of the corner of his eye.

Stripped down to a white tee shirt, the Knight swung the hammer with short, controlled strikes, his brows drawn together in concentration. Finn studied the muscles in Gideon's arms, then glanced down at his own and made a face.
I wonder if I should start lifting weights or something. I look like a drawing of a stick figure
.

“So, how long did it take to get that?” he asked, gesturing with his chin at Gideon's tattoo.

“Twelve years and one hour,” Gideon said, around the extra nail held between his teeth.

“T-twelve years?”

“The length of my apprenticeship, plus the hour it took the druid to mark me.”

“Can
I
get one when I finish my apprenticeship?”
I'll have a tattoo like my da
, he thought.
And Gideon, too
, a quiet voice added.

Gideon spat the nail into his palm before answering. “Aye. If ye can abide the prick of the thorn.”

Finn's eyes bulged. “A
thorn?
” To his embarrassment, his voice cracked.

Gideon nodded, his attention on the task. “If yer going to carry the mark of Knighthood, ye should be tattooed in the old way.” He swung the hammer again. “There. That was the last one.” Thunder rumbled overhead as an afternoon storm built up over the western mountains.

“Will this really stop the Amandán from getting inside the house?” Finn stepped back to the edge of the porch, studying the pair of windows next to the front entrance. “Because it looks totally stupid. Especially the door.”

Gideon wiped the sweat from his face with the hem of his tee shirt. “Nonsense. This is going to be the next home decorating trend,” he said, tossing the hammer into the toolbox with a clang. “Why, soon everyone will be framing their windows in bronze as well as sheathing their doors with it.” He glanced down the path. “By the way, well done on the gate. Clever solution to—” He stopped, staring at the three figures approaching from across the street. “Now, what would they be wanting?” he muttered, walking down the steps.

Finn spun around at the Knight's comment.
Oh, no—not now, Rafe
. He plucked nervously at the elastic bandage wrapped around his left wrist.

“Hey, Finn!” Rafe called, as they drew nearer. “My dad wanted to meet you and ask you about that woman that chased you.”

“And to make sure your arm was okay,” Savannah added.

The twins' father stepped forward. “Hello, Gideon. Good to see you again.” He shook hands with the reluctant De Danaan, trying not to stare at the bronze-covered door behind Finn. “And you must be Finn MacCullen, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Finn said through stiff lips, frozen in place on the porch.

The Knight cleared his throat. “How might I be of service, Rufus?”

Rufus Steel smiled, draping an arm around Savannah's shoulders. “Oh, I just wanted to stop by and check on Finn. And I was wondering if he could tell me more about what happened at the park this morning?”

“Beg pardon—the park? This morning?”

“Yes, when he and my children went to the store for sodas.”

Gideon stiffened. Without turning his head, he spoke over his shoulder. “Come.” The Knight pointed the ground next to his right side. “Here.”

I am so screwed
, Finn thought, as he started down the steps.

The Journal of Finnegan MacCullen: June 20

Day one hundred and sixty-two of my captivity…

Gideon would call that
hyperbole
.

I'm serving prison time. In my room. I
think
I'm grounded until the autumn equinox, but it was hard to understand him. When Gideon's really angry, his accent goes off the scale! At least he didn't blow up in front of Rafe and Savannah—he waited until they left.

Mr. Steel's a science teacher, not a policeman or anything. So, I don't understand why he kept asking me if I felt safe in the neighborhood, and if anyone had ever chased me before.

Gee, Mr. Steel. Do ugly, smelly goblins that want to scramble my brains inside of my skull count as
unsafe?

What I Learned Today:

Omission of the truth is a falsehood, according to Gideon. By sneaking off with Rafe and Savannah after he told me no, and by letting him believe that I hurt myself boxing instead of escaping an Amandán, it was like lying to him.

Don't think I'll be making
that
mistake again!

It's weird.

I really, really want to be friends with Rafe and Savannah. (Mostly Rafe. Savannah's okay for a girl.) And I thought I was cool with disobeying Gideon about it. I mean, being buds with Rafe can't hurt anyone.

Not if I'm careful.

But I really, really want Gideon to trust me. To think I'm a good apprentice.

To like me. And not just because I'm his apprentice.

But to like
me
.

It's late. Almost midnight. Still raining, but not as hard.

Gideon's not back yet.

He went hunting by himself in the park where that goblin chased me today. Headed over there right after dark to try to pick up its trail and track it.

What if there's more than one Amandán? What if he's hurt right now, out in this storm, and I'm just sitting around?

That's it—I'm out of here!!!

Finn closed the journal with a
clap
. Jumping up, he fished his shoes out from under the desk and shoved his feet into them, hopping on one foot, then the other, as he tied them. He flexed his wrist a few times.
Not too bad, I guess
. He hurried from the room and down the stairs to the living room. Halting in front of the weapon rack, he selected a knife. “Hmm, I better take an extra,” he muttered, grabbing a second one. He thrust one into his belt at his hip and the other in the sheath, then took a deep breath and headed toward the front door. Grabbing his hoodie from the coat hook, he tugged it on and slipped outside.

Breaking into a jog, he pulled the hood up against the rain and glanced around the neighborhood. He splashed along, hunching his shoulders each time the lightning cracked. Finn couldn't help noticing the lit windows of the other houses on the street.
All those humans. Safe inside their homes. And none of them know about our war with the Amandán. I wonder if any one of them would even help us
.