Mystical Warrior (14 page)

A thunderous boom suddenly shook the air as a blinding flash filled the television screen. Gabriella screamed and grabbed Fiona, and Misneach gave a frightened yelp and scurried under the bed.

The deafening boom continued rumbling overhead like rolling thunder, making the walls and floor shudder violently and the air throb with energy. The shelf of supplies toppled over, and Gabriella screamed again as they both scrambled out of the way.

Seeing that the television screen had gone blank, Fiona ran over and pressed her ear to the door. She heard rocks and beams falling and what sounded like a faint shout that ended abruptly when something heavy slammed into the metal she was leaning against.

And then everything went eerily silent except for Gabriella’s weeping.

“Be quiet,” Fiona whispered, waving at Gabriella as she
pressed her ear back to the door. She heard a weak groan and felt the metal shudder as she heard more rocks shifting and another groan.

She straightened and slid open the first of the four latches.

“What are you doing?” Gabriella cried, rushing over and pulling her hand away. “Mr. Huntsman said we aren’t to open the door for any reason.”

Fiona shrugged free and slid open the second latch. “Do you see Trace here to tell me I can’t?”

“But what if the demons got him and Mr. Oceanus, and they’re on the other side of the door? Let’s find the secret way out that Mr. Huntsman used.”

“He doesn’t like to be called Mr. Huntsman,” Fiona informed her, now knowing why. She slid open the third bolt. “And exactly where do you intend to go? There’s a storm of demons still raging outside.” She placed her hand on the last bolt. “And if we don’t get Trace and Mac in here where they’ll be safe, we may all die.”

She tried sliding the fourth bolt, but when it didn’t budge because something on the other side was holding pressure against it, Fiona leaned her shoulder into the door and tried pushing on it as she tugged on the bolt.

Gabriella stopped her again. “Wh-when did you become so brave?”

Fiona stared directly into her friend’s huge eyes. “Sometime last week after our trip to town, when a clueless little puppy reminded me that courage doesn’t require having control over what happens to us but having control over how we
react
to what happens to us. No matter what happened to him, Misneach simply went about the business of living.”

Gabriella’s eyes widened. “Are you saying your pet really did give you courage?”

“Even better, he gave me hope. Mac gave me back my life, Kenzie and Matt gave me my freedom, Trace unwittingly gave me a purpose—however misguided or temporary it may have been,” she said with a laugh. “And I gave myself permission to get on with the business of my own life.”

Gabriella suddenly smiled. “So, does that mean you’re not afraid to fall in love now, and get married and have babes and live happily ever after?”

Fiona pushed against the door again. “I’ll settle for two out of four. Having another child is all I need to be happy. So, come on, help me get Trace and Mac in here so we can
all
live happily ever after.”

With Gabriella’s weight added to hers, Fiona was able to slowly slide the last bolt free. The door suddenly shot open, sending them both scurrying out of the way when rocks and dirt cascaded into the room—along with the bloody and battered body of an unconscious man Fiona didn’t recognize.

“You see if he’s still alive,” she told Gabriella as she grabbed the flashlight and stepped past him. She crawled up over the debris littering the corridor, having to shove broken beams and a couple of heavy rocks out of her way, stopping every so often to listen as she aimed the light around the tunnel.

“Trace!” she shouted. “Make a noise so I can find you.”

“What part of ‘don’t open that door for anything’ didn’t you understand?” he growled from about ten paces away.

“I think it was the ‘for anything’ part,” she said, crawling
toward him. “Or maybe the ‘don’t’ part.” She stopped when she spotted his bloody face but quickly aimed her flashlight at where his body should be; he gave a curse and blinked furiously against the light in his eyes. Only instead of his body, all she saw were rocks.

She shone the beam farther down the tunnel and saw that debris had filled it nearly up to the ceiling. A screaming howl pierced the air just then, and several large rocks tumbled down, one of them knocking the flashlight out of her hand.

“Get the hell out of here!” Trace shouted. “Go back to the room and lock the door! Now!”

She crawled over to him, the beam of the fallen light allowing her to see his scowl. “Yeah, about closing that door,” she said, carefully removing the rocks from around his shoulders. “That might take a while, as a portion of the cave fell into the room—along with a man I really hope is Mac.”

“I thought eleventh-century women actually did what they were told,” he muttered, wiggling his shoulders in an attempt to help her free him.

She stopped digging. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

He blinked at her—or maybe he was only trying to see past the blood seeping into his eyes. “Kenzie believes you’re too afraid of men to even talk to them.”

She started moving rocks again. “I’m not afraid of men; I merely don’t like them. Can you feel your legs?”

“I hope you’re not all that attached to your hair,” he said tightly, “because a good two feet of it is coming off just as soon as I get out of here.”

She flipped her braid over her shoulder and started shoving rocks away from his chest and stomach. “I would love to have short hair like some of the women I’ve seen on
television.” She shot him a quick smile. “You would cut it for me? Truly?”

The glare he gave her was hot enough to
burn
off all her hair.

His hands now free, he started tossing rocks off his legs.

“Fiona! Did you find Mr.—Trace?” Gabriella called from the doorway.

“I found him, and he’s definitely alive. How’s Mac?”

“He’s alive, too, but I can’t get him to wake up. And one of his arms is still a flipper. What should I do?”

“Drag him into the room and move the rocks away from the door so we can close it,” Trace called to her. He glared at Fiona. “The bastard actually shot at me.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think he was shooting
at
you, more like over your shoulder.” She picked up the flashlight and shone it toward the entrance of the corridor. “Can you see that?” she said. “Doesn’t that look like some sort of webbed foot sticking up past those beams?”

The air shook with another thunderous boom, and Fiona leaned over Trace, wrapping her arms around his head and shoulders. A blood-curdling scream came from behind the wall of debris, and rocks began moving at the far end of the tunnel.

Fiona suddenly went flying toward the room. “Crawl!” Trace shouted at her.

“Not without you.”

“I’m right behind you.”

When she glanced over her shoulder because she didn’t believe him, he placed his hand on her backside and gave her a shove. “Keep moving!”

She ended up falling into the room but quickly sprang to
her feet, grabbed Trace when he faltered, and dragged him all the way inside. “Help me close the door, Gabriella!” she cried, stepping over Trace to reach the door.

But when she saw the screaming dark shadow rushing toward them, Fiona pulled the revolver from her waist, aimed down the corridor, and pulled the trigger.

The gun exploded in her hands, jerking upward so violently that she nearly dropped it. She brought it back down and immediately pulled the trigger again, but knowing what to expect this time, she held it steady and fired four more times.

Her ears ringing with the sharp peal of gunfire echoing through the room, mixing with the god-awful screams of several more charging demons, Fiona barely heard Trace shouting at her to close the goddamned door.

But just as she tucked the gun back in at her waist, another deafening round of gunfire filled the room, this time several shots in rapid succession.

She and Gabriella shoved as hard as they could, both of them using their backs to push the door through the dirt, which allowed Fiona to see Trace lying on the floor, his own gun held straight out in both hands as he fired into the tunnel.

Only he wasn’t pulling the trigger each time but merely holding it back, and small pieces of metal were flying out the side of the gun.

And he had a heck of a lot more than six bullets.

He stopped firing. “You’ve almost got it!” he shouted, dragging himself to the door and reaching for the bottom latch. “Harder! Push!”

Her ears ringing so loudly that his shouts sounded like
whispers, Fiona felt rather than heard the bolt slide into place. She immediately turned and seated the top bolt and finally the other two.

She spun around, grabbed Gabriella, and hugged her. “We did it!” she cried, although she barely heard her own words. She leaned away to grin at her friend. “You were so strong and courageous; we couldn’t have done it without you!” She cupped the girl’s trembling face between her hands. “Don’t you ever again tell me you’re afraid of
anything
.” She hugged Gabriella to her. “You will have your babes, and you will be a fearsome mother. You just wait until I see William. I am
so
going to rub your courage in his ugly face the next time he tries to tell me women are the weaker sex.”

“Do you suppose we can hold off patting ourselves on the back until
after
we take stock of our injuries and come up with plan C?” Trace muttered, rolling to sit up and lean against the door. His eyes suddenly widened. “Holy shit, get that gun out of your pants! Revolvers don’t have safeties, and if you fall, you could blow off your leg!”

“You might have mentioned that earlier,” she muttered, pulling it out and handing it to him when he held out his hand. “Not that it matters now, as I believe it’s empty.”

He grinned. “Remind me never to piss you off when you’re holding a gun.”

“Can I buy one of those at the Shop ’n Save?” she asked, nodding at his hand.

His grin disappeared. “No!” He blew out a breath, looked over at the man lying beside him, and used the barrel of the gun to give him a poke.

When he didn’t move, Trace poked him harder.

The man grunted and opened his eyes, blinking several times as he grabbed his head and finally focused his glare on Trace. “Sweet mother of Neptune, Huntsman, you poke me again and I swear you’ll smell like a skunk’s ass the rest of your life.”

“Why are you bleeding all over my floor instead of Kenzie Gregor’s?” Trace ground out. “And shooting at me instead of at him?”

“I was shooting at the demon behind you,” Mac returned. He lifted his head enough to glance toward Fiona, then back at Trace. “And I wasn’t sure how welcomed I’d be at An Téarmann.” He rolled onto his side. “What’s she doing here?” he asked softly, although Fiona still heard him. “I would have thought she’d be at de Gairn’s.”

“Matt pawned her off on Kenzie,” Trace said, not at all bothering to whisper. “And Kenzie pawned her off on me.”

Mac lowered his head to the floor with a groan.

Trace chuckled. “Don’t you just love it when a good deed comes back and bites you on the ass? Hey, your sister’s not with you, is she?”

Mac snorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Carolina was
leading
the demons.”

“Can you make them go away, Mr. Oceanus?” Gabriella asked.

She bent down to pick up the trident, but Mac snapped open his eyes and moved it out of her reach. “Gabriella,” he said cordially—or at least as cordially as he could, Fiona guessed, considering that he appeared to be half dead. “You’re looking well.” He smiled weakly. “Other than today’s little … event, how’s life been treating you?”

Gabriella straightened and actually curtsied to him. “It’s
been treating me very well, Mr. Oceanus. I love everything about this century.”

“Please, I’ve asked you to call me Mac.” He moved his gaze to Fiona. “And Ms. Gregor, life seems to have … I believe you’ve changed a bit since I last saw you.”

“Not really. I’m still being pawned off from one man to another, apparently.”

“O-kay,” Trace injected. “Now that all the niceties are over, can we get back to figuring out plan C?”

“I vote for we resume your original plan,” Mac said, closing his eyes on a sigh, “and not open the door for anything and wait two days before we emerge. Surely Kenzie and William will have turned the storm away by then.”

“How in hell did you know what the knock was?” Trace asked.

“Mr.—Mac is a powerful drùidh,” Gabriella said before he could answer. “And drùidhs know everything.”

“Apparently, not everything,” Mac muttered. “I don’t have a clue who is after me, much less why.”

“Some woman’s enraged father, most likely,” Fiona said. Ignoring Mac’s glare, she crouched in front of Trace and started to take off the sheath strapped to his leg so she could check his knee.

He stopped her by grabbing hold of her hand. “No, I need to leave it on. If you want to help, see if you can find the medicine kit that was on the shelf so I can stop this bleeding,” he said, wiping his face. But when she started to stand up, he held her in place. “You did good today.”

“Does that mean you won’t cut off my hair for opening the door?”

He grinned, and for the first time since she’d met him, it actually reached his eyes. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Mac snorted. “Are you still using that silly threat, Huntsman?”

Trace arched a brow at him. “You got a better one, Oceanus? No, wait, I forgot; you can’t even get
close
enough to a woman to threaten her. How’d your little trip to the mountains pan out, anyway? Did you find any single MacKeage women in Pine Creek willing to date you?”

When Fiona saw Mac’s hand twitch—the one holding his trident—she pulled free and stood up. “Gabriella, have you seen Misneach?”

“Oh!” Gabriella gasped, looking around. “He was right here before … before …” She looked toward the door, her eyes wide with worry as she looked back at Fiona. “Could he have followed you into the tunnel?” she whispered. “Oh, Fiona, I lost him!”