Finn Finnegan (12 page)

The Knight took the tore and held it in both hands as he gazed down at Finn. “Now, in centuries gone, we'd be celebrating this day with song and a feast and many a boastful tale from older apprentices and Knights deep in their cups. But even without the vainglory trappings, ‘tis a wondrous moment.” He got down on one knee in front of Finn. ‘“I am the vigor of man,'” he quoted softly, then pulled the tore open just wide enough to slip it around the boy's throat. He squeezed it, bringing the two ends close, but not quite touching. “
Gle mhaith
, lad. Wear it with honest pride. Not many apprentices earn the tore at such a young age.”

“Really?” Finn tucked his chin, trying to view the neckpiece.

“Truly. Now go admire yer beauty, then we'll eat.”

Tearing out of the kitchen, Finn dashed back to the half-bath. Clicking on the light, he leaned over the sink, his breath fogging the mirror as he adjusted the band. “Gideon!” he yelled over a shoulder. “What about when I shower?” He jumped when the Knight appeared behind him.

“‘Tis pure gold. Water can't harm it. Ye might want to remove it to sleep, however.”

“No way. I'm never taking it off.” Finn grinned up at his master in the mirror.

Gideon smiled back.

The Journal of Finnegan MacCullen: June 19

I did it!!! I bagged my first Amandán!!! Got my tore and everything. Still got it on.

I didn't think I was going to—they're hard to kill. And the fight seemed to go on forever. I hope Gideon didn't notice how scared I was. But then we charged them together and BAM! My knife went in!

Gideon is a freaking machine when he fights!!! He never gets tired. I wonder if I'll ever be as good as he is. Probably not.
Nobody
is as good a warrior as he is.

On the way home, I asked him why he didn't just throw his knife at the goblins. He said the throw is a last-resort move and should never be done unless you have no other options. Because the risk of missing is too great, especially if you don't have an extra blade. I guess that's why we spend so much time practicing stabbing as well as throwing.

What I Learned Today:

The ash or powder Amandán leave behind is like when a snake sheds its skin. That's why it takes time for the creature to reform.

I also learned that humans, like Rafe, feel about their people's heritage like I feel about mine. I guess his lion bracelet is like my tore. I wish I could tell him about it. And what it means.

The Journal of Gideon Lir: June 19

Finnegan MacCullen, after being an apprentice for less than four weeks, won his first battle with an Amandán. It was well-fought. And I doubt I'll see that tore off of him for quite some time.

He does, however, have a ways to go. He is still defiant, still struggles with his temper. But I believe Finn will make a fine Knight in time.

I should have spoken with him this evening about the Steel boy. I know from experience that friendships between mortals and De Danaan only end in sorrow

But he deserved to have this evening of joy. I'll battle with him tomorrow over breakfast.

“But why?” Finn stood in the middle of the kitchen, breakfast forgotten on the table. He glared at his master's back. “It's not like I'm going to tell him what I am and start waving my knife around. I'm not stupid, you know.” His voice rose in frustration.

“What part of
ye're-not-to-associate-with-mortals
are ye not understanding?” Gideon slammed his thick mug into the sink and turned around. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared down at the boy. “Look, ye want friends. And that's all well and fine. As long as they're
our
kind.” He pushed a dirty skillet aside, then leaned back against the counter. “What about Asher?”

“Asher?” Finn made a face. “He's a jerk.”

Gideon raised an eyebrow. “‘Tis a bit rude.”

“I could be ruder,” Finn mumbled. “And anyway, Rafe's cool. This summer, he got to visit his grandfather in—”

“No, Finn.”

“Oh, come on, Gideon! What's the big deal if I hang out with him once in awhile?”

Gideon's face darkened. Ignoring the question, he snatched a piece of paper off the counter and held it out. “Here's a list of chores and drills ye're to do whilst I pay a visit to Mac Roth and speak with him about—”

“You're not even listening to me!” Finn shoved a kitchen chair against the table with a bang, rattling the leftover dishes. Anger swelled in his chest. He found it hard to breathe.

“I
am
listening to ye. Ye wish to befriend a mortal. And the Steels are decent folk. But the answer is still bleedin' no!” The Knight took a calming breath and threw the sheet of paper on the table as he brushed past Finn. “I want these chores completed by the time I get back at one o'clock,” he said over his shoulder as he left.

Finn snatched up the list and crumpled it into a ball. His mouth twisted with frustration as he hurled it across the kitchen. Whirling around, he stormed out the back door.

Stalking across the yard, he headed to the punching bag hanging from a tree limb in the far corner. With a growl, he attacked it with his fists, trying to empty himself of the rage. Pummeling the bag, he focused on his hands striking the leather, relishing the shocks traveling up his arms and into his body. He grunted with each dull
smack
.

After a few minutes, he slowed down, panting, as his mind drifted back to that evening a week ago, when Gideon had first installed the bag. Finn remembered how his master had showed him the correct rhythm of boxing and the proper balance of feet and fists.
Ye might not always have a blade, boyo, so learning a bit of hand-to-hand fighting technique may come in handy
. Taking a deep breath, Finn flexed his hands, shaking them out as he stepped back and watched the bag swing to and fro. As his fury drained away, he heard Gideon's voice inside his head.
And. Finn? When yer anger becomes too much, I want ye out here, pummeling this bag. We'll see if we can't channel some of that emotion into something more productive. Like boxing exercises
.

As he stood there, Finn listened to Gideon's truck shuddering to life, the engine protesting as it backed out of their driveway and then drove away.
Guess I should go pick up that stupid list and get busy
. “I wonder who did all the work around here before
I
came?” he grumbled aloud. Licking smarting knuckles, he blew on them as he ambled toward the house. He slipped inside the kitchen and glanced at the table.

The crumpled list rested amongst the dishes, smoothed open. Finn walked over and looked at it.
4. Practice boxing for fifteen minutes
was checked off.

Shoving the pile of dirty clothes under his bed, Finn glanced around his bedroom.
Good enough
. He froze at the faint sound of voices and the clang of the front gate opening and closing. He hurried across the hall and crept over to Gideon's bedroom window

Peeking out, his eyes widened at the sight of Rafe and Savannah heading along the walk toward the front porch. As he watched, Savannah glanced back over her shoulder at the bronze wire looped over and around the gate. He noticed her hair was pulled back into neat rows of tight braids.

Finn turned and raced down the stairs, reaching the door just as someone knocked. With a guilty twinge in his stomach, he flung it open.

“Hey, Finn,” Rafe said. Behind her brother's shoulder, Savannah gave him a smile.

“How's it going?” Finn replied. Trying to act nonchalant, he pushed a discarded knife behind the door with his foot. Its blade was snapped off near the hilt. He stepped aside. “Wanna come in?”

“Actually, we're walking over to the mini-mart to get a slush drink. Do you want to go with us?” Savannah asked.

Finn hesitated for a moment.
Well, I
am
done with everything
, he thought.
And it's only eleven
. “Sure, that'd be great. Let me get some money. You can wait in the living room.”

As they walked in, he caught the scent of something flowery or perfume-y when Savannah passed by. “Be right back.”

Taking the stairs two at a time, he made a beeline for Gideon's room. He headed over to the dresser. To one side, a handmade terracotta bowl held a moonstone. A layer of dust coated the bowl and stone. Glancing at it, Finn winced as he recalled Gideon's cold tone and hard face when he had asked about it just a few days ago.
Tis none of yer business, Finnegan MacCullen. It belonged to someone else, and that's all ye need to know
.

Shrugging off the memory, Finn dug a hand into the coin jar on the other end of the dresser. He fished out some quarters and dimes, shoved them in his pocket, then tossed the rest back into the container with a clink.
I know he's saving money for new tires
, he thought, trying to ignore another stab of guilt.
But one soda pop won't hurt
. He went back downstairs to the living room.

“Okay, I'm ready to—” He stopped at Rafe and Savannah's expressions. Brother and sister stood in front of the fireplace, staring up open-mouthed over the mantel, at the rack which held the assortment of weapons.

“These are beyond cool!” Rafe stepped closer. He reached up to touch the hide-wrapped handle of one of the knives. “Are they Mr. Lir's?”

“Uh … yeah. He collects them.”

“Are they antiques?” Rafe stood on tiptoe to get a better view of the ones on the top rack.

“I guess. He's had some of them for years. He's got a bunch more stored in the cellar.”

“Does he
use
them for anything?” Savannah asked. “Hey, be careful!” She put out a hand to stop her brother from touching the edge of a wicked-looking knife sporting a handle made from deer antler.

“See?” Rafe deliberately dragged a finger along the flat of the blade as he scowled at her. “That's why I didn't want you to tag along. You're such a girl.”

“You say it like it's a bad thing. When, in fact, you're envious. Just who kicked whose butt running with Dad this morning?”

Finn shifted his feet nervously. “Hey, guys? Let's go already.”

He ushered them out the front. Pausing to lock the door behind him, Finn tucked the house key into his pocket, then followed Rafe and Savannah across the yard and down the street.

Finn's eyes darted from side to side as he examined every shadow
I feel naked without my knife. But there's no way I could have explained to them why I was packing a blade
. He tried not to think about what Gideon would do if he found out Finn had not only spent time with Rafe and Savannah, but had left home without a weapon.

After making their way to the end of the street, the threesome veered east. They took a shortcut through the mile-long park dividing their neighborhood from the nearby strip mall. A playground area with an enormous picnic pavilion dominated one corner, while several soccer fields stretched across the other side. Dense, rambling groves of trees created islands of shade.

Walking between them, Savannah glanced at Finn's neck. “That's really a neat necklace.” She blushed, the rich color of her cheeks deepening. “I mean choker. Or whatever it is that guys wear.”

Finn grinned. “It's called a tore. It's a traditional Irish neckpiece. Just for men.”

“Is it real gold?” Rafe peered around his sister, trying to get a look at it. He whistled when Finn nodded.

“So are you Irish? Like from Ireland?” Savannah asked.

“No, I was born here in Colorado. But my da was from there. And so is Gideon.”

“See, I told you,” she bragged to her brother. “Mr. Lir
does
have an accent.”

“And it really comes out when he's mad about something,” Finn said.

Brother and sister laughed, sharing a knowing smile. “You should hear our mom's.”

“Is your da from South Africa, too?”

“St. Louis,” Savannah said. “But he likes going every summer, which is their winter. I do, too. This time, my grandfather showed us some fey rings out in the bush that were unreal.”