Finn Finnegan (26 page)

“I do,” Rafe said, scrolling through his e-mail. “I mean, we're fine, and Mr. Lir made sure we got home okay, so no harm, no foul. And anyway, I can see me trying to explain to Mom and Dad about these monsters that wanted to chow down on Savannah and me. Or that we were saved by our neighbors, who happen to be these not-really-human-but-close-enough magical Irish warriors.” He snorted. “Yeah, I don't think so.”

“Are you still going to ask your grandfather about Padraic O'Brien? See if he's a De Danaan, too?” Finn looked over just in time to catch Savannah's return toss of the basketball.

“Yeah, as soon as I can figure out a way to do it without sounding crazy.”

“Good luck with that.” Finn sent the ball back to Savannah. “I better get home. Gideon and I are going out hunting again this evening, when he gets back from the farmer's market.”

“Farmer's market?” Rafe asked.

“Yeah, potatoes are a lot cheaper there.” Finn sighed. “And we eat a lot of them.” He rolled to his feet and started for the door. He glanced back at the sound of Savannah's voice.

“Hey, Finn?” She grinned, her dimples deepening. “Thanks again. For what you did for us.”

A tingle shot through his stomach at her smile. He blushed when Rafe made a gagging sound. Without a word, he smiled back and left.

Still wearing a loopy grin, Finn ambled home.
I've got to figure out how to protect them
, he thought.
Since they've become prey, too. It'd be a lot easier if their parents knew, but I'm not sure they could handle the truth about us De Danaan. At least, not yet
.

He began humming, breaking into song after a few steps. “
Fire in the head-—I'm a flame in motion
,” he sang. “
Fire in the head—I'm a sword that's sharp. Fire in the head—I'm a drop in the ocean, a shield in battle and a string in a harp
”

Halfway across the street, his voice died away. He slowed and squinted into the late afternoon sun. A sedan was parked in front of their house and there was no sign of Gideon's truck in the driveway. As he reached the other side, the driver's door opened. A young woman in a navy suit, her brown hair pulled back in a clip, climbed out. A file folder was tucked under one arm.

“Hello. Are you Finnegan MacCullen?”

“Yeah.” Finn edged around the car and took a stance by the front gate. “Who are you?”

“I'm Ms. Ubarri, from the Department of Human Services.” She walked closer, halting a few feet away from Finn. An identification badge dangled from her lapel. She glanced at the empty driveway. “May I ask you a few questions?” Her eyes traveled over his face and bare arms as if looking for something. She seemed disappointed.

Warning bells began ringing in Finn's ears at the title of the department. “About what?”

Plucking a pen from her pocket, she opened the folder and wrote in it. “About you. And your guardian…” she paused to check a sheet “…Gideon Lir. Am I pronouncing it correctly?”

“Close enough.” Finn moved closer to the gate and twined his fingers through the wrought iron.

“I understand you've lived here since late May. Is that right? And that Mr. Lir is an old family friend of your aunt and uncle?”

The bells clanged louder. “How do you know all that?”

Ms. Ubarri's eyes flicked across the street toward the Steels' house. Pushing back a stray strand of hair, she tapped the folder with her pen. “Oh, it's all here in your records.” She pasted an earnest expression on her face. “Now, before we begin, I want you to know that
anything you
care to share with me will be kept private. I promise.”

“You mean private from Gideon?”

“Well, yes.”

“I'm not supposed to keep secrets from him.”

She made another note. “Do you think he might become angry if he knew you had talked with me, Finnegan?”

“I go by Finn, not Finnegan.”

“All right. Finn it is. So, does he get angry often?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when you do something wrong or misbehave, does he yell at you or…” She waited, letting the unspoken words hang in the air.

Finn tightened his lips and said nothing. Her questions about his master raised the hackles on the back of his neck.
I know what she's hinting at. She thinks he knocks me around
. Shifting to one side, he glanced down the street, willing his master's truck to appear.

Ms. Ubarri softened her voice. “You seem nervous. Are you afraid he might do more than scold you? Perhaps hurt you in some way, if you…” She paused at the low rumble of an engine drawing closer.

Finn looked past her. Relief flooded him when the gray truck appeared at the far end of the street and rolled toward them. As Gideon pulled into the driveway, he brushed past Ms. Ubarri. Hurrying to the vehicle, he reached it as his master climbed out of the cab with a squeal of rusty hinges.

“And just who might that be?” Gideon kept one eye on the woman, as he reached into the truck bed for a knobby burlap sack.

“Some lady from the Department of Services for Humans, or something like that.”

The Knight's face darkened. “What does she want?”

“She said she wants to talk to me about
you
and that she knew all about me and it would be a private conversation and then she asked me if I was afraid of you and if you would hurt me…” The words spilled out of Finn's mouth faster than his tongue could keep up. He gulped a breath when Gideon patted his shoulder.

“Easy, boyo. I'll take care of this. Wait here.” Flinging the dusty bag of spuds over one shoulder, he walked toward Ms. Ubarri.

Finn hoisted himself up onto the wall of the truck bed. He drummed a heel against the side, then stopped, trying to listen. His master and the woman spoke for several minutes, the Knight shaking his head with every other sentence. Their voices grew louder. In frustration, Gideon flung the bag down in a puff of dust. Ms. Ubarri stepped hastily back, in fear for her polished shoes.

“Sir, I will not divulge who contacted us,” she snapped in a carrying tone. “But since—”

“‘Twas Steel, wasn't it?”

“—but since a report of possible child abuse has been made,” she continued in a cold tone, “this file will stay active until proven otherwise, or until the person reporting it drops their accusation. And you should know, there may be future visits from our department.”

Gideon's mouth worked, but before he could speak, the woman spun on her heel and left, her car pulling away from the curb with a jerk. Finn hopped down and jogged over. Side by side, they watched the sedan turn the corner and disappear.

“Well, boyo, we've got another issue to deal with, thanks to bleedin' Rufus Steel.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do ye recall all the times he asked ye about the cuts and bruises ye acquired whilst training or hunting with me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I'll bet me tore he thought J was the cause, and he reported me. So, now I am under suspicion.” He blew out a long breath. “I know the man means well, but now we're going to have to be doubly chary about ye getting injured.”

“I'll be more careful. I promise.” Finn picked up the sack at their feet. He followed Gideon through the gate and into their home. After dumping it on the kitchen counter, he went back into the living room.

The Knight handed him a knife. He waved aside his master's offer of a second weapon and patted his lower leg. “I'm packing one already.”

“Good lad.” Gideon selected a knife for himself. Sliding it into the sheath, he studied Finn for a long minute. “I must admit, I'm still concerned about yer faintness after ye grappled with the beastie.”

“Do you think it has something to do with me being, um, the Spear?” He blushed as he said the words aloud for the first time.
I don't know if I even want to be that. I just want to be a Knight. Like Gideon
.

“I do.”

Finn shook his head. “It just all seems so weird. I mean, I don't
feel
any different. I still feel like me.”

“Ye gods, what a relief. I was just about to take a knee, and bow me head in reverence to yer newly acquired magnificence.”

“Really?”

“No, of course not, ye dolt.” He chuckled at Finn's huff of exasperation. “Finnegan MacCullen, the Spear of the Tuatha De Danaan ye may be, but ye're still an apprentice with a great deal to learn. And not just about hunting Amandán.”

“Aye, ‘tis true,” Finn replied, in a passable imitation.

Gideon laughed, the lines of his face softening. “By the way, I've something for ye.” He took a seat at his desk and tapped a finger on a thick packet sitting in front of him. Colorful stamps littered a corner of it.

“What's that?”

He waved Finn over, gesturing toward the stool. As he sat down, the Knight leaned back in his chair, his face carefully neutral. “It arrived for ye today, in the post. I believe Mac Roth may have had something to do with it.”

Finn picked it up and paused to peer at the stamps, fingering the package. “The Republic of Ireland? I don't know anyone there.” He tore it open. A bubble-wrapped, flattish object slid onto the desk. Picking it up, he peeled off the plastic; his eyes widened at the first hint of gold. As the final layer fell away, his heart swelled, pushing at an odd lump in his throat.

“Oh,” he breathed. His face glowed as he gazed down at the object.

The new tore gleamed in his hands.

K
EEP READING FOR A SNEAK PEEK OF
:

Gideon's Spear

Book Two of the Adventures of Finn maccullen

Screamingly bored out of his mind, Finn blew out a long sigh as he wandered around the clearing in the woods. The last rays of the summer sun lit the trees surrounding him, coloring the trunks of the Ponderosa pines with a shade of bronze that matched the large knife, almost the length of his forearm, held in one hand. With a snap of his wrist, he flipped it into the air and caught it by the handle.

Holding the weapon level with his eyes, he tilted it to and fro, trying to view his reflection in it. For just a moment, he caught a flash of blue eyes in a boyish face dusted with freckles, and a mop of hair the same flaming color as the blade. Adjusting the angle downward, he grinned as he was further rewarded with a glimpse of a twisted rope of gold, as thick as the Knight Mac Roth's thumb, encircling his throat just above the collar of his tee shirt. “You are, Finnegan MacCullen,” he murmured to himself while adjusting the tore so that the twin knobs on the ends of the neckpiece were dead center under his Adam's apple, “a total badass warrior.”

Gravel crunched behind him.

He whirled around. “Oh, crap.” His heart rammed against the roof of his mouth at the sight of his worst nightmare.

His master, the Knight, Gideon Lir.

Pissed off.

Again.

The black-haired man, dressed in a denim shirt and work boots, stomped down the path toward him, slashing at the undergrowth on either side with an enormous hunting knife when it dared to impede him. To Finn, he seemed to grow twice as large with every step.