The Stag Lord (6 page)

“No room in the camper for what?” Face washed and hair combed, Bann joined them. She noticed he still carried his knife at his hip. “For a boy who has clearly forgotten the discussion we just had?”

“I didn't say anything about—” Cor began.

“Sit.” Bann pointed at the table.

“But, Dad, we were just talking about—”

Bann cocked an eyebrow. Cor swallowed the rest of his protest and dragged himself to the table. Busy at the counter pouring milk, Shay rolled her eyes.
Make that a
major
hardass
. A thud-rattle and a whine on the patio door announced Max.

“Can I let him in?” Cor was already heading around the table to the door.

At Shay's nod, he slid it open. Max barreled in. He skidded to a halt at the sight of Bann standing in the kitchen. Flattening his ears, he sank into a crouch, fangs bared. A low rumble started in his chest.

“Max! No!” Shay laid a hand on Bann's arm and patted it. “See? Bann is a friend.
A friend
.”

Man and dog stared a challenge at each other for a moment until Bann gave a sharp hiss through his teeth. “Down, you.” The dog looked away, out-alpha-maled.

“Dad, this is Max.” Cor scratched behind his new friend's ears.

“So it is.”

“He's a
he
, not an
it
.” Cor scowled at his father. Taking his place at the table, he snapped his fingers. “Here, Max. You can sit by me.”

“No feeding him at the table, okay, Cor?” Shay said.

“Okay. I mean, yes, ma'am,” he added before Bann could correct him.

Refraining from pointing out that this wasn't the freaking military, Shay dished out bowls of stew and handed two to Bann to carry over, then followed with the third one and a glass of milk for Cor.

“Would you like a beer?” Shay walked back to the fridge. “I've got Coors, Guinness, and Fat Tire.” When he hesitated, she added. “Or something stronger.”

“Beer, please. A Guinness.” A faint smile. “Although I wouldn't say no to something stronger after dinner.”

A few minutes later, Shay joined them with two pint glasses jaunty with caps of foam. Her cheeks warmed when Bann stood and pulled her chair out for her.
Nice manners, even if he is all Captain Control with his son
, she thought, taking her place at one end across from Bann, Cor between them. Max flopped down under the table, ever hopeful for fallout. As Bann helped his one-armed son with buttering his biscuit, Shay took a moment to covertly study the Knight Who Wasn't.

Strong features in a rugged face were softened by lips that were defined but not too full. Intense blue eyes, the defining feature of the Tuatha Dé Danaan, were framed with lashes she would kill for. Rich brown hair with hints of bronze swept back from a broad forehead.
I wonder how old he is. He looks like he's only in his early thirties
. She thought back to the condition of his tattoo.
Of course, it's hard to tell with us Fey since we age so slowly
. She grinned to herself.
Hollywood would love us
.

Taking a bite of stew, she shifted her attention to the boy. She swallowed, then pointed her spoon at Cor. “Did anyone ever tell you that you look just like your father?”

Cor nodded. “All the time. Bummer, huh?” He laughed when Bann reared back in mock offense. Still laughing, he tried to dodge a cuff from his father, who snagged his ear anyway and gave it an affectionate tug. The man's hand lingered, brushing the errant lock off the boy's forehead with a practiced move. Grinning around a mouthful of biscuit, Cor gazed up at Bann.

Shay's throat tightened at the looks on their faces.
Okay, maybe not such a hardass
. She rose. “Who wants more of—”

With a roar, Max leaped to his feet, hitting the nearest table leg with a crash. Hackles raised, the dog snarled at the back door.

The next second, something thudded against the glass behind Bann.

5

“C
OR!
” S
ENDING HIS CHAIR
skittering across the floor, Bann jumped to his feet and whirled around, weapon in hand even before he finished turning. At his father's command, the boy hit the floor and scrambled under the table. Meanwhile, Max raged at the door, desperate to take apart whoever or whatever had the gall to invade his territory.

Shay raced over and flipped on the outside light. Brightness flooded the concrete patio, shoving the night to the fringes of the empty yard.

Except for the dead magpie. The tip of an antler prong protruded from one eye socket.

“By the Goddess,” Shay whispered. She began to reach for the handle when Bann caught her by the wrist and pulled her closer. For a moment, she resisted, confusion on her face. As she started to ask, he shook his head.

“Is your home warded?” he whispered. When she nodded, he continued. “Then we're safe as long as we stay inside. Now draw the blinds before…” He motioned with his head toward the boy still hidden under the table.

Without a word, Shay pulled the vertical blinds closed. They tinked against the glass. After ratcheting them tighter, she stepped to the sink and lowered the mini-blinds over the window. “Why, I should've done that an hour ago,” she said aloud in a normal voice. “There. Cozier, wouldn't you say? And, Max, knock it off. Just a bird, you silly dog.”

In pretended casualness, she opened a drawer and pulled out a wicked-looking hunting knife. Holding it up, she asked a question with her eyes. Bann's heart soared at the sight of the bronze weapon in another Tuatha Dé Danaan's hands, in defense of him and his son, no less.

Desperate for another layer of protection for Cor—and equally desperate for the boy not to catch a glimpse of
that
weapon—he hesitated, then shook his head. Shay put it back and pulled out another one, a stainless-steel knife large enough to castrate a buffalo with one swipe. While the beast was galloping.

Bann raised his eyebrows in admiration. Motioning for her to hold her position, he nudged aside a vertical blind and peered out.

“Dad?”

His jaw tightened at the quiver in his son's voice. “As Shay said, only a bird. It was confused by the light and flew into the glass.” When had lying to his son become so easy? After another check around the yard, he let the slat fall back into place. “Well, our supper's getting cold. Cor.” He rapped on the table. Cor emerged. Bann's heart twisted at the pinched features.
He cannot take much more of this
. Without a word, the boy shoved past him and ran from the kitchen.

“Go after him.” Shay shooed him away. “I'll keep the food warm for you. And Max and I,” she added, pointing her knife at the door, “will take care of
other things
as needed.”

The light from the guestroom's lamp spilled out into the hallway. Bann paused in the doorway. Cor was slumped over on the edge of the bed, folded in half with his face pressed against his knees. Without a word, Bann sat down next to him.

A sniff, then a muffled voice. “Make it stop.”

“I am trying, son.”
I would sacrifice, between heart beats, my hope of Tír na nÓg to leave you a world free of that monster
.

“I hate it. I want it to go away.”

“I know.”
But not as much as I do
.

A long minute later, Cor straightened, dragging a forearm across his face. Lashes pointy with tears, he stared across the room. “I'm not hungry anymore.”

“To bed with you, then.” He blinked in surprise when his son didn't argue but headed for the bathroom across the hall. “Brush your teeth. Our things are on the counter.” As the boy took care of business, Bann rose with a sigh and pulled the covers back. The scent of clean cotton made him ache for home. He made sure the curtains were drawn tight against the night.
Against all ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggety beasties and things that go bump in the night
. The old Scottish saying rang through his head.

After a few minutes, Cor returned. Crawling into bed, he winced as he shifted around, trying to get comfortable with the sling. Bann refrained from tucking the comforter around his son.
Those days are long gone
.

“I'll be back in a little while.” He clicked off the lamp and stood.

“Dad?”

“Cor.”

Silence. Then, faintly, “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then. Good night.” Bann started for the door.

“Uh, Dad?”

“Cor.”

“Um…” A slight rustle. “Never mind.”

“Do you want me to stay with you? Until you fall sleep?”

“No, that's okay. B-but, would you leave the door open?”

“To be certain.” Unable to resist, Bann leaned over and pulled the covers up to the boy's chin. Pressing his forehead against Cor's, he breathed in the scent of his child. It was a mix of sweat and the fake mint of toothpaste and a whiff of
sláinte
nettle potion, and underneath all, the unique scent that was simply
Cor
.

His son.

His heart. The piece of him that had leapt out of his chest on the day of the boy's birth and was ambling around in the world.

A lump set up camp in his throat when Cor snaked an arm around his neck and hugged him with a surprising fierceness. Even after all the times he had stomped on his son for simply being an eight-year-old boy, Cor's ability to forgive his less-than-stellar parenting almost drove Bann to his knees.

“
Codladh sumh
, lad.”

“‘Kay.” Cor rolled over on his uninjured side and burrowed deeper under the comforter. Tearing himself away from wanting to stand there all night and watch him sleep, Bann left, leaving the door ajar.

Taking a moment to shove down the swelling in his throat, Bann took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand across his face, then headed back to the kitchen.

A fire snapped and popped in the hearth. It blessed the room with warmth and light and the primal aroma of burning wood. Shay bustled about the kitchen, preparing a pair of trays already set with bowls of reheated stew and biscuits. Each tray was graced with a tumbler half-filled with an amber liquid.

Guilt stabbed Bann.
Because of me and mine, that monster is lurking about this fine woman's home
. “Shay Doyle,” he declared. “You are in danger.”

“No. I'm in the kitchen.” She raised a hand, forestalling him. “And before you start, I get it. The bird was a warning, right? From someone or something you two are apparently running from? And now that someone or something knows you're here. With me. Thus, the whole”—she deepened her voice—“‘Shay Doyle, you are in danger.'”

“You must understand—”

“I'm not finished. Now, you told me we're protected if we stay indoors, since my home's warded against attacks from most supernatural beings.” At Bann's nod, she continued. “Which means that person or thing is constrained by the Old Ways. Modern inventions such as gunpowder, electricity, and so on won't work for them, right? And they can't enter unless invited and all that?”

“Well, yes. As far as I know.”

“It's like a vampire is after you guys.” She grinned. “Just kidding.” She stuck a spoon into each bowl of stew. “Look, for right now, we're all safe. Cor is healing. And I'm not about to waste food.”

“I cannot ask you to—”

“Dude, I'm, no,
we
are Tuatha Dé Danaan. Magical warriors of ancient
Éireann
. Children of the war goddess Danu. You know, fellow soldiers and all that. Ye ken?” Her eyes twinkled as she slipped into a brogue.

Sensing he would not win this fight,
or maybe I do not wish to
, Bann inclined his head. “Aye, I ken.”

“I thought we'd eat by the fire.” Shay indicated the trays. “It's too creepy being at the table with that thing just on the other side of the glass.”

“I agree.” He stepped closer. “Is that whiskey?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I thought we could use something a bit stronger
now
, instead of later. Grab a tray and go make yourself comfortable.”

Bann picked up the nearest one and carried it over to the sofa facing the hearth. After placing the tray on the coffee table, he scanned the bookshelves while he waited, too pumped full of adrenaline to sit.

A wide variety of titles, including obscure texts on medicinal plants of the Rocky Mountains, were shelved next to paperback thrillers and biographies of famous women. Framed photos were scattered between the books. Judging from the clothing of the people in them, Bann guessed they were all taken in the last sixty or seventy years. He noticed one picture showing a man with a fiery beard in a tie-dyed shirt, holding up his fingers in a peace symbol while his other hand held a hatchet straight out of a horror movie. Almost every person in the photos sported red hair; most held a variety of blades, including knives, daggers, and in one case a sword. A few of the younger people, both men and women, proudly flexed tattooed arms. The same tat as his.
Family members
, Bann guessed.

One newer photo caught his attention. It showed a barely teenaged Shay in faded jeans and a pink T-shirt, her long hair held back with a matching pink headband. She was leaning on the railing of a redwood deck, beaming at the camera. On closer inspection, Bann saw she clutched a hunting knife proudly in one hand.

“That was taken on the first day of my apprenticeship. Outside of my master's house.” She joined him with her tray. “Gods, I was a goofy-looking thirteen-year-old.”

“Did you train here in Colorado?”

“I did. Right here in High Springs. In fact, I grew up here. I'm that rare breed—a Colorado native. I still have lots of family here.” She gestured with her head for him to take a seat on the sofa. “How about you—Pennsylvania, right?” She let out a low whistle. “I hear the goblins back in those old coal mines are some kind of fierce.”