Fireshaper's Doom (12 page)

David stuck out a reluctant hand. “Deal,” he muttered.

One day!

*

“So,” Alec asked as soon as they’d cleared the driveway and swung Mama Sullivan’s LTD left onto the road that would eventually take them to MacTyrie, “what do you think was up with the elk?”

David shook his head. “You’ve decided that’s what it was, huh? Well, I have
no
idea. Absolutely zilch. It had to have been one of the Sidhe in animal shape, but I haven’t a clue which one—if it’s even one I know. The image kept shifting on me, from man to deer to horse and back again, so fast I never could get a fix on it, just…impressions. It wasn’t like any manifestation of the Sight I’ve ever had.”

Alec frowned. “Horse, you say? You don’t suppose it could have been…you know who?”

David’s eyes widened. “God, I hope not! Anyway, I think Nuada would have warned me. And besides, Ailill’s got binding spells on him out the wazoo. Even Lugh can’t unmagic him by himself.”

“And you’ve got the ring,” Alec added.

“Good point. But I wouldn’t have wanted to bet on its protection this afternoon. And besides, those antlers could have done a job on the front of my car worse than the rocks did on the side.”

“I’m really sorry about that, too,” Alec said. “I’m surprised you’re not more bothered.”

David’s mouth quirked in a smile of resignation. “I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet. Just wait—I’ll probably wake up half-crazy in the middle of the night. Right now it’s just a bad dream. And made even more unreal by that mad deer.”

“Crazy Deer,” Alec corrected.

“Whatever.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any way you could go to the Sidhe and ask them what’s up?”

“No, not really. Every time I’ve seen them the last year or so has been at their instigation. And I don’t know how to operate the Straight Tracks. I could
try
to summon somebody, I suppose…but if Ailill really has escaped, he could answer the summons. And I tell you what, Alec: in spite of the Sight, in spite of the ring, in spite of my so-called Power, I don’t ever,
ever
want to be attacked by a giant eagle again.”

“That I
would
like to have seen.”

“Oh no you wouldn’t, fool. It was seriously scary. Blind luck saved me as much as anything—that and the maple twig I accidentally broke that summoned Oisin.”

“Couldn’t you try that again?”

David shook his head emphatically, his lips tightened to a thin line. “Nope. That was an absolute onetimer… It’s
real
strange, Alec: first every Straight Track between here and Valdosta being activated, then the Crazy Deer. You tell me what it means.”

“Some loonie escaped from Lugh’s dungeon?”

“Who knows? I don’t know if he’s even
got
dungeons.”

Alec looked suddenly wary. “As long as—”

David joined in: “—
it’s not Ailill.
And now,” he added, “let’s see if Mom’s had this thing tuned up lately.”

Chapter IX: The Irish Horse Traders

(MacTyrie, Georgia)

No such family gathering as they had encountered earlier greeted them in MacTyrie. Instead, Alec’s parents had left a neatly typed note on the Cape Cod’s paneled front door saying they’d gone to Young Harris to hear a poetry reading by Bettie Sellers and would be home after midnight. There was supposed to be cold roast beef in the fridge. David helped Alec unload, grunting as he lugged the heavier of the two suitcases up the stairs to Alec’s bedroom.

Alec folded his arms and looked at him from beside the bed. Their eyes met in knowing smirks. “Now?”

David dropped the suitcase with a thud. “Now!”

They raced back downstairs, pausing in the kitchen to grab a couple of cans of Dr. Pepper from the refrigerator.

“Any notion where these ‘guppies’ are supposed to be?” Alec asked.

“Well, we could always call somebody, but let’s just look around first. Last time anybody like that was anywhere near here was when the Goat Man came through a couple of years ago. He hung out over at the old ballfield till they ran him off. Seems like I recall a circus setting up there when I was little, too.”

“I don’t.”

“It was before you came.”

“Breathed hard, anyway.”

“Fool.”

“Of a Scotsman,” Alec finished as they returned to the car.

David backed down the drive, careful to avoid the ivy that flanked it on either side. “Ugh—this thing handles like a tank. Remind me to tell Mom to get a T-Bird next time.”

“I think the tank might be in better keeping with your driving style.”

“I resent that, Alec McLean.”

“Shouldn’t. It’s just the truth— What the—” he cried a second later as David slammed on the brakes. “Don’t take it so personal, Davy!”

“Not my doing.” David grinned, as someone rapped hard against the window glass on Alec’s side.

Alec powered it down as Gary and Darrell stuck sweaty heads through the opening. Neither boy had on a shirt, and perspiration sheened their chests and shoulders.

“Well, look who’s back.” Gary grinned, elbowing his slighter companion in the ribs.

Darrell elbowed him back more forcefully. “Yeah—Fool of a Scotsman and Mad Davy Sullivan—madder than ever, I’d imagine.”

David jerked the car into park and stretched an arm in front of Alec’s nose to grasp the hands that were suddenly cramming their way into the window. “Well! If it ain’t G-Man Gary and Runnerman Buchanan. How you guys been keepin’?”

“Keeping busy’s what,” Gary said.

“Look real busy,” Alec observed wryly. “Looks to me like all you’re doing’s running. Whether into trouble or away from it remains to be seen.”

Darrell slicked a stray lock of yellow hair out of his face. “Yeah, well, gaming without you guys isn’t much fun. Just leaves eating, drinking, and sex as worthwhile activities.”

“
Not
in that order,” Gary inserted.

“I notice you didn’t include running,” David laughed.

“Running is
not
an activity,” Darrell shot back haughtily. “Nor is it an option.”

“Maybe not, but one of these days you’re gonna run so long and hard there won’t be anything left when you get where you’re going but a pair of dirty Nikes going flip-flop along the sidewalk.”

Gary looked a trifle apologetic and patted the mere trace of bulge visible above the waist of his shorts. “Don’t look at me, guys, I’m just trying to lose a pound or two.”

“Christ, he’ll have us doing it next,” Alec muttered.

“
I
like to run,” David reminded him.

“So get your togs and join us. We’ll wait.”

David shook his head. “Can’t. We’re going to see the Gypsies for a second and then I gotta get back home. I wrecked my car just the other side of Franks Gap, and I’ve sorta got to stay in my folks’ good graces for a day or two.”

“God, not your car!” Darrell exclaimed. “Shit, Sullivan, how bad?”

“Good enough for Gary’s old man to get a fair price out of me for fixing it, probably.”

“Well, the labor’s on me if you’ll let me do it,” Gary said.

“Gee, thanks—but what’s a Bimmer dealer charge for Ford parts?”

Gary grinned evilly. “Whatever the market’ll bear. Let’s see, considering that the Mustang’s virtually an antique—”

“A classic,” David corrected.

“Right. So I figure… Oh, maybe a thou, or so.”

“Crap!” David groaned.

“I say something wrong?”

“What you haven’t said,” said Alec, “is where the Gypsies are.”

“Huh? Oh, right. Up at the old ball ground.”

“You guys want to join us?” David asked. “Might give you a reason for running, if what my Ma says is true.”

“Sorry, can’t,” Darrell apologized. “Mom’s cooking spaghetti for supper, and then I’ve got a date.”

“
May
have a date.”

“Well, I’m gonna call again. If it blows, I guess I’ll raid my old man’s beer supply and drown my sorrows over Risk at Casa McLean—if it’s okay with you, Alec?”

“Sure,” Alec replied. “Long as my folks are gone. What about you, Davy?”

David grimaced and shook his head. “I sure would like to. I could use a good game—nor would a beer or two be bad, the way I’m feeling right now. But I’ve got to play it close, at least for a couple of days. Hope you guys understand.”

“Well, don’t be surprised if your name doesn’t come up in conversation,” Darrell said slyly.

“Nor Liz Hughes’s either!”

“I was about to say that,” Darrell added.

“And
I
have got to be traveling,” David said, as he put the car in reverse. “You guys keep on truckin’.”

*

It didn’t take them long to find the Gypsies. They were indeed encamped on the north side of town at the ball field that had been abandoned when MacTyrie built a new recreation center near the half-completed bypass to the south. It was a flat area of maybe ten acres, fringed on all but its eastern approaches by a double row of pines. A small creek flowed beyond the trees at the northern side, tributary to the lake that lapped the northeast corner of the town. A low hill studded with small, neat dwellings overlooked its western margin—mostly the residences of faculty at MacTyrie Junior College.

They passed the rusty gateway and stopped in the sandy parking lot. There were a couple of other cars around; some David recognized, some he didn’t: several pickups with Enotah County plates, a Mazda RX-7 from Florida, a battered brown Peugeot 504 (that would be Mr. Johnson, the visiting art prof, David decided—taking pictures for one of his books, probably), an anonymous GM sedan from neighboring Towns County…

And a shiny black Ford EXP that had just pulled in behind them.

And kept coming.

Getting closer and closer, until the tiny car’s rubber-capped bumper nudged the LTD’s heavy chrome one.

David flung open the car door and stomped out. “Who the hell
is
that son of a bitch?”

“David, wait,” Alec called. “It’s—”

“Liz!” David cried as the door opened and a familiar red-haired figure climbed out.

“Mind if I park behind you?” she asked brightly, green eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Liz!” David cried again. “What’re
you
doing here? Where’d you get that?”

“
That
is a birthday present from my father,” Liz said, as she came over to stand beside David—fairly close, he noted with some satisfaction. “He got tired of having to run me up here every time I wanted to see… Certain people. It’s called Morgan, after the Morrigu, kind of, but not exactly.”

David chuckled. “One question down.”

Liz raised an appraising eyebrow. “Oh—why am I here? Looking for you, of course.”

“How’d you know I’d
be
here?”

“Easy. Soon as I heard there were Gypsies in MacTyrie I figured you’d show up sooner or later. I knew the day you were coming back, had a good idea of your departure time. Knew you’d have to give Alec a ride home. So I’ve just been sort of hanging around MacTyrie all afternoon, keeping one eye on Casa McLean and one on these folks. What took you so long?”

David developed a sudden interest in his feet. “I kinda had a wreck.”

Liz raised an eyebrow. “A wreck, huh? Well, I was thinking about letting you drive Mr. Morgan, but I’m not so sure about that now.”

“No backseat,” noted Alec, who had been examining the car. “But a space big enough to stretch out in under the hatch. Be even better than a backseat for some purposes I can think of.”

“Alec!” David growled.

Liz looked at him askance. “What’ve they been teaching you guys down in Valdosta, anyway? I thought Governor’s Honors was to make you smart, not horny. There’s enough of
that
kind in Gainesville. And as for California,
well…”
She rolled her eyes in exaggerated exasperation.

“The two are not mutually contradictory,” David pointed out.

Liz sighed. “Just when I was beginning to think you two really weren’t like most of the boys I met down there, I come home to this. You’re no better than they are—no different, anyway.”

“I should hope not.” David grinned. “We’ve all got the same hardware.”

It was Liz’s turn to blush.

“So,” Alec continued brightly, “here we all are again, just about to go see the Gypsies, and almost exactly a year later—well, actually it was a fortuneteller then, but small difference. Life runs in circles.”

“Sure that’s not Straight Tracks?” Liz giggled.

“Right. So let’s away.”

Alec grabbed David by the collar and hauled him back. “Uh, Davy, what exactly do we do, anyway?”

“Easy enough,” Liz interjected. “Karen was over earlier, and she told me a couple of things. They’re not really Gypsies, they’re tinkers and traders—Irish Horse Traders, to be exact, not that there’s really much difference in practice. They travel around the country trading horses, laying linoleum, and painting houses, if you can believe that. Do some music on the side. Sell crafts, stuff like that. Evidently they don’t mind folks coming by in the daytime, but not after dark. Karen said they have guards posted at night. Said Mike Wheeler and a bunch of his crew came by a couple of days ago and these folks made short work of ’em.”