The Stag Lord (37 page)

Shay patted his arm. “I'll tell you later.”

Stepping aside to allow Shay and Ann to precede him, Bann clasped Hugh by the arm. The older Knight clapped him on the shoulder.

“I'm sorry your return is marked with not-so-pleasant news. There is something not right about the grave.” He led the way to the kitchen and out the back door.

Shay and Ann, with Cor between them, were already walking across the yard. Soft, pale glows emanated from the female Knights' hands. Bann pulled his own moonstone out of his pocket. A lunar hue of white swelled and spilled out between his fingers.

Reaching the others waiting by the gate, Bann caught his son's arm and pulled him to one side. “Do you wish to remain in the house?” he asked in a low tone.

“No!” Panic crept into Cor's voice. “I want to go with you.”

Meaning “I don't wish to stay in the house by myself.”
“Right, then.”

Taking the boy's hand, Bann fell in behind the Doyles as they made their way into the woods. Ahead, lights bobbed amongst the trees, as if playing a crazy game of tag. He could hear James and Rory talking to each other.

Stepping into the clearing, Bann looked around. The young Knights stood on the far side of a black hole. Their moonstones illuminated a jumble of dirt and rocks strewn about. It was as if the earth had opened its maw and vomited the contents of the grave.

“Hey, Bann. Cor.” James nodded at them. “Glad you're back. And Cor?” He pulled something out of his jacket pocket. “I found this back in the woods when we were scoping things out. Just pure luck—it was half buried in a patch of snow.” He handed the object to the boy.

For a moment, Cor's face lit up at the sight of his switchblade. “Thanks,” he said, and tucked it into his pocket.

“And you”—James turned to Rory—“owe me twenty bucks. Pay up.” He held out his free hand, grinning while Rory pulled his wallet out with a scowl.

“Wait a sec.” Shay looked from one to the other. “You guys bet on whether Bann would come back?”

“No.” James tucked the bill away. “We bet on whether he would be back within the next twenty-four hours.”

Ignoring the cousins' interchange, Hugh knelt down. “James. A light, please.” He leaned over and studied the hole.

Letting go of Cor's hand, Bann crouched beside him. The stink of something foul and stale assaulted his nose and coated his tongue. A crumpled green cloth was shoved into one corner of the hole. Flickers of gold danced along the threads of the Celtic design partially hidden in the folds.

“This hole was not opened from the outside,” Bann said in a low tone. “Something forced its way out. See how the soil is dispersed about the clearing.”

“Aye.” Hugh sat back on his heels. “And the only thing that was in this hole was…Max.” The words hung in the air with the same fetid stench as the grave.

Bann glanced over at Shay standing a few feet away, one arm draped around Cor's neck as she kept him from approaching the grave. Her other hand rested on the haft of her knife. He rose to his feet. “Shay, you should know—”

“I already do,” she said softly. “As much as I wish to the gods I didn't, I do. I can read the signs as well as you.” She raised her chin. “So, now, what we have to figure out is
how
and
why
. And where is he now?”

“Was it him?” Cor's eyes were as wide and dark as the hole. “Max?”

“Why do you think that, son?”

“Because of that book of Shay's. The one with all the legends and stuff in it.” When the others crowded around, Cor continued. “There's a story about this guy that drinks the blood of some god. I can't remember why. But it was a good god, not a bad one. And then he gets killed. Not the god. The guy. And they bury him and he comes back to life.”

“And then?”

Cor shrugged. “I didn't read the rest of it.”

James cleared his throat. “I did. I mean, I've read a version of that myth. According to the legend, if you ingest a drop of an Old One's blood at the moment of death, then you are accorded a second chance at life. Your new life begins at dawn on the next day.” He looked at Ann. “You said you just found this? Could it have been opened several days ago and you didn't notice?”

“Well, sure.” Ann brushed a strand of dark hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. “We hardly ever go out this way. It was dumb luck we decided to take a walk before dinner.”

Rory scratched his head. “I don't get this. If the legend is true, then why aren't there a bunch of second-lifers running around? I mean, there are plenty of gods and goddesses that would share a drop with one of us Tuatha Dé Danaan, right? Maybe not one as important as Danu, but certainly, Brighid or maybe Manannán mac Lir or—”

“And just how would you propose finding one at the
exact moment
you were to perish?” Hugh said. “The timing alone makes it almost impossible. But I take it from your expression there is something more, eh, James?”

Bann's instincts whispered a warning as the young Knight glanced at Cor, then hesitated. He suddenly noticed how dark it had gotten since they first arrived. The skin between his shoulder blades began to crawl, as if someone were drawing a bull's-eye on the spot with a sharpened fingernail. His instincts went on high alert at James's next words.

“Let's finish this inside. The woods at night are not the best place to discuss what I'm about to tell you.”

36

S
EATED ON THE LIVING
room sofa, Bann stared into the fire, hypnotized by the flames snapping their fingers as they danced. The fragrance of burning wood was a solace. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and slumped lower in the cushions, allowing his muscles to relax for the first time all day. Seated in silence next to him—
now, that's a rare thing in a person, the ability to enjoy the quiet
—Shay's hand rested on his thigh; he could feel its warmth through the denim.

After herding everyone inside, Ann had demanded a respite. “The ghost stories can wait,” she had said, “until we've eaten supper.” Declaring that Rory was the lucky one who would be helping her and Hugh cobble together a meal, she shooed the rest of them out of the kitchen. James had disappeared with Cor to the upstairs study, claiming he needed the boy's aid with something.

Bann's eyes flew open when a buzzer squawked in the entryway. He started to rise. Shay planted a hand on his chest.

“Relax—it's just someone at the gate. Be right back.” He could hear her calling to Ann that she would get it. After a few minutes, she came back and walked around the sofa to face him, her brow puckered. “Like the song says, bad company.”

His pulse surged. He stood up, hand reaching for his knife. “Who?”

“Weston Tully. He's pissed about something.” She made a face. “What else is new? He says he wants to talk with you. Since he couldn't find us at my place, he came here next.” A violent pounding on the door interrupted her. “Speak of the devil.”

“Stay here.” Bann started across the room.

Shay shoved in next to him. “You're joking, right?”

Side by side, they reached the entryway just as Hugh and Ann came hurrying from the kitchen with Rory on their heels. The door shuddered from the blows.

“Hugh Doyle!” Weston Tully shouted, his voice muted by the thickness of the wood. “Open up this damn minute!”

Hoping James would keep Cor upstairs, Bann reached for the knob rattling from the force of the continued attack. He yanked it open. A surprised Tully stood with his fist raised in the air and a look of fury twisting his features.

“Enough.” Bann kept his hand near his weapon. “I'll thank you to leave these fine folks' door in one piece. Now, why are you—”

“It's all your fault, Boru!” Spittle flew from Tully's mouth as he shoved into the foyer. “First Quinn. Now another of my clan—young Thomas. Throat ripped wide and left to bleed out his life.”

“What are you talking about?” Hugh moved to Bann's elbow.

Tully stabbed a finger in Bann's face. “You brought that monster into our midst. Now, Cernunnos and his band of Fir Bolgs are slaughtering—”

“If you recall, I informed you several days ago,” Hugh said, “that the Stag Lord was no more.”

“Then how do you explain what happened this evening?” At their looks of confusion, he continued. “Thomas was discovered dead in his backyard just a few hours ago. He was savaged by something with fangs or claws. And it was no goblin, I can tell you that!” He took another step toward Bann, eyes narrowed.

Bann met him halfway. “Your point?”

“Somehow,
you're
involved. This death is because of
you
.” He stabbed again. Bann envisioned sweeping his blade up and across. A blow. Then Tully's amputated finger spinning off into the darkness like a Vienna sausage taking flight. “We're going to hunt this creature down before it can kill again. And if we find it has anything to do with you, then we'll be back for retribution. Blood for blood.”

“A threat?”

Tully curled a lip. “A promise.” He turned to leave.

“Wait a second.” Ann cocked her head. “You said you're going to hunt down
this creature
. How do you know it's not a man or a—”

“It left prints. Pawprints. Like a dog's.” Tully whirled around and stomped down the steps, disappearing into the gloom. A few moments later, an engine started up. He roared away, the red taillights of his vehicle glaring back at them like demon eyes in the dark.

Silence fell with a thud. They looked at each other, the same suspicion, the same horror, mirrored in each other's faces. Then everyone began speaking at once. Shay stood to one side, eyes staring into the distance.

Bann stepped out onto the porch. Behind him, he could hear the Doyles through the open door. Worms of guilt squirmed inside of him.
He was right. I brought the shapeshifter into their midst. And now two young Knights are dead. One who deserved it and one who did not
. A hand took his, warming it against the chill of the night.

“I know what you're thinking, Bannerman Boru,” Shay said.

“No doubt.”

“It's not your fault.”

“Not directly, but—”

“But nothing. Quinn made his own choice. A bad one, but still, it was
his
choice to team up with those uglies, not yours.”

“And the other Tully? The one that died this day?” He dropped her hand to punish himself and stepped to the edge of the porch. Leaning a shoulder on one of the column, he spoke to the night. “How am I not liable for
his
death?”

A footfall. Then Shay wrapped an arm around his waist, palm pressed against his hip. “Because you're
not
. Suckage happens…”

“
Suckage
?”

“Yes, suckage. To good people. To innocent people. And you can't prevent it.”

Bann let her pull him around and make him take a seat so that they were eye to eye. The wood railing dug into the backs of his thighs. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying that we're a warrior people. Death and life are part of the Circle. All you're responsible for is doing what you can to keep Cor safe and whole and alive, as well as yourself.”

“And you.”

“I can take care of myself, thank you.”

“That, ye can. And ye've taken grand care of me and mine as well.” Bann pulled her into his arms, capturing her between his legs. He pressed his cheek against hers. “Gods, Shay. Max—”

“I don't want to think about it.” She snuggled closer. “I'm just trying to keep my shit together, so could we talk about something else? Please?”

“How do you do that? Push your emotions to one side? ‘Tis rare in a woman.”

“I've had to learn to do it in order to be an effective Healer. Otherwise, I'd be devastated anytime one of my patients was in terrible pain or even died. A defense mechanism, you might say, to keep myself sane.”

“And is that
mechanism
working for you now?”

A long pause. “Not so much.”

“Hey.” Rory stuck his head out. “Ann sent me to get you guys. Supper's on the table. And Bann? Cor refuses to come downstairs. James tried, but the kid's locked himself in the bathroom.” He vanished.

I do not blame him
, Bann thought.
Some days, I wish I could do the same
. “Shay, go ahead, would you? And tell the others to not hold supper for us. We'll be along directly.”
Or not, depending on how upset he is
.

“Or not. Depending on how badly he's melting down.”

In spite of everything, he barked a laugh.

Climbing the stairs, Bann could smell the aroma of roasted chicken mingled with the bread-y scent of baked potatoes. His stomach growled.
I'm half-tempted to simply leave a covered plate outside the bathroom door and call it good for the night
. He walked through Cor's bedroom and tried the knob on the bathroom door. Locked. “Cor? Supper is ready.”

A sniff.

“Unlock the door, son.”

“I'm not hungry.”

Well, I am
. “What's wrong, lad?”

“It was my fault. Max died because of me. And now…”

You are your father's son
. “No, it was not. And if you come out, Shay will explain it to you, using the rather descriptive word
suckage
.” A faint snort of laughter. Bann continued. “And we can sup on chicken and potatoes while we listen to her.”

Click
. The door opened. Cor stepped out, eyes red-rimmed and skin blotchy. “Do you think anyone can tell I've been crying?”

“No, of course not,” he lied. “But wash your face. With
cold
water. You've, um, a bit of muck on it.”

They headed to the main level. The sound of voices and the clink of silverware on china called to them from the kitchen. Two empty chairs awaited them. Bann nudged Cor next to Shay, then took his own place on the other side of his son. A platter of roasted chicken breasts, seasoned with herbs, was passed around, followed by serving dishes loaded with new potatoes baked to a golden brown, and asparagus sautéed in olive oil.