The Stag Lord (5 page)

Leaving the park's entrance and the dark gatehouse behind, they headed south, paralleling the nature preserve for a mile before turning into a residential area. Shay had fallen in love with the neighborhood four years ago when she had finished her apprenticeship, and decided to become a Healer for the small and secret community of Tuatha Dé Danaan living in High Springs. Her quirky neighborhood, with one-of-a-kind houses scattered about on large lots for privacy, backed up to the southern edge of the Garden of the Gods. Or, as the locals affectionately called it, the Garden.

Her own house, a mid-century brick rancher with no redeeming features except the size of its lot and its view of the city, sat by itself at the end of a dead-end street; like most of her people, she preferred a secluded setting. Her backyard was ringed by a jumble of massive boulders and hoodoo rocks.

Shay pulled into the driveway. Leaving her lights on, she jumped out in time to wave Bann over to the east side of her property. The grassy ledge extended about ten yards before sloping away, revealing a million-dollar view of the lights of High Springs.

Bann lifted a hand in acknowledgement. She watched with admiration while he made a neat U-turn, lined up the camper, then backed both rigs in one try. The truck shuddered in gratitude when he turned off the engine.

As Bann walked around to the passenger side and helped his son out, she joined them. “Let's get some medicine in Cor and put a better sling on his arm, then we'll feast like warriors on my famous stew.”

“I don't like stew.” Cor stiffened when his father leaned over and spoke a few words Shay didn't quite catch. The boy gulped. “I mean, thank you, Ms. Doyle, and I like stew.”

“My pleasure. And you can call me Shay.”

“Not if he cares to see the dawn,” Bann said in a dry voice.

Shay laughed. “Come on, you two.”

After turning off the headlamps on her vehicle, Shay led the way to the front door and unlocked it. The aroma of meat and potatoes and herbs greeted them, followed by a let-me-out-
right-now
booming bark.

“Is that
him
?” Cor's whole body lit up.

“Yup. He's barely two, so he's still learning manners.” She raised her voice. “Hush, you!” The dog barked louder. “See what I mean?”

“What's his name?”

“Maximus. Yeah, he's huge. I call him Max.”

“Where is he?” Cor craned his neck with a wince, trying to see where the woofing was coming from.

“He's in his crate in my bedroom. But let's get you taken care of first. For now, make yourselves at home.” She waved a hand, watching them look around. It was like seeing her house through new eyes.

The far end of the not-so-great great room was taken up with a kitchen last updated in the eighties. Beyond the breakfast table, a sliding glass door looked northward—a reflective, black rectangle. Separating the kitchen from the rest of the room was a large island. Or was it a peninsula? Geography had never been Shay's strong suit. A pair of bronze hunting knives, with a whetstone next to them, lay on top of the Formica.

Taking up most of the western wall of the main room was a brick fireplace. A sofa and overstuffed chairs were clustered around it, the sofa facing the raised hearth. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves graced either side of it. On the eastern side of the room, a hallway disappeared into darkness. Shay walked over and flipped on a light.

“Your room's the very first door on the right. There's a bathroom right across from it.”

She followed them into the small bedroom fitted with a pair of extra-long twin beds pushed against opposite walls, neatly made with matching comforters and a bedside table between them. She sometimes used the room when she had a patient who needed round-the-clock healing. A dresser sat tucked in the far corner with a chair next to it.

Bann steered his son to the bed farthest from the window, which looked out to the front yard. “Sit.”

While Bann held the injured arm, Shay unwound the makeshift sling as gently as she could. Still, Cor hissed with each movement. All three sighed in relief when she finished. “I'll get that sling. And I want to do another examination, just to make sure I didn't miss anything earlier. Be right back.”

But first, she made a detour down the hall to the master bedroom, passing a second room she used for storage. Sticking her head inside her room, she shushed the bulk of black and tan fur rattling the metal door of the crate with a massive paw. “Easy, boy. Give me a minute, then I'll let you out. And get over it,” she said at the whine. “Sheesh, I was gone less than two hours.” At another whine, she added, “I've brought you a boy to play with, but be gentle. He's hurt.”

Closing the door, she swung by the guest bathroom for the first aid kit and a sling. By the time she stepped across the hall, Bann had somehow managed to get the boy's T-shirt and jeans off. Cor sat on the bed, wearing nothing but boxers and an air of mortification. After another exam, she nodded, pleased her original assessment had been correct. She thought for a moment, then caught the man's eye and, with a tilt of her chin, indicated the hallway.

“Wait here, son.” Bann followed her out and pulled the door almost closed.

Stepping farther away, she whispered. “I suppose our traditional method of healing is out of the question.”

“You mean
sláinte
nettle potion?” He shook his head. “No, he'll recognize the smell and taste; I still use it on occasion. Do you not have other remedies?”

“None that'll work as well or as fast as that stuff.” She waited a beat. “You know, life would be a lot easier for everybody if you just tell him who I am.”

“No, it would not.”

“Why?” Shay struggled to keep her irritation in check. “What's the big deal if Cor knows? Does it have to do with why you no longer consider yourself a Knight?”

“You gave your word you would keep silent.” Bann's eyes took on an ice-blue glare.

Shay chewed on her lip, trying to decide how much to push the man. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Fine. I stick to first aid cream for his cuts and Tylenol for his bruises and concussion. Not that human meds do much for us Fey, but it's better than—” Shay smacked her forehead. “I am such a fool! You said you have some potion?”

“Yes, in the camper. I keep a jar—oh.” He laughed softly. “Who's the fool now?” Without a word, he headed for the front door.

While Bann fetched the
sláinte
nettle, Shay reflected again on the almost magical tonic. Brewed from the leaves of the deadnettle plant and nicknamed
sláinte
nettle, or health nettle—
a name that makes me cringe every time a mortal uses
sláinte
as a toast
—the plant had been used by her people for every injury or sickness since the beginning of their race. She stepped back to the guest room, hovering in the doorway.

Cor lay on his side. She studied his face. Injured or sick children always shredded her heart.
Kiddo, I don't know what the deal is with your dad, but while you're under
my
roof, I'll do whatever it takes to heal you, even if it pisses off a certain ex-Knight
.

The front door opened and closed with a complaining squeak.
I've got to get that fixed
, she thought, mentally listing all the repairs her home needed.
Which I could do if I could figure out how to add three extra hours to each day. My master was right—being the only Healer in the region is a 24/7 life gig
. Which she loved.

A faint footstep, then Bann appeared. She noticed he carried a bundle of clothing and a Mason jar with the familiar greenish-brown liquid.

“I'll go pretend I'm clueless while you administer that.” Grinning to herself at the expression on the man's face, she walked back to her room. After tossing a doggie toy into the crate to keep Max from exploding, she pulled on sweat pants over her running tights. She didn't want to walk around all evening in such clinging clothes.
Wouldn't want him to get the wrong message
, she thought as she brushed her hair and retied it.
Although he doesn't strike me as that kind of guy
. She took advantage of her arm over head position and sniffed, then pulled up her shirt and hoodie and rubbed on more deodorant. Readjusting her clothes, she caught Max watching her in the mirror. “Strong enough for a man, my ass. Women sweat, too, you know.”

Max's tongue lolled out, teeth parted as if laughing. Shay grinned back, thankful she had taken in the German shepherd—possibly with a generous dose of Clydesdale as well—mixed breed six months ago after his owners, the elderly couple a few blocks over, had decided he was just too much dog for them. As massive as a St. Bernard but with a shepherd's agility and brains, the dog had become a stalwart and smart-as-a-whip companion who just needed loads of exercise and attention. “Who's a good boy?”

Max beat the sides of the crate with his tail, clearly indicating
he
was the good boy and might he please come and show her just how good he could be? “Just hang in there a few more minutes. And hold your pee, too.” She closed the door and headed back to the kitchen.

After turning on the oven, she sampled the stew in the slow cooker and added a splash of Worcestershire sauce, enjoying the mundane yet satisfying act of cooking in the midst of one crazy day. Humming to herself, she mixed up a double batch of quick-bake biscuits, slid them into the oven, then spent the next ten minutes tidying the kitchen and searching for dishes that matched. She frowned as she worked, trying to remember the last time she had actually sat down at the table to eat. With guests, no less.

Look, Mom
. She thought about her mother, one of the few Tuatha Dé Danaan women who relished neither weaponry nor the hunt.
I'm finally being all domestic-like
. She grinned to herself.
Best go check on Cor
.

Halfway across the living room, she snapped her fingers and whirled around. “Whoops!” Scooping up the hunting knives and the whetstone from the counter, she shoved them in the nearest drawer.
Better hide these. Because nothing screams Tuatha Dé Danaan like bronze blades
.

The earthy-spicy aroma of
sláinte
nettle tickled her nose as she neared the guest room; it always reminded her of coffee mixed with peppermint. She paused in the doorway.

Dressed in a somewhat-clean T-shirt and sweatpants, injured arm already cradled in the new sling, Cor sat on the edge of the bed, holding his face up as his father cleaned it with a cloth dampened with the brew. Bann was speaking in a low tone. Not wanting to eavesdrop, Shay cleared her throat. They both looked over; she hid a grin upon seeing identical expressions on the almost identical faces.
No mistaking those two for anything other than father and son
.

“Supper's about ready. Cor, do you feel like eating? And meeting Max?”

“Yes, ma'am!” He eased off the bed and followed her out of the room.

“I'll be along in a moment.” Bann shut the door after them.

She glanced at the closed door, then lowered her voice. “What's with this
ma'am
crap? I thought I told you to call me Shay.”

“I'm not supposed to. Dad's kind of strict.”

Your dad's kind of a hardass
. She peeked over a shoulder at Cor as he trailed after her to her bedroom. “Looks like you're feeling better, by the way.”

“Yeah. He gave me some…some medicine.”

“Good.” Dropping the subject, she opened the door. “Max's pretty good about not jumping on you, but if he does, tell him
down
. Use a firm voice.”

“Okay.” Cor's eyes were locked on the dog. Max was gazing right back through the bars of the crate. Love at first sight. For both of them.

Shay unlatched the door with a clang and snagged the dog's collar before he could lunge at Cor. “Max. Sit.” The dog hesitated for a moment before planting his butt. “All right. Come on.”

Cor walked over. Without being told, he held out the back of his hand. Following canine protocol, Max gave the small hand a sniff and a swipe of his tongue. Cor dropped to his knees. He buried his fingers in the deep ruff around the dog's neck. “Hey, Max. Good dog.”

Max swept the floor with his tail in agreement. Straining to lick the boy's face, he stretched his wolflike muzzle as close as he could without his hindquarters leaving the ground.

“All right, boy.” Shay released him.

Laughing, Cor turned his face from side to side as Max attempted to wash him. He stood up, hand still on the dog's neck. “Man, he's big! Is he a German shepherd?”

“Half, I'd guess. You know your breeds, don't you?”

“I have a book with all the different kinds.” He blinked in surprise when Max began circling him, whining softly.

“He needs to pee. C'mon, you two.” Shay led the way to the kitchen. After letting the dog out the sliding door to the backyard, she opened the refrigerator. “What do you want to drink? Milk okay?”

“Yes, please.” Cor hovered by the island, gaze sweeping the kitchen as if he was looking for something. “Do you have any other pets?”

“Nope. Although Max should count as two.” She pulled the biscuits out and began placing them in a basket. “Here.” She tossed one to Cor, who missed it, awkward from the sling. He snatched it from the floor, blew on it, and began eating, apparently a believer in the three-second rule.

“Do you have any kids?” he asked around a mouthful of flaky dough.

“No. No husband, either.”

“What do you do?”

“I help people who are sick or hurt.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“A kind of doctor, yes.” A million questions shouted for attention in Shay's head. The promise to Bann kept her options for conversation limited. “Do
you
have any pets?”

“We were going to get a dog before…well,
before
. But Dad said there's no room now in our camper.” His eyes kept searching the room.