Unholy Blue (11 page)

Bile flooded Bann's throat. “Ye son of a bitch,” he said softly. He started toward the man, jerking to a stop when the other two raised their knives in warning.

“Chill.” Crew Cut looked Bann up and down. “I bet you play rugby, right? Or hurling—being Irish born and bred and all that shit.” With a grin, Crew Cut took a step back and lifted Sam to shoulder height, setting his feet and cocking his arm back in a quarterback stance. “But this is America, not
Éireann
, boyo,” he said, mocking Bann's brogue, “so let's see how well you play
football
.”

The woman made a movement toward him. “Dude. No.”

“Yeah, really.” Scarface added. “Not cool. It's just a puppy—”

“Shut up.” Crew Cut pointed behind Bann with his free hand. “Go deep!” he shouted gleefully. Then he threw Sam.

Bann spun around and ran. Both arms extended, he kept his eyes fixed on the small creature clawing the air
in desperation. Legs churning in a full-out sprint, he leaned forward, past the angle of being able to stay upright, knowing he only had to break Sam's fall. He stretched further, willing another inch to his arms, until he was almost parallel to the ground. At the last second, he dropped his knife.

With a grunt, he caught Sam in one hand. Pulling the struggling pup in close to his chest, he curled his body around Sam. Together, they hit the ground and skidded a few feet, raising a cloud of dust.

He lurched to his feet, still clutching Sam. Rage flooded him, shrieking in his ears like a public address system on a nasty feedback loop. The anger blazed into the warp spasm—the ancient battle rage that transformed both Fey and mortal into Celtic berserkers. Blinking through a crimson haze, he nodded, chest heaving, as the warp spasm whispered to him, urging him to rip the man's skull from his neck.
Mayhaps use
it
as a fokking football
, the voice added.

Bann agreed.
Three against one. 'Twould be an even match
.

The sudden
chk-chk
of a weapon being racked. Movement out of the corner of his eye. Then a quiet, “Bann.”

Shay appeared next to him with a shotgun aimed at the Tullys. Cor was at her side. “Take Sam and go back to the house, kiddo. It'll be okay.” After the shaken boy had gathered the pup in his arms and disappeared, she shifted the gun to one arm and handed Bann the knife he had dropped. All the while, she kept the muzzle pointed at the woman and Scarface. “I keep
this
around”—she hefted it—“for coyotes. And you guys
certainly qualify. Get over by that rock. Move! No, not you,” she said to Crew Cut. “You just stay put.” As the other two shuffled over to the boulder, Bann saw that they seemed relieved. “Okay, the asshole is all yours,” Shay said. “Try not to kill him—it'd just make things worse. But you can
bloody
him all you want.”

Curling his fingers around the handle, he gave a curt nod, then started toward Crew Cut. “Just the two of us and our knives, eh?”

Crew Cut curled his lip. “If you've got the balls.”

As Bann stalked the younger Knight, the battle rage murmured more suggestions.
Slice off each finger, one by one. Look, there's a flat rock you can use as a cutting board. Think of them as little sausages. Sausages. Hmm, that gives me a better idea. Cut a slit in his belly and pull out his intestines with the point of your knife. You can wrap them around the blade like spaghetti, then force them down his throat
.

Why, ye're a clever one, ye are
, he thought.

He charged. Without breaking stride, he plucked one of the heavy branches from the wood pile. Crew Cut met him halfway. His knife whistled through the air; the rising sun danced a reel along its blade. In an almost languid move, Bann blocked the stroke with his own blade. Then, with a cry, he whipped the club around and struck Crew Cut's forearm, shattering the bones with a wet
snap
. The younger Knight's knife tumbled from nerveless fingers. Cradling his arm, Crew Cut stumbled backwards, Bann matching him step for step and forcing the younger Knight against a boulder.

Crowding closer, Bann pressed the tip of his knife to the underside of Crew Cut's chin, the point digging into
the soft skin. Blood welled up. “Make a move and I'll pin yer tongue to the roof of yer mouth.” He studied the man. “Afraid, are ye?” He could feel the moist heat coming from the man's gaping mouth on his cheek; it stank of pain and fear and the knowledge of impending death. Holding his broken arm, the younger Knight made a strangled sound. “Would that be a yes?”

Crew Cut nodded with an upward jerk of his head, desperate to keep his throat away from the point of the knife.

Bann smiled. “Good. Then ye know how that wee one felt when you pitched him into the air, ye shitty piece of Bog-born arse. Now, there was no reason for ye and yer friends to be near our home. Unless ye were up to no good. Am I right?”

“We were just hiking by when—” Crew Cut's voice died away as Bann dug the tip of the blade deeper into skin as soft as Sam's belly. Feeling the prick of the blade, he stood on tiptoe, more blood trickling out. Bann let him struggle like a fish on the end of a spear for a long minute before relenting, then lowered his knife. Crew Cut staggered sideways a step, ashen-faced with pain. Sweat beaded his upper lip.

“Ye tell Weston Tully and the rest of yer clan”—Bann tapped the man's broken arm with the end of the club, eliciting a breathless moan—“to leave off. Next time, I'll not be as generous. Next time, 'twill be
his
blood that is spilled. Now, clear out.”

Crew Cut shuffled away. The other two Tullys followed, the woman taking Crew Cut by his uninjured arm. Bann watched as the trio hurried across the clearing, speaking in low tones, and disappeared
between two large boulders. The sound of their footsteps faded.

“Look at you.” Shay joined him, thumbing the safety on with a practiced
click
. “Being all merciful.” She squeezed his arm.

He tensed. “Leave me be.” The warp spasm continued to vibrate through his body, the whisper faint, but still there. “I'm not yet…” He turned his head and spat.

“Hey.” She shifted the weapon to one arm before sliding her free hand under his jacket. Her fingertips gently unknotted his back muscles. “It's okay. You're not anything you shouldn't be right now.”

Closing his eyes, Bann took a deep breath, then another, trying to slow a heart going several rounds inside of his chest. “Cor?”

“I sent him back. And, yes, Sam is fine, thank the gods. And
you
. Damn, if you hadn't caught him…” Her fingers convulsed, bunching up his T-shirt. “The Goddess knows I'm a Healer and I hold my oath sacred. But, I swear, Bannerman Boru, if anything had happened to Sam, I would have
castrated
that bastard and shoved his balls down his gullet. After I lit them on fire. No. Wait.” Shay let go of his shirt and stepped around in front of him. “I would've roasted his
cojones
while they were still attached,
then
castrated him,
then
shoved them down his throat. A Celtic version of Rocky Mountain oysters.”

In spite of everything, Bann barked a laugh. “Remind me not to annoy you.” He eased the gun from her hand. “Just in case.”

Shay grinned. “You mean, more than you already do?”

“Dad?”

Cor jogged toward them with Sam beside him on his leash. The puppy bounded along, hind end trying to out-run the front. Bann saw his son had his switchblade in his free hand.

“Whoa there, shorty.” Shay moved to intercept boy and pup. “I thought I told you to stay in the house.”

“I did for a long, long time, but—”

“It was, like, eleven minutes,” Shay pointed out.

“…but I wanted to make sure you and Dad were okay.” He started for Bann, but Shay held up her hand.

“We're fine. It's all over. Now, turn around and go back to the house like I told you.”

Bann opened his mouth, then closed it.
He needs to learn this lesson
.

Cor's eyes flitted once to his father, then back at the woman. “I want to stay with my dad.”

“Your dad and I will be along in a moment. Go on now.”

“I'm just going to walk back with you guys,” Cor declared.

“No, you are not.” Shay's voice took on iron. “You're going to obey me.”

“Can I wait over there?” He pointed to the edge of the clearing closest to the house.

I'll give the lad credit
, Bann thought.
He never says
no
directly. He just keeps shifting the field of battle until you drop from exhaustion
.

“Cormac Boru.” Shay planted her fists on her hips. “What part of ‘go back to the house' are you not getting?”

“I don't want to go back.”

“Tough Teflon. Go anyway.”

Cor scowled. “Why can't I…”

“This is not a debate. Now, do what I told you!” Shay's voice rose in frustration.

Wait for it
, Bann thought.

“You're not the boss of me!” Cor shouted back.

And those were the magic words
.

“That's it.” Shay snatched the leash from Cor, and ignoring the boy's protest, thrust the lead line at Bann. She grabbed Cor by the arm. Bending over, she nailed him in place with her gaze. “You can walk or I can drag you by the hand.”

Cor glared a silent challenge back.

Bann hid a smile by looking down at the puppy sniffing around his boot.
Who will be the first to wave the white flag, I wonder?

“Fine. Your choice.” Shay reached for the boy's hand.

Apparently realizing he wasn't going to win this ground war, Cor pulled out the nukes. Tears welled up. Blinking, he set them free to slide down his cheeks. “Please, Shay?” He sniffed. “I-I don't want to be by myself in the house.”

His son had Bann at the first tear. “'Tis all right.” He took a step toward them when Shay looked over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised.
Do you mind? I'm trying to establish some authority here, big guy
, her expression said as clearly as if she had spoken. Feeling like a traitor, he added. “But mind Shay.” He flinched at Cor's look of betrayal. Keeping his own expression neutral, he waited until the boy stomped off before speaking. “My apologies, Shay. I didn't mean to—”

“Damn it, Bann.” Shay whirled around so fast Sam skittered backwards and tripped over Bann's boots. She bent over and picked up the pup, soothing him until Sam began licking her hands. Keeping her voice calm so as not to frighten the pup, she continued. “You need to let me do this in my own way.”

“Aye.”
But stepping aside is more difficult than I thought it would be
.

Shay looked up at him, still stroking the puppy in her arms, and shook her head. “You don't always have to play dad, you know. And there are going to be times when we'll have to run a united husband-and-wife defense with that kid. Gods, he's stubborn.”

“He is his father's son.”

A distant howl drifted from the north, one long note of warning. It faded away to silence.

They both stiffened. Staring at the maze of boulders, Bann cocked his head. “That was no coyote.”

“No, it wasn't,” Shay murmured, one hand absently stroking the tiny head.

They waited for another minute. The rising sun pushed blue shadows to the west while it labored at warming the new day. Not liking the fact that Cor was no doubt lingering somewhere between him and the back gate, Bann tapped Shay on the arm, then cocked his head toward home.

Putting Sam back down, Shay wrapped the leash around her fist and let the pup jerk back and forth like a trout on a line as she led the way back. Carrying the shotgun, Bann glanced over his shoulder one last time, then followed.

T
UGGING OFF HIS WORK
gloves, Bann looked down in satisfaction at the cord of wood nestled in its new cradle. He had spent the morning building the holder, aided by his son; the physical labor had helped work out the lingering rush of the warp spasm. The holding rack rested off the ground on a platform of redwood in a corner of the yard away from anything more flammable than the fence.

“Being able to build or repair things,” he had said to Cor, belted in the back seat as they drove the new truck to the local Home Depot for materials, “gives a man a certain
power
, you might say.”
Speaking of power
. He pushed down on the accelerator, enjoying the surge as they headed east on the state highway that bisected High Springs.

“Power like when we say the words of the Song?” Cor had asked. “To make us faster and stronger?”

“Not really. We use
those
words the Goddess gave our ancestors to help in battle or on the hunt. The kind of power I'm talking about is caring for your family. That's one of the most important things a man does—protecting and tending to the wants and needs of his wife and children.”

Cor frowned. “But that's what Shay told me
her
job was. To watch out for you. And to take care of me and you and everyone in the clan. She said
especially
you.”

“Me?”

“Uh-huh. She said you need more watching out for than anyone.”

“Oh, she did, did she?” He glanced back in the rear-view mirror. “What else did she say about me?”

“That you think everything bad that happens to us is your fault and you have to fix it and not let anything else bad happen to us.”

What kind of man would I be if I didn't at least try?
“What do
you
think?” The old question haunted him.
Does he blame me for his mother's death
?

Cor shrugged. “Shay told me that bad things just happened and it's nobody's fault and that us three just need to take care of each other.” His face brightened. “And now Sam, too.”