by Ann Gimpel
“Nay,” Gwydion said. “If we’d had word, we wouldna still be here.”
It took a moment to sink in, but the meaning behind his words was clear enough. “You’d have left without me?” She slapped her bowl back on the table, surprised it didn’t shatter.
“Mayhap.” Bran spoke carefully. “Depends on where Fionn was and how hard it would be to extract him.”
“So if it was very hard, you’d have left me here?” Aislinn persisted. She wasn’t hungry anymore; the oatmeal tasted like glue, but she needed fuel, so she forced more of it down.
“That shouldna surprise you,” Arawn said. “Fionn would skin us alive if we took you into danger, and ye dinna make it out alive.”
She slugged back half her coffee, blew out a weary breath, and rested her chin on an upraised hand. It didn’t make sense to dig deeper. She was weaker than them, but their penchant to treat her like a hothouse flower rankled.
“Do you have a plan?” she asked, switching tactics.
“The logical place to start would be the Strophades Islands in the Aegean,” Gwydion replied.
“Aye, but it canna be that easy,” Bran protested.
“True. Mayhap the dark gods are planning on us staging a rescue and have something unpleasant in store for us once we arrive.” Arawn knit his dark brows together.
“Even if they do, that’s not a reason not to go,” Aislinn said.
“Relax, lass.” Bran held out a hand, palm toward her. “No one is suggesting we leave Fionn to find his own way back, although he is more than capable of doing so.”
Aislinn stifled a gasp, and a lead weight settled in her heart. “So you’re saying if he wanted to return, he’d already be back?” Visions of him doing unspeakably twisted sexual things with the bird-woman pummeled her.
“Nay, I dinna say that at all,” Bran shot a discerning glance her way. “Ye doona trust him.”
“I do.” Her voice wavered, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “I do, but he has…history with that thing.”
“’Twas a time when Fionn had history with half the lassies in the Old Country.” Gwydion arrowed a meaningful glance her way. “If ye canna get past it, mayhap ye’d be better served to pick one of us.” A lascivious grin split his face, and his blue eyes glittered mischievously.
Aislinn drained her coffee. “Thanks, but you’re still in love with my mother.”
“I’m not.” Bran leaped to his feet and bowed. “Neither is Arawn.”
Rune scuttled out of the corner where he’d settled and pounced on something. A cacophony of squeaks later, he padded to Aislinn’s side with a dead mouse in his teeth.
“Nice work,” she said and stroked his rough outer coat. “Anytime you want to hire out as the castle cat, just holler.”
“Not funny.” Because his mouth was busy crunching through rodent bones, he switched to mind speech.
“When are”—she paused for emphasis—“we leaving?” Her gaze moved among the Celts.
“As soon as ye’re done eating,” Gwydion said.
“Oooh, I got lucky and get to come along?” Aislinn bit her lower lip. “Sorry, but if you think I’ll grovel and thank you for including me, you’re wrong.”
“One caveat.” Arawn held up a finger. “If we tell you to leave, ye must do so. Immediately and without argument.”
Christ! It’s like when I order Rune about. No wonder he hates it so much. “Are the dragons coming?”
“Ye’re hedging, lass,” Gwydion said. “Aye, Dewi and Nidhogg are coming with us.”
“I wasn’t hedging, not really.” She cleaned the last dollop of cereal from her bowl. “Dewi can hide me in her body. She’s done it before. So,” Aislinn smiled brightly, “how about this? If one of you decides I’m not safe, I’ll merge with the dragon.”
“Ye dinna like it overmuch when she entertained the Minotaur,” Gwydion noted.
“I’m not planning on her fucking anything on that Greek island,” Aislinn countered. “Particularly now that Nidhogg is back.”
Arawn stood. “Fine. We agree. More or less. Let’s get moving. Getting Fionn back is far from the end of our problems.”
* * * *
Fionn’s body was soaked in sweat, and his legs shook with effort as he pushed toward his power with everything he had. The Harpies had locked his magic in some sort of dynamic prison. Each time he got tantalizingly close, it scuttled a few feet away.
“Fuck!” he sputtered. “They’re wearing me down by inches.”
He forced his outraised arms to his sides and took long, slow, deep breaths until his heart rate slowed. Obviously, his current strategy wasn’t working. To pursue it further was a waste of valuable time, time when Aislinn might do something ill-advised, tell Gwydion and them to fuck themselves, and take matters into her own hands. He set his jaw in a tense line, teeth gritted together. God, but he loved that woman. If anything happened to her, he’d lay waste to the Harpies, the dark gods, and whoever else harmed his love.
The Celts had never gotten on particularly well with the Greek gods, but Fionn ran a mental catalogue of who might come to his aid if he asked nicely. Better to settle on one of them—as opposed to putting out a general distress call—since they often argued among themselves. After bouncing between Zeus, Hera, and Cronus, he kept returning to Cronus. One of the most ancient, he was Zeus’ father. He may have devoured his children and taken control of the universe after killing his own father, Uranus, but Cronus had mellowed over the intervening millennia. He also had a strongly held sense of right and wrong.
Now. He dinna hold any such thing when he did away with his children to maintain a chokehold on his powerbase.
Fionn wasn’t certain the god would respond to a direct summons. Perhaps a supplicant approach would buy him more. Though it grated, he sank to his knees and cried, “I call upon Cronus, lord of the world.”
Head bowed, Fionn waited. He wasn’t ready to give hours to this idea, but he’d wait a few minutes. The earth bucked beneath his knees, and his eyes flew open. Dirt rippled and formed fissures all around him. Fionn bolted upright and hastily climbed into the lower branches of a nearby olive tree. If the very firmament was about to implode, he didn’t want to get sucked into Hades. Wind whooshed through the trees, tangling Fionn’s hair. He pushed it out of his eyes and wished he’d taken the time to redo his braids.
A conical whirlwind formed a few feet away as dirt, stones, and dust from the open fractures flew toward it. The air was electric with magic. Fionn covered his nose and mouth with his arm and squinted against thickening grit in the air. After ducking to avoid a few good-sized rocks, one thumped him in the temple. Cursing roundly, Fionn reached blindly for power to shield himself—and found it. At first, he froze, not believing the barrier between himself and his magic had dissipated.
“Doona kick a gift horse in the mouth,” he muttered and wound threads of magic into a ward. Apparently, whatever natural phenomenon was rearranging the landscape had also unlocked his magic. No matter what was behind it, it wasn’t something to complain about. He’d sensed that whatever corralled his power wasn’t strong, just wily and good at evading him. Once he’d protected himself, he chanted words to teleport out of this hellhole, but nothing happened.
What the fuck?
He faced the whirlwind, and it stopped spinning. Rocks, grit, and dirt spattered to the ground; Cronus walked from the center of the cyclone. His dark hair was woven with precious gemstones, and he was naked but for a crimson loincloth wrapped around his hips. His bronzed skin glistened as if he’d oiled it. He stared at Fionn, and his mouth opened in astonishment.
“The one who summoned me had no power. What have you done with him?” The god stood tall, and an ever-changing collage floated in his golden eyes.
“’Twas I who called you,” Fionn said. “One of your Harpies separated me from my magic and stranded me here.”
“But your power is intact,” Cronus noted, looking puzzled.
“Aye, a r
ecent development no doubt linked to the disturbance ye created traveling here.”
A knowing leer split Cronus’ face. With a high forehead, defined cheeks, and a strong, square jaw, he had an imperious presence. “A Harpy commandeered you, eh? Well now, she must have had good reasons.” He narrowed his eyes. “As I recall, you bedded one of them. Was it her?”
“Aye.”
Cronus shrugged. “Mayhap she was lonely.”
Fionn didn’t give a flying fuck, but it didn’t seem expedient to say so. “With all due respect, I would leave and return to my home and fellow gods. Earth is hard pressed just now and my absence is sorely felt.”
Cronus tossed his head back and laughed. “Always were full of yourself, MacCumhaill. So long as you summoned me, entertain me for a bit.”
“Ye’re who kept me from launching my teleport spell.”
“Great news, Celt! Nothing wrong with your mind. You win the virgin. I’ll see if I can’t gin one up. That should annoy the hell out of the Harpy.” Cronus cackled as if he’d just made the finest of jokes. “What did you mean about Earth being hard pressed? Aren’t most of the humans dead?”
At least he knows that part. “Lemurians and the six dark gods wish to claim Earth for themselves.” Fionn stepped toward Cronus. “Look, mate, I havena the time just now, but I promise I’ll return as soon as I can to fill you in.”
“You haven’t visited me in all these years, why would I believe you would do so now?”
“Because I give you my word. Besides”—Fionn walked closer until he was only about three feet in front of the Greek god and stared into his unsettling eyes—“nothing holds you here. Ye could come with me.”
A surprised look washed across Cronus’ face, as if he’d never considered hobnobbing with anyone outside the Greek gods’ pantheon.
The air to the right of them brightened, and Aello stepped through. Her silver eyes widened in surprise.
“Cronus,” she purred, and waddled to his side with her awkward bird gait. “I’ve missed you.”
Fionn felt the blast of sexual heat from where he stood and was intensely grateful it wasn’t directed at him. Working on the theory it was better to ask forgiveness than permission, he set a teleport spell in motion, and said, “If ’tis all the same to the both of you, I’ll be taking my leave.”
This time Cronus didn’t interrupt his magic, and neither did Aeollo. The last thing Fionn saw before the island shimmered away to nothingness was the two of them locked in a heated embrace.
Better him than me…
Chapter Nine
Aislinn stuffed dried fruit, nuts, and a water bottle into a rucksack. Experience taught her it paid to be prepared, because these field trips frequently took much longer than anyone anticipated. She chewed on her lower lip, worried sick about Fionn. When he hadn’t returned quickly, jealousy almost ate her up alive. He was a god, for chrissakes. If he wanted to return, he’d have figured it out. Unless the dark ones had imprisoned him—or he’d succumbed to Aello’s milk-white breasts, cascade of blonde hair, and eyes like hammered pewter.
Don’t go there.
Why not? According to Gwydion, Fionn fucked half the women in the U.K.
Her vision clouded with fury, and Aislinn slammed a hand down on the kitchen’s stone countertop to get herself under control. It wasn’t as if she’d been exactly virginal when she met Fionn, but the thought of him bent over another woman, kissing her, fondling her, and murmuring endearments was too much to tolerate. He’d moved to the States in the seventeen hundreds and was capable of English without a trace of a brogue, but he preferred the softened cadence of his native Highlands. At first it had driven her crazy when he switched between dialects, but that was because his brogue reminded her so much of her dead mother.
Tara Lenear was a direct descendent of Irish kings, except she’d never bothered to tell Aislinn anything about it. Along with her royal bloodlines had come linkages to both Dewi and Fionn. Tara hadn’t loved Fionn, though. She’d loved Gwydion. To avoid a mess not of her own making, she’d fled Ireland as soon as she turned eighteen and used magic to bury herself in the Southwestern United States. Aislinn supposed her father, Jacob, had also been in the dark about Tara’s roots. God knows, they’d never even discussed visiting Tara’s Irish kin.
Surely, Dad didn’t believe they were all dead…
“Are you coming sometime today?” Dewi’s acidic tones blasted through a kitchen window.
“Be right there.”
“I thought you were worried about Fionn, but I guess you’d rather while away the morning lost in the past.”
“For Christ fucking sakes, stay out of my head.” Aislinn tossed her rucksack over her shoulders and stormed up the stairs, across the great room, and out the front door.
Dewi waited at the bottom of the steps, her forelegs crossed over her red-scaled chest. “Humph. Thought that would light a fire under your ass.”
Aislinn bit back a sharp retort. Dewi loved to argue and was a classic pot-stirrer. No reason to feed that part of her. She whistled, and Rune raced around a corner of the castle with Bella flying not far behind.
“Where’s your brood?” she asked Dewi. Rune fell in next to her, tongue lolling. He and the raven had probably been hunting.
“Nidhogg is settling them with Kra and Berra back in our caves. Vaughna and Royce are standing by as well. Arawn even scared up a few Celts to keep watch until we get back.”
Aislinn nodded and scanned the courtyard, which lay empty beyond her, Dewi, and the two bond animals. “Are Gwydion and the others still coming?”
“Of course.”
An exasperated breath blew past her lips. “Gwydion rousted me out of bed. You dragged me out here. I’m ready to leave.”
“So am I.” Dewi trumpeted loudly, and a dozen humans came running out the front door.
“Are we under attack again?” Daniel scrubbed his hands through his blond hair, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed.
Timothy, Eve, Corin, and the rest had their hands raised to summon magic.
Aislinn shook her head. “Stand down. All of you. Dewi’s just cantankerous this morning.”
“So what else is new?” Rune mumbled from beside her.
“I heard that, wolf,” Dewi blew a tongue of flame his way, and Rune snarled, his hackles rippling to half-mast.
“We’ll go back inside,” Timothy announced.
“Call us if you need anything,” Corin tossed in.
“Thank you.” Aislinn watched the humans file back into the manor house, grateful for their support.
Dewi and Rune were trading growls, snarls, and fire. Aislinn opened her mouth to tell them to stop bickering when Gwydion, Arawn, and Bran loped out the front door, weaving their way amid the humans going the other way.
“We’re ready,” Arawn announced.
All three Celts wore battle leathers, even Gwydion. The buff-colored deer hides hugged their bodies like second skins, leaving virtually nothing to the imagination.
Aislinn gaped at the master enchanter and asked. “What happened to your robe?”
He held his arms out to the sides, the carved staff he was never without clutched in one hand, and twirled in a circle. “Do ye like what ye see lass?”
Aislinn snorted. “Please. If you’re going to tell me you changed your wardrobe to seduce me with your Chippendale physique, don’t bother.”
Arawn nudged Gwydion. “Not sure if that was a compliment or not. Werena the Chippendale dancers gay?”
“Not the point,” Gwydion smirked. “They were fine specimens of manhood.”
Wing beats sounded and moments later, Nidhogg settled to the ground next to Dewi. He eyed the group with his whirling green gaze. “Sorry. That took longer than I’d anticipated. Our black youngling insisted on coming with me.”
“What’d you do?” Aislinn grinned. “Knock him out?” In her experience, the black dragon didn’t take no for an answer and pushed every limit in the book.
/> “Good question.” Dewi glanced sidelong at her mate. “What did you do?”
“Made a bunch of unrealistic promises for after I get back.” Nidhogg spread his jaws in a smile. “Isn’t that what all parents do?”
Gwydion stepped forward, flanked by the other two Celts. “We need to get moving.”
“No shit,” Aislinn muttered under her breath. The air about twenty feet away took on a shimmery aspect and she felt the zing of magic, electric against her skin. Her gut tightened in anticipation of another wave of Lemurians, who’d had plenty of time to regroup. Rune stiffened where he leaned against her leg and growled louder.
Gwydion’s eyes widened just before a broad smile wreathed his face. “Och aye, and ’tis one time procrastination worked in our favor.” He strode toward the pulsating, multi-hued air and Aislinn relaxed. Surely he wouldn’t be so cavalier if the magic belonged to the dark gods or Old Ones.
Arawn and Bran trotted after Gwydion. “He needs help,” Bran noted tersely and power boiled around him, adding to the unsettled air.
“Whoever are they talking about?” Rune asked.
“Fionn, you dolt,” Bella cawed. “He’s trying to get back to us. Something must have siphoned off his power.”
Aislinn’s feet moved of their own accord as soon as Bella squawked Fionn’s name. Shoving between Gwydion and Arawn, she rallied her own magic and threaded it in with Bran’s, as she figured out how to enhance his summoning spell.
The god of prophecy turned to her and nodded approvingly. “Ye’re good at this, lass.”
“Comes from working with Fionn,” she said through clenched teeth, her body vibrating with the effort of maximizing her magic. “What’s wrong? It’s almost as bad as when he barricaded himself in the Dreaming and I couldn’t get to him.”
“I doona think there is a problem,” Bran countered. “Other than Fionn’s magic having been thoroughly drained.”
A portal formed in the air, glowing blue around its edges, and Fionn stepped through, shaking his unbound hair behind his shoulders. “No problem, lass. None at all.” He strode forward and swept her into his arms.
