Mystical Warrior

by Janet Chapman

  Trace bent down to look at the screen more closely, then straightened with a muttered curse. “I can’t tell what that is,” he said, pointing at the television. “Can you? It looks like it’s … half man and half some sort of … animal.”

  Fiona squinted at the screen. “Whatever it is, it appears to be covered in snow.” She looked at Trace. “But how can it know the secret knock?”

  “It can’t, because there isn’t one.” He slipped into the backpack he’d been wearing when he arrived, then pulled what she recognized as a handgun out of the sheath on his hip, did something to it, and slid it back into the sheath. “Okay, time for plan B,” he said, turning to push a shelf full of supplies away from one of the walls.

  He turned back to her and pointed at the door. “You don’t open that door for anything, you understand? No matter what you hear or what you might see on the monitor, you stay put. The batteries in the surveillance system will last only about another six hours, so after that, you … well, just don’t open the door.”

  He reached on top of the cabinet he’d moved, took down a leather pouch, and unzipped it. He pulled out another handgun and held it for her to see. “This is a weapon that shoots projectiles when you pull this trigger,” he said, showing her a small lever inside a metal ring on the underside. He took her hand and wrapped her fingers around the handle, holding the shaft of the weapon away from them. “It’s a revolver, and it’s loaded, so you point it at whatever you want to kill and just pull the trigger. It’s going to make a deafening noise and jerk violently, so don’t be surprised. You have six bullets, and after that, you hold it by the barrel and use it like a club. Got that?”

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Good. Only you be careful what you shoot at. If the bullet hits a wall or the steel door, it’s going to ricochet and possibly come back and hit you or Gabriella. So, pull the trigger only when you’re sure of your target.”

  He took the gun from her and set it on the table beside the television, then cupped her face between his large, callused hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone quite as calm as you are,” he murmured, his sharp gray eyes looking directly into hers. “Why aren’t you hysterical?”

  “Because I already know that dying is nothing to fear,” she whispered. “And getting hysterical serves no purpose.”

  “You must be aware that some fates are worse than death,” he returned softly.

  “Aye. But I also know that I can survive most of them.”

  He started to lower his head but then hesitated. “Aw, hell,” he muttered as he tilted her face up and covered her mouth with his own.

  The gentleness of his kiss surprised her. He didn’t take possession of her mouth but gave her his. And when he slid one arm around her shoulders and pulled her up against him, Fiona was even more surprised to feel herself melting into him.

  Knock-knock-knock; knock-knock-knock, this time hard enough to rattle the heavy door.

  “Don’t read anything into what just happened,” Trace growled as he straightened, although he continued holding her. “That kiss was only in case I don’t make it back.”

  “You needn’t worry; I know how men’s minds work.”

  “What in hell is that supposed to mean?”

  She smiled. “Are you sure they didn’t kick you out of your war for being tardy, or are you waiting for this particular battle to come in here to us?”

  He still didn’t let her go; if anything, his arm around her tightened, and his hand cupping her head twitched slightly. “I’m changing the signal to one knock, then three, then two. If you hear anything else, you wait two days before you come out.”

  Knock; knock-knock-knock; knock-knock.

  Trace jumped back and spun toward the door, his expression incredulous. “Goddamn it, what in hell is going on!”

  Gabriella sat up with a gasp at his shout, and Misneach jumped down and ran to the door, his tail wagging excitedly, and started whining.

  “For the love of Zeus, Huntsman, let me in before these demon bastards can finish me off!” came a muted shout from the other side of the door.

  “That’s Mr. Oceanus!” Gabriella cried, rushing to the door.

  Trace pulled her back when the girl reached for one of the latches. “We can’t know that for sure,” he said, nudging her toward Fiona. “It could be a trick.”

  “Or it really could be Mac,” Fiona said, wrapping an arm around Gabriella. “Kenzie told me the energy coming in with the storm is very powerful, and Mac is one of the most powerful drùidhs ever to exist.” She turned Gabriella and pointed at the screen. “Do you recognize either the man or the animal?” she asked.

  The girl bent down to see better, but whatever was out there was leaning with its back against the door, and Fiona could only see what appeared to be a pitchfork in its … was that a flipper?

  “What was Mac the last time you saw him?” she asked Gabriella.

  “He came to me as a little boy,” the girl said. “So I wouldn’t be afraid, he told me. The picture isn’t very good, and it’s black-and-white. But that appears to be some sort of sea creature.” She looked at Fiona. “You know, like one of those … walruses, I think they’re called, that live far to the north on the ice.” She pointed at the screen. “See, doesn’t that look like the end of a tusk? Oh! I do recognize the trident! That’s the drùidh’s staff Mr. Oceanus used to bring me here,” she said excitedly, turning to Trace.

  But he had disappeared.

  Fiona walked over to look behind the cabinet but found only solid wall.

  “Where’d he go?” Gabriella whispered, also looking behind the cabinet.

  Fiona took hold of the girl’s trembling hand and moved back to watch the screen. “He mentioned something about a plan B,” she said. “I guess that means he’s gone out to see for himself what’s knocking at our door.”

  “But how did he leave? Is he a magic maker, too?”

  Fiona shot her friend a reassuring smile. “I believe Trace prefers technology over magic. And he strikes me as the sort of man who wouldn’t build a hidey-hole with only one way in and no second way out. There must be a secret door in the wall.”

  “H-how can you be so calm?” Gabriella asked, looking back at the screen.

  “We have a drùidh and a powerful warrior on our side, Gabriella. They won’t let any harm come to us.”

  “But Mr. Oceanus is wounded,” the girl quietly cried, pointing at the screen. “See, he’s slumped against the door. And Mr. Huntsman is also wounded.”

  “Not badly enough to slow him down, apparently. And Mac—” Fiona snapped her mouth shut when she saw what looked like the shadowed figure of a man appear on the screen at the far end of the darkened corridor.

  “That’s Mr. Huntsman,” Gabriella said with a gasp. “But what’s he holding?”

  “It’s a handgun.” Fiona picked up the revolver Trace had left her and tucked it into the waist of her pants, being careful not to touch the trigger. “It shoots bullets out of the barrel, and that way, you don’t have to be close to something to kill it.”

  They both turned silent then as they watched Trace slowly make his way along the edge of the corridor. Whatever was leaning against their door tried to get up, and Fiona saw it lift what now looked like a human hand, the three-pronged trident pointed at the ceiling over Trace’s shoulder.

  A thunderous boom suddenly shook the air as a blinding flash filled the television screen. Gabriella screamed and grabbed Fiona, and Misneach gave a frightened yelp and scurried under the bed.

  The deafening boom continued rumbling overhead like rolling thunder, making the walls and floor shudder violently and the air throb with energy. The shelf of supplies toppled over, and Gabriella screamed again as they both scrambled out of the way.

  Seeing that the television screen had gone blank, Fiona ran over and pressed her ear to the door. She heard rocks and beams falling and what sounded like a faint shout that ended abruptly when something heavy slammed into the
metal she was leaning against.

  And then everything went eerily silent except for Gabriella’s weeping.

  “Be quiet,” Fiona whispered, waving at Gabriella as she pressed her ear back to the door. She heard a weak groan and felt the metal shudder as she heard more rocks shifting and another groan.

  She straightened and slid open the first of the four latches.

  “What are you doing?” Gabriella cried, rushing over and pulling her hand away. “Mr. Huntsman said we aren’t to open the door for any reason.”

  Fiona shrugged free and slid open the second latch. “Do you see Trace here to tell me I can’t?”

  “But what if the demons got him and Mr. Oceanus, and they’re on the other side of the door? Let’s find the secret way out that Mr. Huntsman used.”

  “He doesn’t like to be called Mr. Huntsman,” Fiona informed her, now knowing why. She slid open the third bolt. “And exactly where do you intend to go? There’s a storm of demons still raging outside.” She placed her hand on the last bolt. “And if we don’t get Trace and Mac in here where they’ll be safe, we may all die.”

  She tried sliding the fourth bolt, but when it didn’t budge because something on the other side was holding pressure against it, Fiona leaned her shoulder into the door and tried pushing on it as she tugged on the bolt.

  Gabriella stopped her again. “Wh-when did you become so brave?”

  Fiona stared directly into her friend’s huge eyes. “Sometime last week after our trip to town, when a clueless little puppy reminded me that courage doesn’t require having control over what happens to us but having control over how we react to what happens to us. No matter what happened to him, Misneach simply went about the business of living.”

  Gabriella’s eyes widened. “Are you saying your pet really did give you courage?”

  “Even better, he gave me hope. Mac gave me back my life, Kenzie and Matt gave me my freedom, Trace unwittingly gave me a purpose—however misguided or temporary it may have been,” she said with a laugh. “And I gave myself permission to get on with the business of my own life.”

  Gabriella suddenly smiled. “So, does that mean you’re not afraid to fall in love now, and get married and have babes and live happily ever after?”

  Fiona pushed against the door again. “I’ll settle for two out of four. Having another child is all I need to be happy. So, come on, help me get Trace and Mac in here so we can all live happily ever after.”

  With Gabriella’s weight added to hers, Fiona was able to slowly slide the last bolt free. The door suddenly shot open, sending them both scurrying out of the way when rocks and dirt cascaded into the room—along with the bloody and battered body of an unconscious man Fiona didn’t recognize.

  “You see if he’s still alive,” she told Gabriella as she grabbed the flashlight and stepped past him. She crawled up over the debris littering the corridor, having to shove broken beams and a couple of heavy rocks out of her way, stopping every so often to listen as she aimed the light around the tunnel.

  “Trace!” she shouted. “Make a noise so I can find you.”

  “What part of ‘don’t open that door for anything’ didn’t you understand?” he growled from about ten paces away.

  “I think it was the ‘for anything’ part,” she said, crawling toward him. “Or maybe the ‘don’t’ part.” She stopped when she spotted his bloody face but quickly aimed her flashlight at where his body should be; he gave a curse and blinked furiously against the light in his eyes. Only instead of his body, all she saw were rocks.

  She shone the beam farther down the tunnel and saw that debris had filled it nearly up to the ceiling. A screaming howl pierced the air just then, and several large rocks tumbled down, one of them knocking the flashlight out of her hand.

  “Get the hell out of here!” Trace shouted. “Go back to the room and lock the door! Now!”

  She crawled over to him, the beam of the fallen light allowing her to see his scowl. “Yeah, about closing that door,” she said, carefully removing the rocks from around his shoulders. “That might take a while, as a portion of the cave fell into the room—along with a man I really hope is Mac.”

  “I thought eleventh-century women actually did what they were told,” he muttered, wiggling his shoulders in an attempt to help her free him.

  She stopped digging. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  He blinked at her—or maybe he was only trying to see past the blood seeping into his eyes. “Kenzie believes you’re too afraid of men to even talk to them.”

  She started moving rocks again. “I’m not afraid of men; I merely don’t like them. Can you feel your legs?”

  “I hope you’re not all that attached to your hair,” he said tightly, “because a good two feet of it is coming off just as soon as I get out of here.”

  She flipped her braid over her shoulder and started shoving rocks away from his chest and stomach. “I would love to have short hair like some of the women I’ve seen on television.” She shot him a quick smile. “You would cut it for me? Truly?”

  The glare he gave her was hot enough to burn off all her hair.

  His hands now free, he started tossing rocks off his legs.

  “Fiona! Did you find Mr.—Trace?” Gabriella called from the doorway.

  “I found him, and he’s definitely alive. How’s Mac?”

  “He’s alive, too, but I can’t get him to wake up. And one of his arms is still a flipper. What should I do?”

  “Drag him into the room and move the rocks away from the door so we can close it,” Trace called to her. He glared at Fiona. “The bastard actually shot at me.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think he was shooting at you, more like over your shoulder.” She picked up the flashlight and shone it toward the entrance of the corridor. “Can you see that?” she said. “Doesn’t that look like some sort of webbed foot sticking up past those beams?”

  The air shook with another thunderous boom, and Fiona leaned over Trace, wrapping her arms around his head and shoulders. A blood-curdling scream came from behind the wall of debris, and rocks began moving at the far end of the tunnel.

  Fiona suddenly went flying toward the room. “Crawl!” Trace shouted at her.

  “Not without you.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  When she glanced over her shoulder because she didn’t believe him, he placed his hand on her backside and gave her a shove. “Keep moving!”

  She ended up falling into the room but quickly sprang to her feet, grabbed Trace when he faltered, and dragged him all the way inside. “Help me close the door, Gabriella!” she cried, stepping over Trace to reach the door.

  But when she saw the screaming dark shadow rushing toward them, Fiona pulled the revolver from her waist, aimed down the corridor, and pulled the trigger.

  The gun exploded in her hands, jerking upward so violently that she nearly dropped it. She brought it back down and immediately pulled the trigger again, but knowing what to expect this time, she held it steady and fired four more times.

  Her ears ringing with the sharp peal of gunfire echoing through the room, mixing with the god-awful screams of several more charging demons, Fiona barely heard Trace shouting at her to close the goddamned door.

  But just as she tucked the gun back in at her waist, another deafening round of gunfire filled the room, this time several shots in rapid succession.

  She and Gabriella shoved as hard as they could, both of them using their backs to push the door through the dirt, which allowed Fiona to see Trace lying on the floor, his own gun held straight out in both hands as he fired into the tunnel.

  Only he wasn’t pulling the trigger each time but merely holding it back, and small pieces of metal were flying out the side of the gun.

  And he had a heck of a lot more than six bullets.

  He stopped firing. “You’ve almost got it!” he shouted, dragging himself to the door and reaching for the bottom latch. “Harder! Pus
h!”

  Her ears ringing so loudly that his shouts sounded like whispers, Fiona felt rather than heard the bolt slide into place. She immediately turned and seated the top bolt and finally the other two.

  She spun around, grabbed Gabriella, and hugged her. “We did it!” she cried, although she barely heard her own words. She leaned away to grin at her friend. “You were so strong and courageous; we couldn’t have done it without you!” She cupped the girl’s trembling face between her hands. “Don’t you ever again tell me you’re afraid of anything.” She hugged Gabriella to her. “You will have your babes, and you will be a fearsome mother. You just wait until I see William. I am so going to rub your courage in his ugly face the next time he tries to tell me women are the weaker sex.”

  “Do you suppose we can hold off patting ourselves on the back until after we take stock of our injuries and come up with plan C?” Trace muttered, rolling to sit up and lean against the door. His eyes suddenly widened. “Holy shit, get that gun out of your pants! Revolvers don’t have safeties, and if you fall, you could blow off your leg!”

  “You might have mentioned that earlier,” she muttered, pulling it out and handing it to him when he held out his hand. “Not that it matters now, as I believe it’s empty.”

  He grinned. “Remind me never to piss you off when you’re holding a gun.”

  “Can I buy one of those at the Shop ’n Save?” she asked, nodding at his hand.

  His grin disappeared. “No!” He blew out a breath, looked over at the man lying beside him, and used the barrel of the gun to give him a poke.

  When he didn’t move, Trace poked him harder.

  The man grunted and opened his eyes, blinking several times as he grabbed his head and finally focused his glare on Trace. “Sweet mother of Neptune, Huntsman, you poke me again and I swear you’ll smell like a skunk’s ass the rest of your life.”

  “Why are you bleeding all over my floor instead of Kenzie Gregor’s?” Trace ground out. “And shooting at me instead of at him?”

  “I was shooting at the demon behind you,” Mac returned. He lifted his head enough to glance toward Fiona, then back at Trace. “And I wasn’t sure how welcomed I’d be at An Téarmann.” He rolled onto his side. “What’s she doing here?” he asked softly, although Fiona still heard him. “I would have thought she’d be at de Gairn’s.”