“How so?”
“The Bog-born,” Gideon explained, using the Amandán’s name for themselves, “are more active in the dark of winter days. ’Tis why we hunt them more in the early mornings and evenings of summer. Although tracking them is easier with the snow.”
Finn walked over to the sofa and plopped down. “Wish that was all I had to worry about—how to hunt Amandán in the winter. Instead, I’ve got a crazy goddess to deal with.” He tried not to think about Savannah.
“Speaking of the Scáthach.” Gideon walked over to his desk and opened a drawer. He rummaged about and pulled out his journal. He ruffled through it for a few moments, the pages rustling, then walked into the kitchen. Reappearing with the telephone, he studied the book still open in his hand and began dialing.
Finn looked at him. “Who are you calling?”
“The sorceress.” Gideon looked like he had bitten down on something sour. “We need to begin now.”
Lunch sitting in his stomach like a gut bomb, Finn sat up while the Knight waited for the call to go through. He swallowed when his master spoke.
“Iona? ’Tis Gideon Lir. You were correct—the Scáthach has indeed invoked the ancient ordeals. Fire will be the first.” He listened a few moments longer, the muscles jumping in his jaw, then nodded. “Right. This evening, then. No, we shall come to you. I would not want you to fly your broom in this storm.”
Finn could hear the sorceress’ shrill voice through the phone. With a cold smile, Gideon hung up.
“’Twas rather rude of me, and certainly not necessary.”
“But you don’t really care.” Finn couldn’t help grinning back.
“No, not really.”
Dizzy from the flakes swirling about in the headlights of Gideon’s truck, Finn shifted in his seat, too nervous to sit still. As they drove north through High Springs to Iona’s house, the city gave way to middle-class neighborhoods, then to an upscale one marked by large houses on secluded lots, most of which were covered with pine and oak trees. Fancy gates and high walls surrounded most houses, adding to their privacy.
Finn eyed the passing properties, the dusk’s gloom and the storm masking his view. “Sure doesn’t look like the part of town a sorceress would live in. You’d think she lived in some creepy old mansion next to a graveyard.”
“All the easier for her to hide her true identity from the humans around her. She may be a sorceress, but she is not all-powerful, especially since her power wanes the farther from Ireland she is. And witch hunts can still take place.” Easing off the gas, Gideon slowed and checked the address. “Here we go.”
Turning into a wide driveway, they stopped in front of a wrought-iron gate flanked on either side by tall stone walls, its pointy picket tops as menacing as a row of arrows. Before he could honk, the gate rolled sideways and disappeared behind one of the walls. They drove through and followed a graveled drive half-covered with snow and lined with towering spruce standing like guards on either side. Scattered lights shone through the trees ahead of them.
The trees opened up. The drive ended in a spacious parking area. A tall block-like structure of glass and concrete, more like an office building than a home, sat brooding in the dusk, as if resenting being stuck in such a rustic setting. It was windowless, except for the upper level where evenly spaced squares of glass decorated the building. It reminded Finn of a tomb, or a mausoleum found in a really nasty, grim dictatorship. A single light illuminated the front entry.
They climbed out. Between the parking area and the front door, the landscape consisted of stepping stones laid out in a curving, geometric pattern and set in a bed of fine gravel. A blanket of snow covered the area, except for the stones and gravel, as if the flakes had melted as soon as they touched down. The more Finn stared at the stepping stones, the more he realized they created a giant three-lobed design—like three leaves joined together at the stems—with two circles around it.
“That three-sided shape is a triquetra—a mark of power among us Celts,” Gideon said. “By adding the double rings, a symbol of her own magic, she makes the triquetra even more powerful. Iona uses it as a ward, or shield, against uninvited visitors. Of all sorts. There are very few beings, mortal or supernatural, that have the power to break through and attack her on her home territory.” After loosening his weapon in its sheath, he led the way to the house.
“Like, who could?” Finn followed, the gravel crunching like granola underfoot. He was careful to not walk on the stones. For some reason, he didn’t want to touch them. He noticed Gideon avoided them, too.
“Angels, for one. The Scáthach, as well. Although it would be a challenge for them.”
Angels, Finn thought. Like the two we met downtown this past summer. The memory of that meeting floated through his mind.
“Why, good morning, Gideon Lir.”
Finn and his master had turned around at the cultured voice. A tall, white-haired man, accompanied by an older teenage boy, was walking toward them. The boy’s eyes, a rich brown that matched his hair, were filled with curiosity as he gazed at Finn.
“And to you, Basil,” Gideon said in way of a greeting. As he chatted with the other man, the taller boy sauntered over to Finn.
“How’s it going?”
“Okay,” Finn replied.
“I’m Griffin, Basil’s apprentice,” he said. Tilting his head to one side, he studied Finn.
“You’re a Tuatha De Danaan, aren’t you?”
“H-how did you know?” He even pronounced it right, thought Finn.
“Oh, Basil told me about your people once. You two hunt monsters, or something?”
“Uh, yeah. A kind of goblin,” Finn said vaguely. “Did…did you say you were an apprentice?”
“Yup. Basil’s my Mentor. What you might call a master.”
For a long minute, Finn stared at Griffin, who waited with a trace of amusement. He licked his lips in confusion. “Are you guys…you know…”
“Human?” The other teen supplied. He shook his head. “Actually, we’re angels.”
Finn blinked. “Angels.”
“That’s right.” Griffin grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “The very top of the supernatural hierarchy, you might say. Basil and I are Terrae Angeli—guardian angels who control the four elements. My specialties are Earth and Fire.” He held up a hand and snapped his fingers. With a whoosh, flames ignited and began dancing along their tips. “Especially Fire.”
Finn skidded to a halt. “Gideon! Those angels. Those Terrae Angeli we met this past summer. Couldn’t they…?”
The Knight shook his head. “I know what you are thinking, but they cannot help us. Their abilities are innate. They cannot be transferred or borrowed. More’s the pity, for Basil is a decent sort and would probably want to aid us if he could.”
“Have you asked them? I mean, I would rather learn this stuff from them instead of her.”
“As would I.” He slowed, indicating for Finn to fall in beside him. “However, I would make a deal with the very devil himself if it will help you pass these trials.”
Side by side, they walked up the two stone steps leading to the front door. Lacquered in a blood-red paint, it sported another triquetra inlaid with what Finn guessed was gold.
The door swung open. A smoky blackness so thick Finn coughed billowed out to meet them. Warm and smelling of cloves, it coiled around them. One inky arm wrapped itself around Gideon’s shoulder and stroked his cheek.
The look of disgust on his master’s face almost made Finn laugh. Almost.
Raising his voice, Gideon called into the interior in Gaelic. Finn caught only a few words: Blade and something like do not tempt me.
The smoke drifted away. Finn could swear he heard a sigh of regret. Then lights blazed up, as if someone had flipped a switch. Squinting and momentarily blinded, Finn didn’t see the woman at first.
“You can’t blame a girl for trying.” Iona stood in the doorway. Dressed in black pants tucked into high-
heeled boots and a sleeveless red blouse, she leaned a shoulder on the door frame. Her upper arms sported wide cuffs of beaten gold.
“Ah, Gideon Lir. The Black Hand.” She looked the Knight up and down with an approving glance. A faint smile curled her lip. “Or should I say, the Dark Knight. And look.” Her gaze flickered over Finn. “Robin.”
“I’ll explain later,” Finn muttered before his master could ask.
“Iona of the Hills,” Gideon said curtly, as if resenting giving her the title.
She stepped aside. “Welcome to my not-so-humble abode.”
Finn followed his master inside. “Whoa,” he breathed, his voice echoing weirdly.
A spacious room, half the size of a high-school gymnasium, greeted him. Glowing wall sconces encircled the perimeter like diamonds on a necklace and pushed the shadows into the corners. In the center, a fire burned inside of a low, circular hearth crafted from marble blocks. Within the circle, the flames snapped and cracked with anticipation. The smoke twisted like a rattlesnake as it rose, adding to a smog-like layer obscuring the ceiling twenty feet above their heads. French doors took up the entire far side. Finn could just make out the woods outside through the panes. The only furniture in the room was an enormous cabinet standing by itself in the center of one of the walls. Its dark wood gleamed in the light of a nearby sconce.
“Can I offer you something, Gideon? Wine, perhaps?”
“I did not come here to socialize. I came for your help. As we agreed upon.”
Ion sighed. “Fine.” She pointed to a marble bench near the door. “You wait there,” she said to Gideon. “You,” she beckoned at Finn. “Come with me.”
Gideon put out a hand, stopping Finn. “First, I want to know your plans.”
“I’m going to give him a potion that will enable him to control fire. Or, at least, be able to physically handle flames without being burned. And yes, before you ask, this is a fairly common potion, so no, it’s not cheating. Technically, I’m not giving you my magic, I am simply making you aware of common knowledge.”
As Gideon stepped aside, Finn followed Iona over to the hearth. The tap-tap of her boot heels echoed around the room.
A small container, made from dark brown glass—it reminded Finn of a vanilla bottle—sat on the low wall surrounding the flames. She picked it up and gave it a shake. “Drink this, kid. All of it.”
“It’s Finn,” he said through gritted teeth. He eyed the bottle. “What is it?”
“Well, it’s not Irish whiskey, I can assure you.” She held it out to him.
Finn reluctantly took it. Pulling the cork out, he raised it to his nose and sniffed. “It smells like burnt…something.” He sniffed again.
“Dragon tongue.”
“What?”
“That’s what it smells like,” Iona said. “Burnt dragon tongue. At least, it does to me.” She snapped her fingers at him. “Now, drink the potion so we can begin and your master will stop glaring at me from across the room. He’s giving me frostbite. And don’t spill a drop.”
Finn took a deep breath. Placing the bottle to his lips, he tilted his head back and gulped it down before his taste buds could call a strike. He fought not to gag. Swallowing, then swallowing again, he wished for some water to clear his mouth. Iona took the bottle from him, placed it back on the hearth, and studied him, head tilted to one side.
Not sure what to do, Finn stared back. Suddenly, the room tilted. Heat broke out on his body, as if in the grip of the warp spasm. He staggered a step. The heat increased. His skin tightened, like he had a bad sunburn, as the moisture was sucked out. Panting, he fought the desire to rip off his clothes, jeans and T-shirt now soaked with sweat. Blisters broke out around his nose and lips. In desperation, he looked over at Gideon.
His master was already halfway across the room. Shoving Iona aside, he swept Finn up in his arms and rushed for the nearest glass door at the far end of the room. Finn almost passed out from the pressure of his master’s arms on his burning skin. He bit down on his blistered lip to stop from screaming. Dimly, he heard Gideon kick the door open.
The night air, cold and stinging, and oh, so welcome, flowed over Finn as Gideon laid in him in a snow bank. The flakes sizzled and melted on his body as his master began scooping more over him. Iona joined them, standing over Finn and looking down at him, chewing on the tip of a manicured nail.
Relief made him woozy. He closed his eyes, relaxing deeper in the drift, then turned his face to the snow, relishing the cool wetness on his skin. With a sigh, he sucked in a mouthful and let it melt on his tongue.
Still kneeling next to Finn, Gideon snapped at the sorceress. “What the bleedin’ ’ell was that?”
“Yeah.” Iona raised a hand in admission. “My bad.” Hooking her thumbs into her pockets, she frowned. “Hmm. It should have worked. I mean, I know loads of others who have used this recipe without any side effects. In fact, it was the reason I decided to give it a try and…” She paused. Her eyes widened. “Of course. I forgot.”
Finn peered up at her, his body not longer wanting to burst into flames. “Forgot what?” he croaked.
“You’re half-human.” She clicked her tongue. “Guess the old ways aren’t going to work on you.”
Finn could feel Gideon’s anger and frustration through the hand still resting on his chest.
“What are you saying? That you cannot help us?”
“No, what I’m saying is that I’m going to have to get creative, as I can’t use my own magic without the Scáthach going super-freak. While she may not have the warmest relationship with you Tuatha De Danaan, she really hates me.”
“Why?” Finn raised himself to his elbows.
“Let’s just say I borrowed something of hers and leave it at that.” She waved away Finn’s next question. “Now, this next potion may take some time, but it just might work.”
“We do not have some time,” Gideon said. “We have eight days.”
Feeling more like a boy and less like extra-crispy chicken, Finn sat up with a groan, his clothes soaked from both sweat and melted snow. He took Gideon’s hand and allowed his master to haul him to his feet, shivering when a gust of wind blew over him.
Iona turned and headed back to the house. Finn stumbled along behind her, Gideon holding his elbow in support. Once inside, master and apprentice made a beeline for the fire. Shivering harder, Finn sank down on the low wall and stretched his fingers toward the flames. He tried to imagine igniting their tips. I wonder what it would feel like? Would it char my skin?
Gideon waited by him, hands on hips. They both watched as the sorceress walked over to the cabinet and opened the doors. Shelves lined the interior, filled with books and bottles and various other containers. She pulled one tome out and began searching through it, the pages rustling as she turned them.
“Well, well, what do you know?” Her voice echoed in the room, punctuated by the snap of the fire. “Here’s my recipe for meatloaf. I was wondering where this was.”
Finn grimaced. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to know what kind of meat would go into a sorceress’ meatloaf.
“Iona…” Gideon began with a growl.
“Oh, keep your panties on, Lir,” she said absently, flipping through the pages as she sauntered back toward them.
The Knight gestured at the book in her hands. “Just get on with it.” He bit down on each word.
Iona ran her fingers along one page. “So. This other potion. It’s an elixir that a mortal alchemist had some success with in the late eighteen hundreds. Here in America, of all places. Some guy named O’Leary. Of course, he managed to burn up half of Chicago at the same time, but that’s another story.” She scanned the page. “I don’t have all these ingredients, but most of them I can find or trade for. Except for one.” She locked gazes with Gideon. “That one, you’re going to get for me, since they would kill me on sight.”
“What is the ingredient?” Gideon asked.
“Who are they?” Finn querie
d.
“Angel hair,” Iona responded.
Finn blinked. “Like…like the pasta?”
Iona rolled her eyes. “No. Like the hair from an angel. Specifically, one who can control fire.”
“You’re speaking of the Terrae Angeli.” Gideon shook his head. “They cannot aid us Fey.”
“Ah, but they can. Or, at least the kid here. Being half-human should qualify him for some level of angel guardianship.” Iona shut the book with a snap and tucked it under one arm. “Their God-given mandate is to guard and protect humans. All humans. Even the halfers.”
“As well as destroy you if given the chance.” Gideon nodded in understanding. “‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,’ eh?”
“Exodus twenty-two, verse eighteen. King James version.” Iona shrugged. “I should be grateful Basil’s not the vengeful sort and actively gunning for me.”
“You’re talking about Griffin and his master.”
“Aye, lad.” Gideon thought for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “How soon do you need the ingredient?”
“As soon as possible. Like I said, it’ll take me a few days to gather the rest of the ingredients, so let’s plan on meeting in, say, three days. That way, we can find out if it really works, or if Robin here needs to start packing his bag.”
“That’s cutting it fine.”
“Best I can do.”
“Right. Three days, then.” With that, Gideon spun around and headed for the door. Finn jogged to catch him, picking up speed as his master held the door open.
“What? No archaic Gaelic farewell?” Iona called after them. “No have a nice evening? No I’ll see you soon?”
Finn noticed Gideon made sure to slam the door.
Six
The next morning, Finn awoke early to an odd pale light. Throwing back the covers, he stepped over to the window and looked out. The world was smoothed in a layer of white. Heavy, gray clouds hung around promising more snow. He peered down into the yard. Tracks led from below his position to the far wall: Gideon’s boot prints. They disappeared a few yards from the wall, as if the walker had simply vanished.
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