Finn Finnegan

by Darby Karchut

  Warning bells began ringing in Finn’s ears at the title of the department. “About what?”

  Plucking a pen from her pocket, she opened the folder and wrote in it. “About you. And your guardian…” she paused to check a sheet “…Gideon Lir. Am I pronouncing it correctly?”

  “Close enough.” Finn moved closer to the gate and twined his fingers through the wrought iron.

  “I understand you’ve lived here since late May. Is that right? And that Mr. Lir is an old family friend of your aunt and uncle?”

  The bells clanged louder. “How do you know all that?”

  Ms. Ubarri’s eyes flicked across the street toward the Steels’ house. Pushing back a stray strand of hair, she tapped the folder with her pen. “Oh, it’s all here in your records.” She pasted an earnest expression on her face. “Now, before we begin, I want you to know that anything you care to share with me will be kept private. I promise.”

  “You mean private from Gideon?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “I’m not supposed to keep secrets from him.”

  She made another note. “Do you think he might become angry if he knew you had talked with me, Finnegan?”

  “I go by Finn, not Finnegan.”

  “All right. Finn it is. So, does he get angry often?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when you do something wrong or misbehave, does he yell at you or…” She waited, letting the unspoken words hang in the air.

  Finn tightened his lips and said nothing. Her questions about his master raised the hackles on the back of his neck. I know what she’s hinting at. She thinks he knocks me around. Shifting to one side, he glanced down the street, willing his master’s truck to appear.

  Ms. Ubarri softened her voice. “You seem nervous. Are you afraid he might do more than scold you? Perhaps hurt you in some way, if you…” She paused at the low rumble of an engine drawing closer.

  Finn looked past her. Relief flooded him when the gray truck appeared at the far end of the street and rolled toward them. As Gideon pulled into the driveway, he brushed past Ms. Ubarri. Hurrying to the vehicle, he reached it as his master climbed out of the cab with a squeal of rusty hinges.

  “And just who might that be?” Gideon kept one eye on the woman, as he reached into the truck bed for a knobby burlap sack.

  “Some lady from the Department of Services for Humans, or something like that.”

  The Knight’s face darkened. “What does she want?”

  “She said she wants to talk to me about you and that she knew all about me and it would be a private conversation and then she asked me if I was afraid of you and if you would hurt me…” The words spilled out of Finn’s mouth faster than his tongue could keep up. He gulped a breath when Gideon patted his shoulder.

  “Easy, boyo. I’ll take care of this. Wait here.” Flinging the dusty bag of spuds over one shoulder, he walked toward Ms. Ubarri.

  Finn hoisted himself up onto the wall of the truck bed. He drummed a heel against the side, then stopped, trying to listen. His master and the woman spoke for several minutes, the Knight shaking his head with every other sentence. Their voices grew louder. In frustration, Gideon flung the bag down in a puff of dust. Ms. Ubarri stepped hastily back, in fear for her polished shoes.

  “Sir, I will not divulge who contacted us,” she snapped in a carrying tone. “But since—”

  “‘Twas Steel, wasn’t it?”

  “—but since a report of possible child abuse has been made,” she continued in a cold tone, “this file will stay active until proven otherwise, or until the person reporting it drops their accusation. And you should know, there may be future visits from our department.”

  Gideon’s mouth worked, but before he could speak, the woman spun on her heel and left, her car pulling away from the curb with a jerk. Finn hopped down and jogged over. Side by side, they watched the sedan turn the corner and disappear.

  “Well, boyo, we’ve got another issue to deal with, thanks to bleedin’ Rufus Steel.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do ye recall all the times he asked ye about the cuts and bruises ye acquired whilst training or hunting with me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, I’ll bet me tore he thought J was the cause, and he reported me. So, now I am under suspicion.” He blew out a long breath. “I know the man means well, but now we’re going to have to be doubly chary about ye getting injured.”

  “I’ll be more careful. I promise.” Finn picked up the sack at their feet. He followed Gideon through the gate and into their home. After dumping it on the kitchen counter, he went back into the living room.

  The Knight handed him a knife. He waved aside his master’s offer of a second weapon and patted his lower leg. “I’m packing one already.”

  “Good lad.” Gideon selected a knife for himself. Sliding it into the sheath, he studied Finn for a long minute. “I must admit, I’m still concerned about yer faintness after ye grappled with the beastie.”

  “Do you think it has something to do with me being, um, the Spear?” He blushed as he said the words aloud for the first time. I don’t know if I even want to be that. I just want to be a Knight. Like Gideon.

  “I do.”

  Finn shook his head. “It just all seems so weird. I mean, I don’t feel any different. I still feel like me.”

  “Ye gods, what a relief. I was just about to take a knee, and bow me head in reverence to yer newly acquired magnificence.”

  “Really?”

  “No, of course not, ye dolt.” He chuckled at Finn’s huff of exasperation. “Finnegan MacCullen, the Spear of the Tuatha De Danaan ye may be, but ye’re still an apprentice with a great deal to learn. And not just about hunting Amandán.”

  “Aye, ‘tis true,” Finn replied, in a passable imitation.

  Gideon laughed, the lines of his face softening. “By the way, I’ve something for ye.” He took a seat at his desk and tapped a finger on a thick packet sitting in front of him. Colorful stamps littered a corner of it.

  “What’s that?”

  He waved Finn over, gesturing toward the stool. As he sat down, the Knight leaned back in his chair, his face carefully neutral. “It arrived for ye today, in the post. I believe Mac Roth may have had something to do with it.”

  Finn picked it up and paused to peer at the stamps, fingering the package. “The Republic of Ireland? I don’t know anyone there.” He tore it open. A bubble-wrapped, flattish object slid onto the desk. Picking it up, he peeled off the plastic; his eyes widened at the first hint of gold. As the final layer fell away, his heart swelled, pushing at an odd lump in his throat.

  “Oh,” he breathed. His face glowed as he gazed down at the object.

  The new tore gleamed in his hands.

  KEEP READING FOR A SNEAK PEEK OF:

  Gideon’s Spear

  Book Two of the Adventures of Finn maccullen

  One

  Screamingly bored out of his mind, Finn blew out a long sigh as he wandered around the clearing in the woods. The last rays of the summer sun lit the trees surrounding him, coloring the trunks of the Ponderosa pines with a shade of bronze that matched the large knife, almost the length of his forearm, held in one hand. With a snap of his wrist, he flipped it into the air and caught it by the handle.

  Holding the weapon level with his eyes, he tilted it to and fro, trying to view his reflection in it. For just a moment, he caught a flash of blue eyes in a boyish face dusted with freckles, and a mop of hair the same flaming color as the blade. Adjusting the angle downward, he grinned as he was further rewarded with a glimpse of a twisted rope of gold, as thick as the Knight Mac Roth’s thumb, encircling his throat just above the collar of his tee shirt. “You are, Finnegan MacCullen,” he murmured to himself while adjusting the tore so that the twin knobs on the ends of the neckpiece were dead center under his Adam’s apple, “a total badass warrior.”

  Gravel crunched behind him.


  He whirled around. “Oh, crap.” His heart rammed against the roof of his mouth at the sight of his worst nightmare.

  His master, the Knight, Gideon Lir.

  Pissed off.

  Again.

  The black-haired man, dressed in a denim shirt and work boots, stomped down the path toward him, slashing at the undergrowth on either side with an enormous hunting knife when it dared to impede him. To Finn, he seemed to grow twice as large with every step.

  “What the bleedin’ ‘ell are ye doing?” Gideon began yelling while still a few yards away.

  As if he wants the entire state of Colorado to hear him, Finn thought. Which he probably does.

  “I ordered ye to stand safe by that tree, not mince about admiring yer beauty.”

  “I’m sorry, Gideon. I was just—” The rest of his sentence was cut off when his master grabbed him by the arm and hustled him backward, pushing him none too gently against the massive trunk.

  The Knight’s eyes, the same uncanny blue as his apprentice’s, narrowed when he reached out and tapped the tore around Finn’s neck. “And if this is distracting ye from our evening’s hunt, then we should just be rid of it. I know of an abandoned gold mine not three miles from here I could pitch the thing into.” He held out an open hand.

  Finn reached up and clutched the tore protectively. “Ah, come on, Gideon. I’ve only had it for a few days. Look, I’m totally focused now.” He shifted his wiry body into battle stance, legs shoulder-width apart and weapon held across his body at the ready. “Just show me one of those ugly goblins and I’ll—”

  They both froze when a shape alighted on the ground next to them in a clap of ebony wings. Muttering to itself, the crow strutted closer. It reached out and pecked at Finn’s athletic shoes as if trying to untie them.

  “Steady, boyo,” Gideon whispered.

  “I hate these things,” Finn muttered back, curling his toes inside of his shoes. The crow cawed as if laughing at him.

  “Aye, but they’re bleedin’ useful. When they’re not playing us for fools.” As the bird aimed another peck, Gideon stomped a boot at it. “Whist! Flee unless ye’ve something to warn us about, ye black devil.”

  The crow hopped back with a squawk of indignation, then spread its wings and hoisted itself into the air. They watched as it made a loop over the trees tops. A second bird joined it. Both crows whirled around each other in anticipation before soaring away, taking the last rays of sun with them.

  Master and apprentice’s heads whipped around when a branch snapped a few yards up the trail.

  Gesturing for Finn to stay put, Gideon eased across the clearing and along the path on silent feet. Paying close attention to the deepening shadows, his eyes swept the area. He tilted his head, a wolf on the hunt, as he listened to the rustles and scratches of the twilight.

  As Finn watched, exhilaration and dread wrestled with each other inside of him as they always did when he and his master were hunting the Amandán.

  Or being hunted by them.

  A figure burst out of the bushes. With a growl, a creature, not quite human, not quite ape, launched itself at the Knight. Its black-tipped fingers scrabbled for Gideon’s face.

  Twisting to one side, Gideon dodged as the Amandán hurtled past him. He stuck out a foot. A yelp spilt the evening when the goblin tripped, then hit the ground and tumbled end over end into the undergrowth. Scrambling to its feet and red-eyed with rage, it charged the Knight again, running slightly sideways on all four, its dark green pelt blending in with the vegetation. “Poc sidhe” it hissed through yellow teeth. Dirt and twigs spewed up behind its feet as it came.

  “Poc sidhe yerself.” Gideon shifted his grip on his knife and made a come along motion with his hand. The goblin sped up. Just as the Amandán leaped for him, he dropped to one knee. Chanting a line from the Song under his breath, he buried the weapon in the goblin.

  With a shriek, the Amandán exploded into a cloud of grey-green ash. Gideon ducked his head, trying to shield his face from the worst of the powdery remains. He waited until the cloud drifted away with the evening breeze before rising. “Bah.” He spat to one side. Wiping his mouth, he strolled back to Finn waiting by the pine. “Amandán taste as disgusting as they smell.”

  Finn nodded. “Kind of like burnt rubber.” He took his master’s blade when Gideon handed it to him to hold.

  He watched as the Knight peeled off his shirt, gave it a brisk shake, and draped it over a tree limb. A Celtic knot, tattooed on his master’s right arm, peeked out from under the sleeve of his tee shirt. Finn stared at the tattoo, the ancient symbol of Knighthood amongst their people, the Tuatha De Danaan. Ye gods, I’ll never he as good at hunting or fighting as he is. Of course, if he would let me do more hunting and less drills, I might get better at it.

  Gideon cleaned the blade on his jeans. “Now, since the beasties often hunt in pairs, we’ll see if we can’t catch the second one before it goes to ground.”

  “Can I circle around and flush it out?” Finn asked, shifting from foot to foot.

  The Knight hesitated, then shook his head. “I’d rather ye not track that far ahead of me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s too dangerous.”

  “Ah, come on, Gideon, I want to—”

  “I said no.”

  “But, how can I learn anything if all I do is follow you around?”

  Gideon’s face darkened. “Arguing with me, boyo, is as dangerous as hunting the Amandán.”

  “But I’ve fought them before.” Finn’s voice cracked in frustration. “I know—”

  “Ye know less than ye think. A few skirmishes with the goblins do not make ye ready to hunt alone.”

  “Why won’t you let me at least try?”

  “Because ye’re not ready!”

  Finn scowled. “It’s because of the whole Spear thing, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, aye, that’s it,” Gideon said, heavy on the sarcasm. “Discovering me apprentice of less than two months is none other than the legendary Spear of the Tuatha De Danaan has made me decide to treat ye differently from now on.”

  “It has?” Finn’s heart sank. I’m sick of always being different. I just want to be a Knight. Like Gideon and Mac Roth and all the other De Danaan.

  “No, ye dolt.” Gideon reached out and cuffed him lightly on the side of the head. “I don’t care if ye’re the High King on the throne of Tara, ye’ll continue to learn the ancient ways of the Tuatha De Danaan. To meet our enemies in battle, armed with knife and dagger and the strength of our Song.”

  Finn nodded. An odd relief filled him. “Okay. I mean, yes, sir.” He blinked in surprise when the Knight laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

  “Remember, boyo. Gideon’s Spear ye may be. But ye’re also Gideon’s apprentice.” He sighed dramatically. “More’s the pity for me.”

  Finn grinned. “Ah, me heart bleeds for ye now, to be sure,” he said in a pitiful imitation of the Knight’s Irish lilt. He ducked and came up laughing when his master swung another cuff at him and missed.

  Failing to hide a smile, Gideon turned and led the way up the path. Stepping around the pile of ash in the middle of the trail, they continued westward, climbing deeper into the foothills through the growing dusk. Around them in the woods, squirrels rustled about in the dried leaves under the scrub oak bushes, hiding caches of acorns. A breeze began flowing down from the mountains further west, cooling them as they walked along.

  The shadows around them thickened. After a mile, the Knight paused long enough to dig into his jeans pocket. He pulled out a small white stone, its edges translucent. Almost immediately, it began to glow in his hand, illuminating the woods around them with a pale light. He held the moonstone aloft and scanned the area. Up ahead, to one side of the trail, a pair of enormous boulders leaned against each other to form a cave about the height and width of a man. Or an Amandán.

  Standing behind his master, Finn gasped when the moonstone’s beam caught a pair
of greenish eyes, like a cat’s, in the cave’s opening. “Um…Gideon,” he whispered.

  “Aye, I see it.” Raising the stone higher, he called out. “Come along, beastie. I’ve something for ye.”

  “Nar, I know what ya gots for me,” the Amandán growled back. “I seen what ya did to me friend back there.” It spat. “No, I’ll just stay in here. Out of reach of that nasty piece of bronze ye be carrying.” It made a smacking sound with its lips. “Unless ya want to send that whelp of yers in here after me.”

  “What, and waste a perfectly good source of free labor? Not bleedin’ likely.” He spoke over his shoulder. “Finn, I want ye to move around to the side while I…”

  “Did ye say Finn?” the Amandán said. Its eyes disappeared briefly as it turned its head and hooted into the interior of the cave. Signaling. “Ye be the Knight, Gideon Lir.” It hooted again, louder this time. “We hears some wild tales about ye and that whelp there.”

  Voices echoed from within the cave. Finn looked down in confusion when the gravel by his feet began bouncing about like Mexican jumping beans. Tremors vibrated through the soles of his shoes. The vibrations grew stronger, mixed with harsh cries and shouts.

  Next to him, Gideon stiffened. “Ye gods,” he cursed under his breath, then spun around and shoved Finn back down the trail. “Flee!”

  Finn ran for his life. With Gideon on his heels, he tore down the path, feet finding their own way over rocks and roots. Bushes and boulders and black-barked trees flashed past in the dusk. Turning his knife hilt-first as Gideon had drilled into him, he gripped it tight as he sprinted along.

  “Faster, boyo,” the Knight shouted behind him. “And don’t stop until ye’re safe home.”

  Too busy concentrating on not tripping to answer, Finn dug deeper. Panting, he began chanting a line from the Song, singing the swiftness he needed. “I am a wind on the sea.”