Unholy Blue (22 page)

Cor crept over like a guilty man approaching a judge in a courtroom, and took a seat. His feet barely touched the ground. “Dad, I'm sorry—” He cringed when Bann glared at him.

Grinding his teeth so hard he was sure the molars would shatter, Bann fought to form a coherent sentence. An odd sense of betrayal soured his mouth.
The little shit. How dare he do this to me? To Shay? Doesn't he understand what his death would do to us
?

Unable to speak, he unbuckled his belt, his fingers stiff, and slid it through the loops, pausing at his right hip to remove the first sheath.

“Bann.” Shay laid a hand on his arm. “No.”

He cut his eyes at her, fingers working on the other sheath.

Relenting, she dropped her hand. “I hope you know what you're doing,” she muttered. With that, she walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Tossing the weapons on the sofa, Bann folded the belt over into a loop. He hesitated, then steeled himself. He beckoned with his free hand.

To his astonishment, Cor shook his head. Tears welled up and spilled over, making clean tracks on dirty cheeks. He reached down and gripped the chair seat on
either side of his lap, determined to protect his bottom from the dreaded strap.

Bann stabbed a finger at the floor in front of him.

Cor hunched down farther in the chair.

“Stubborn git,” Bann muttered, not sure if he was talking about his son or himself. “Cormac Boru. Ye have to three.”
You're crazy if you think this is going to work
, said a small voice in his head. “One. Two.” A pause. “Three.”

Neither of them moved.

“Damn.” Bann walked over. Ignoring the terror on Cor's face, he grabbed the boy by the arm and yanked.

Anger made him yank harder than he should have.

The chair and its passenger whipped around. With exquisite timing and positioning, the back of the chair nailed Bann in the groin. “Son of a bitch,” he gasped. Breathless from pain, he squeezed the leather strap as he fought not to double over until the agony faded.

He sucked in a breath and pulled at Cor's arm again, taking a precautionary step to one side this time. Cor rolled with the chair, still clinging with a death grip as he rode along.

“Let go of the bleedin' seat!”

“No!”

Reaching down with his free hand, the man began prying the small fingers loose. Not an easy task.
Ye gods, but he's strong
.

He froze in surprise when Cor suddenly jerked his hand free, gave a kick with his foot, and scooted backwards to safety. Before he could stop it, the chair rear-ended the computer desk with a crash. The lamp perched on its corner rocked precariously. With a speed that
astonished Bann, the boy reached around and caught it just as it toppled over, then placed it back on the desk.

The pure absurdity of the situation swept over Bann.

He barked a laugh. Almost instantly, it turned into something hot and thick and choking. Blinking furiously, he turned and stared at the far corner. The belt fell from his fingers. Lifting a shaky hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyelids tight, fighting to not break down—
not to lose my shit, as Shay would say
—in front of his son.

A moment later, small fingers snaked their way around his. He held them tight as he ran his free hand along his face, swiping at moist eyes. “I ought to whip ye within an inch of yer life,” he said hoarsely, “and would be justified to do so, Cormac Boru.” He looked down.

“I'm sorry, Dad,” Cor whispered. He sniffed and wiped his nose, leaving a smear across his upper lip. “I won't do it again. I promise.”

“You better not.” Bann walked over to the sofa and pulled Cor down next to him. “Why did you in the first place? Was it Max?”

Cor nodded. “I threw him some of Sam's treats and he ate them. He didn't act like he was bad or anything. He just wanted me to play with him.”

“The shapeshifter is acting like that to
trick
you. Even though he looks like Max and acts like Max, inside he is…” Bann paused when Cor stiffened, then plowed ahead. “…inside he is Cernunnos. No matter what shape he takes, he cannot be trusted. That monster killed your mother. He wants to kill me.” Hating himself as his words wrung more tears from his son, but desperate to
drive the point home, he added, “He wants to kill you, too.”

Cor's chin quivered. A sob, then another, then he folded over and buried his face in his knees, crying in a series of breathless wails. Bann knew the emotional flood was as much from the horror of the last thirty days as it was from the stress of the last thirty minutes. He ran a hand up and down the bowed back as sorrows old and new wracked his son.

All children eventually learn to deal with loss
, he recalled a well-meaning, but clueless, Knight said to him once. Bann's lips tightened.
Well, that bastard never had to listen to their child weep for a dead mother or a beloved friend
.

He let Cor cry himself clean, then pulled him onto his lap, tucking the tousled head under his chin and draping the legs, which were growing longer by the minute, over his.
I would give anything to have both of us live long enough to where he can no longer fit on my lap or in my arms
. He snorted.
No, Cor will always fit in my arms. Until the day they lay me to rest under a cairn of stones
.

The door eased open. Shay slipped in and closed it behind her. Leaning against it, she looked at the sniffling boy and the belt on the floor, then raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

Bann shook his head ruefully. “I could not.”

“You would have hated yourself.” Shay took a seat next to them. “Hey, buddy,” she said softly, her palm cupping his wet chin as she examined his face. “You okay now?” Cor hiccupped. “I'll take that as a yes. Here. Let me see your hands. What are these scratches from?”

“Bushes.” Cor held out his hands, the backs tattooed with thin red lines.

“Not…not
him
? Not the shapeshifter?”

“No.” Cor hesitated, then added, “He licked my scratches when I gave him another treat.”

“But he didn't…
bite
you or anything?” Shay pressed. Bann thought he knew why. When Cor shook his head, man and woman glanced at each other in relief.

Setting his son on his feet, Bann gave him a nudge toward the door. “Go wash your face and hands.”

“Use my bathroom.” She waited until Cor had disappeared before asking. “So, what happened?”

Bann told her, maximizing his benevolence and minimizing the whole chair-to-the-groin moment. Even so, Shay rolled on the sofa, laughing and wincing from the bump on her head simultaneously.

He regarded her with a stern eye. “It was not that funny.”

“Like hell it wasn't. Gods, I wish I had stayed for that.” Eyes dancing, she caught her breath, then sighed, wiping her eyes. “Well, this day has been a complete and total waste. Let's go home.”

Bann helped her up, grateful to see that she was steady on her feet. “Perhaps we should stay here, Shay. I do not like the thought of Cernunnos being so close to—”

“Stop already—Hugh and Ann are doubly on guard now. And there is no way that monster is getting through their wards.”

“But the shapeshifter is still—”

“Oh, don't worry. We're going hunting again, and soon. And we will find him. But
not today
,” she said in
her Healer voice. The voice he had learned to give in to and obey. “We've all fought enough battles today.”

Speaking of battles
. “What about your mother?” he asked as they went to collect Cor. “Do you not wish to spend time with her before she returns to Aspen?”

“Yeah. About Mom.” Shay stopped, glanced up and down the hall, then lowered her voice. “Listen, it might be worthwhile to have her over for supper. Tomorrow night. Just the four of us enjoying a simple, family meal where she can get to know you and Cor better.”

Or Isobel will simply use the occasion to list more reasons we shouldn't marry. Now, wouldn't that make for a delightful evening
? Bann forced a smile. “As you wish.” He silently reminded himself to buy more whiskey.

U
NCORKING A BOTTLE OF
wine at the counter, Bann kept an eye on Cor as he set the table, hampered by Sam weaving his way around boy and chair legs. The aroma of roast beef filled the room when Shay opened the oven door and slid the pan out, the juices sizzling cheerfully. Setting it on the top of the stove, she sliced an experimental sliver off one end, blew on it, then popped it in her mouth. “Oh, man, that's good.” She sliced off another bite and held it out to Bann on the edge of the knife. “It's like free-range cocaine. Not,” she glanced over at Cor, “that I ever tried any. Just an expression.”

Bann took it neatly with his teeth, hands still manipulating the corkscrew. He swallowed, then spoke. “For a ‘simple family meal,' you've gone to some trouble. A tactic?”

“Oh, yeah,” Shay said fervently. “I'm all about tactics tonight. That way-too-expensive wine you're opening is another one.”

“How much longer, Shay? I'm starving!” Cor placed the last spoon on the table, then flopped belly-down over one of the chairs and hung his head. Sam promptly attacked, mouthing and licking the boy's hair, still damp from a combing.

“Enough of your shenanigans.” Bann carried the wine bottle over to the table, then pulled Cor upright. “I've only just managed to tame that mess.” The boy's hair stuck out in clumps. With a grumble of annoyance, he ran a hand over his son's head, smoothing it back in place with the help of puppy saliva, then wiped his hands dry on his jeans. A sound of disgust made father and son look over at Shay.

“What?” they both asked at the same time.

“Nothing.” She shuddered.

At that moment, a car pulled into the driveway. Bann and Shay locked eyes.

“And here we go,” Shay murmured. “Cor. Get the door. And don't forget what you and your dad practiced, okay? And don't let Sam get out.” As boy and pup scampered away, she nodded at them. “Our frontal assault—Mom won't be able to resist them.”

“Clever ploy.” He trailed after his son, reaching the door just as Cor opened it, one hand holding Sam's harness.

“Hello, Cor.” Isobel Doyle stepped inside. A gift bag and a small purse dangled from one hand. She wore a royal-blue cashmere sweater over black slacks and flat-heeled boots. The dark colors set off her pale hair, which was smoothed back and held with a clip at the nape of her neck. Bann wondered how Isobel managed to raise such a tomboy as Shay.

“
Céad mile fáilte
.” Cor smiled shyly up at the woman.

“Why, thank you.” She smiled back. “And you pronounced it perfectly. Have you been practicing it just for me?” She cut her eyes briefly at Bann, then back to the boy.

Damn
, Bann thought.
She has caught us out
.

“Yes, ma'am.” Cor's grin widened. “It means ‘a hundred thousand welcomes' in Gaelic.”

And we've just lost the first skirmish
.

“Yes, I know.” Not bothering to hide her smirk of triumph, Isobel reached down and patted the dog, who was wiggling himself into a seizure at the prospect of even more attention. “And hello to you, too, Sam.” Straightening, she looked at Bann as Cor closed the door behind her.

“Bann.”

“Isobel.” He held out his hand. He wrapped his fingers around hers and held on longer than was necessary, making sure she felt the calluses on his palm and fingertips from years of weapons training before letting go. “May I take your things?”

“No, I'll just leave my purse here.” She dropped it on the entryway table that already held a pile of car keys and Shay's cell phone. The bag, she kept with her.

“Hey, Mom.” Shay walked over and gave her mother a quick hug. “Are you hungry? Because Cor is going to drop dead if we don't eat soon.” She reached over to push his hair from his forehead, then chuckled when he ducked with a practiced move.

“Well, I wouldn't want
that
to happen,” Isobel said. “By the way, I brought Cor a little gift.” She handed the bag to him.

Cor's eyes widened. Before Bann could remind him, he offered a soft “thank you.” He started to reach inside, then paused and looked up. “Can I open it now?”

“If you want.”

Setting the bag on the floor, Cor fished through the sheets of tissue paper stuffed in the top and pulled out a rubber chew toy for Sam. It was shaped like a gingerbread man. “Look, Sammy.” He waved it in front of the pup's nose. Sam chomped down on it. A high-pitched
squeak
from the toy sent him scurrying backwards so fast, he tripped over his back paws. Ashamed of his show of fear, he sounded a puppy version of
faugh a ballagh
and launched himself again. This time, he yanked the toy free and trotted away, head held high. Cor raced after him. They disappeared down the hallway.

“Mom? Would you like a glass of wine while I finish up supper?” Shay asked as her mother walked over to the sofa and took a seat. Flames snapped for attention in the fireplace across from the sofa.

“I would, thank you. Do you need any help? And how is your head?”

“My head is fine. And, no, I've got everything under control. Bann did a bunch of stuff earlier to help me out already. He likes to pamper me, you know, even when I'm not hurt.”

A salvo returned
, he thought.

As Shay bustled about the kitchen, Bann added another log, taking his time to place it just right, then prodded already-burnt wood with the poker. Silence filled the room. Out of embers to kill, he replaced the tool and stood with an elbow resting on the mantel. He noticed Isobel gazing at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that flanked both sides of the brick hearth. Her eyes were fixed on the display of family photos tucked in between piles of books.