Unholy Blue (36 page)

“Wards. Of a sort. Quite powerful, but Fey-friendly.” Orwren explained. She studied Shay, delicate black brows arched in question. “But I take it you're not here about wards.”

That's a big ol' glass of no shit, Sherlock
. “I assumed you've heard about the battle.”

“Who hasn't? The Stag Lord dead, along with Weston Tully, and another bothersome pack of Fir Bolgs? You Doyles have been busy little warriors.”

“We have.”

“And I hear you and Bannerman Boru are engaged. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”
She's being polite. I know what that means. A stick-it-to-me is coming
.

“My, my. Marrying the long-son of the High King. Look at you being all Kate Middleton.”

And there it is
. “It's about Bann that I'm here.”

“Ah. Marital advice, no doubt.”

“No.”
Bitch
. “Something else.”

“Come, then.” Orwren led the way. In the far corner, stairs led down into darkness. Dust motes danced in the muted light from the window. She pushed through a pair of swinging wooden doors, their surfaces etched with a pair of symbols matching the one on the front window.

The scent of melting wax and spices and something else tickled Shay's nose as she stepped through the doors. The area, about the same square footage as her great room and kitchen combined, was lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, covering three of the four walls. Items familiar and unfamiliar filled the shelves—mostly books, but quite a few held artifacts from other cultures. On one, she spotted a statue of the Hindu god, Ganesha, next to a Zuni kachina. Both were frozen in dance. The fourth wall had a door flanked by two windows looking onto a large, grassy hill, dotted here and there with slabs of reddish sandstone, nature's tailings from the Garden of the Gods.

In the center of the room, two overstuffed loveseats faced each other across a travel trunk last used on the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe railroad.
It was probably hers when she came out West
. A trio of unlit candles, their wicks still smoking, sat in the center of the trunk-now-table. The corner of the room held a tiny kitchenette outfitted with a sink, a stove, and an under-the-counter refrigerator. A small, round table with two chairs was pushed off to one side while a modern, state-of-the-art coffee machine sat on the counter next to the sink. The
aroma of fresh-ground beans reminded Shay how long it had been since breakfast.

“Coffee?” Orwren walked over to the kitchenette. “Or tea?”

“Coffee. If it's not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all. I was about to have some myself.” Clicking on the machine, she waved Shay over to the loveseat facing the back windows, then took the one across from her. “So. Bannerman Boru. I take it there's a problem?”

Hating to admit it, Shay forced herself to speak. “I don't know. I hope not.”
But
that
hope's pretty thin
. “Cernunnos bit him on the arm when they were fighting. While the shapeshifter was in animal form. A dog.”
Even worse
, my
dog
.

“I see.” A long pause. In the corner, the coffee maker wheezed and sputtered. “And?”

“And, while the bite marks seem to be healing, he's acting…well, not himself. And my moonstone's beam—”

“—burns the wounds.”

Shay nodded. Her heart twisted. But it was the druidess's next words that stopped it cold.

T
RYING TO SMOTHER THE
frustration that had seemed to be on permanent simmer all morning, first from waiting for the delivery truck to arrive, then from watching the driver of said delivery truck attempting to maneuver it around the cul-de-sac enough to back it up to the house, Bann ground his teeth.
I could have done it in two moves
.
This idiot is on his ninth try
. He held up a hand when the tailgate of the truck reached the bottom of the driveway, which was still damp from yesterday's snow.

“Close enough,” he yelled over the rumble of the engine. Two men climbed out of the cab. After helping Bann unload a dozen or more cardboard boxes—most of them marked
Cor
—the workers disappeared into the almost-empty truck.

Bann's sour mood lifted when they reappeared a few moments later carrying a large, flat object between them. It was well wrapped in quilted moving pads. At Bann's order, they carted it down the ramp and leaned it against the house by the front door.
Fortunate timing that it arrived while Shay was gone
, he thought as he unveiled the object.

A large headboard, with ornately carved newel posts and bearing a carved Claddagh symbol in its center—two hands holding a heart and surmounted by a crown—its wood stained a rich mahogany, emerged from the wrappings. He nodded in relief when he saw that it was undamaged from the cross-country trip. After handing the men the moving quilts and a small cash tip, he examined the headboard again as they drove away in a blue cloud of diesel fuel.

Best move it inside
. He opened the front door. “Cor, come help now. And make sure the pup is locked up so he doesn't get underfoot.” As he waited for his son, he traced the carving of one of the newel posts, admiring the workmanship.
I would like to try something like this
. He smiled at the thought of having his own workshop in their new home.

Cor appeared, eyes wide with curiosity. “Is that your and Shay's new bed?”

“Aye. Well, the headboard, at least.”

“Is your old bed broken?”

“No, but it is tradition that a man provides a bed, the finest he can build or obtain, for his bride. Nowadays, most men gift their new wife with just the headboard.”

“Why?”

“As a symbol.”

“A symbol of what?”

“Of his, er, virility.”

Cor looked at the headboard, then his father, face scrunched. “To help you get more?”

“Why, I have virility aplenty, I'll have you know. Now, give me a hand. And be careful. I don't want a scratch on it before Shay sees it.” Bann, with Cor's
surprisingly helpful aid, maneuvered the headboard through the front door and down the hallway.

“Where did you get this from?” Cor asked, walking backwards into the bedroom, guiding his dad.

“Danny's father makes these,” Bann said, naming one of Cor's sometimes-friends-and-sometimes-enemies, depending on the boys' moods. “I was fortunate Thomas had one available when I went back to Pennsylvania for our things.” For a moment, he remembered Thomas explaining that he rarely put such an ornate crown over the Claddagh, but had felt moved to do so with this particular headboard. “There. Mission accomplished.” After propping it lengthwise against the mattress, Bann wiped perspiration from his brow, wondering why he was sweating so much. He dried his hands on his shirt.

“Can I let Sam out now?”

“I'll do it.” Wanting to continue to strengthen his still-fragile bond with the puppy, Bann headed to Cor's room, his son on his heels. Approaching the crate slowly, he crooned, “Now, there's a fine boyo.”

Sam flattened his head and ears, unsure. His tail wagged tentatively. When Bann opened the door, he slunk out, gave a brief sniff at the man's fingers, then skirted around Bann and hurried over to Cor. Boy and dog disappeared along the hallway.

At least the wee thing didn't piss himself this time
. Bemused, Bann lingered to close the crate's door. Cor's shout froze his hand.

“Sam! No! Don't jump on the—” A crash echoed through the house, followed by a high-pitched yelp.

Bann bolted out the door to the master bedroom. He skidded to a stop in the doorway.

The headboard lay on the carpet. One of the newel posts was snapped off; the bare wood under the stain looked like a healed scar. Nearby, Cor crouched down next to a cowering Sam, trying to soothe him.

Rage enveloped Bann like a wildfire in a down draft, uncontrollable and just as deadly. Taking two long strides, he reached down and smacked the puppy hard enough to knock his hind legs out from under him. Yipping, Sam scurried for the safety of the hallway and his crate. Bann lunged for him again, open hand swinging. With a cry of protest, Cor jumped to his feet and threw himself between man and pup.

The
crack
of Bann's palm hitting Cor's cheek bounced around the room like a trapped rabbit on the end of a noose. Feet tangled, Cor spun clear around, then fell to the floor by the foot of the bed. He looked up in shock, tears welling. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

He deserved it, the brat, not minding the pup
, said a voice. The Voice that had been a low murmur all morning.
A pity the headboard didn't fall on the hound and crush his skull. That would have taught both of them a lesson
.

The image was a poison. “NO!” The roar burst out of his mouth before he could stop it, frightening Cor even more. An impossibility. With a squeak, the boy scrambled on his hands and knees around the bed and disappeared on the far side.

Bann staggered. Sweat drenched him, both from the anger that stood toe to toe with him and refused to back
down, and from the guilt of striking both boy and pup. Careening out of the room, he hurried through the house.

Out back, he stood in the middle of the yard. A westerly wind poured down the foothills, rolling more clouds in front of it for a second round of snow. It cooled the sweat on his body—a body that seemed to have a furnace set on high inside of it. With stiff fingers, he peeled back his sleeve and stared down at the bite marks. Then his gaze shifted to the iron blade on his right hip.

Driving home with single-minded ferocity and with slush spraying from her tires, Shay ignored the chime of her cell phone. The ringtone stopped, then started up again. Cursing under her breath, she picked it up and continued steering one-handed while she peeked at the screen. She thumbed it on. “Bann?”

“Shay?” said a quivering voice. “Come home.”

“Cor? What's wrong?” She pressed harder on the gas pedal.

“D-D-Dad…” The rest of the sentence was lost in a jumble of hiccups. “…gone. And I don't… I don't…”

“Cor. Stop. Take a deep breath and tell me what's going on.” Thanking the gods she'd had serious snow tires put on her SUV, she exited the highway, going twenty miles over the speed limit.

“Dad hit Sam. And…and me. Really hard. Then he left. I saw him go into the rocks from the back door.”

“Easy, Cor.” She spoke as softly and calmly as the panic clawing at her would allow. “It's okay. I'll be there
in a few minutes. Just stay inside.” As she drove, she replayed her conversation with the druidess, the conversation that was keeping a crescent moon of hope alive.

“As you probably already suspected, Bannerman has been infected by the wickedness of the shapeshifter,” Orwren had said in a clinical tone that set Shay's teeth on edge. “A bite, even a lick of the tongue, can spread the infection, although not as fast as when an innocent creature actually ingests the blood. The blood is the most potent transmitter; this you know from what happened with your hound.”

“Right. Body fluids.” Shay chewed on her lip. “Wait! Cor—that's Bann's son—said that the shapeshifter licked his hand. But
he's
been fine.”

Surprise colored Orwren's face. She frowned. “Really?” She clucked her tongue a few times in thought, then her eyes suddenly widened. “How old is Cor?”

“Just turned nine.”

“Born here in America? Not in Ireland?”

“No, Bann and his late wife had Cor in Pennsylvania.”
It's true, then. What Cernunnos told Bann about the legend of the Boru line
.

“Then the boy may be the father's salvation. The child's blood has a healing power when administered correctly by someone trained in the art.”

“Okay. So how do I—”

“Not you.
Me
. Only a druid or druidess can perform this ceremony.” She smiled. Shay was certain she spotted fangs. “While you are a competent Healer, this calls for someone with a bit more…” She gestured at herself.

It took every bit of control for Shay not to finish the sentence with a really good zinger.

“But we must hurry,” Orwren had urged. “Time is our enemy now. We have only a day, maybe two, if the man is strong enough to fight it, before the evil will have spread too far to be reversed. After that…” The druidess's voice had faded, not needing to finish the thought.

After that, death would be a kindness
. With the clock now ticking in her head, Shay fought to keep from crashing her car as she tore along the mostly empty residential streets. Racing down the cul-de-sac, she sighed in relief when she spotted Bann's truck still parked in the driveway. She slammed to a stop next to it, grabbed her cell phone and medical bag, and jumped out. Before she was halfway up the walk, the front door opened.