The Hound at the Gate (3 page)

Finn was ready in four.

“'Tis certainly one of the great mysteries of life.” Their errand complete, Gideon glanced in the rearview mirror as he steered their truck through High Springs' downtown. The buzz of the morning rush hour of the city filled the cab through half-open windows.

Finn looked over from the passenger seat. “What is?”

“The eternal and everlasting lines at the postal office.” Gideon eased into a parking space in front of their favorite diner, tucked between a used bookstore and a sporting goods shop. “I've never understood why— Say, isn't that Lochlan? And his da?”

Several storefronts away, father and son stood nose to nose, both gesturing wildly. Gideon stiffened when Martin O'Neill poked the boy in the chest, forcing him to take a step back. “Stay,” he ordered Finn, hoping that, at least once, his apprentice would actually
obey
him.

Gideon climbed out and began walking along the sidewalk, eyes fixed on the pair. He sped up when Lochlan snarled something and knocked his father's hand away.

Outrage twisted the older O'Neill's face into a red mask. He grabbed the boy by the arm and yanked him up short. “I'm weary of your excuses,” he shouted. “Do you like being outshone by that halfer? Do you?” He shook Lochlan.

“It's not like that.” Lochlan tried to pull free, but failed. “I'm trying—”

“Try harder.”

“But, Dad, we can't find any Amandán! They're all in hiding or something. Mac Roth said—”

O'Neill cut him off with another shake. “Your grandfather earned his torc the first day of his apprenticeship. And I earned mine the first
week. Even your dead cousin, Asher, earned his before going to his long sleep.” He leaned closer. “Now
get it done
.”

Before Gideon could reach them, O'Neill let go and stomped off toward a sleek, silver sedan that sneered I'm-more-wealthy-than-you. Without a glance back, he drove away in a squeal and stink of expensive foreign luxury.

Cursing the man silently, Gideon hurried to where Lochlan stood abandoned, white-lipped with rage. And shame. And hurt.

“Lochlan? Are you all right?”

For a long minute, Lochlan stood staring at the empty slot that had held his father's car a moment ago. Then, he let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, I'm good.” Turning on his heels, he stalked away.

“And where might you be heading?” Gideon caught up and fell in beside him.

“Home.”

“You mean…?” He pointed in the direction Martin O'Neill had driven.

Lochlan shook his head. “No, I mean back to Mac Roth's.”

As you should
, Gideon thought. “A longish way. Would you care for a lift, then?”

Lochlan halted. Seemingly fascinated by a nearby piece of public sculpture depicting a life-size buffalo crafted from baling wire, he paused, then gave a brief nod. “Can I ask you something first?”

“Aye.”

“Don't tell Mac Roth about what just happened. Please?”

“Why?”

“Because he wasn't too thrilled about Dad coming down from Denver and taking me out for breakfast. He thinks…” Lochlan made a vague gesture, eyes still locked on the buffalo.

“He thinks what, boyo?”

“He thinks Dad pushes me too much. My father's totally
obsessed
with me bagging my first Amandán. Like,
now
. Or, better yet,
yesterday
.” He pasted a fake grin on his face. “I didn't know this was a timed test.”

Placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, Gideon turned him around, demanding his attention. “Taking your first beastie is a difficult task and a dangerous one. Why, most warriors are three or four years into their apprenticeships before they earn the torc.”

“Not
my
dad.” Lochlan glanced over at Gideon's truck. “And not Finn—he got his in the first month of his apprenticeship. And he's a half—” He bit down on the rest of the word before it could spill out. Red stained his cheeks.

“Your father's words, I take it?” At Lochlan's sheepish nod, Gideon sighed. “Well, 'tis true Finn is half-mortal, but he earned his torc like a true Tuatha De Danaan. With skill and Song and determination.” A corner of the Knight's mouth turned upward. “And a bit of old-fashioned Irish luck. We happened to be in the right place at the right time on that hunt. It will most likely be the same for you. Even so, I want you to swear, on your right, fine honor, that you'll not rush into a dangerous situation just to be able to wear
this
…” He flicked the torc around his own neck. “…around
that
.” He pointed to Lochlan's throat.

Lochlan blinked at the Knight's stern tone. “I promise.”

“May I have your hand on it?” Gideon held out his. He smiled at the boy's firm grip. “Good lad.”

Letting go, Lochlan raked his fingers through his blond hair, making it stand up like an unmowed field of dry grass. “Thanks for, you know, talking with me about this.” He grinned up at the Knight. This time, the smile reached his eyes.

Gideon marveled at his resiliency.
We grow our children sturdy, we Celts. They take the blows of life and come back a-swinging, laughing in Fate's face
.

“And Mac Roth told me just a few days ago,” Lochlan continued, “about you taking me on as your apprentice if anything happened to him.”

“As would Mac Roth for Finn.” A sudden look of alarm darkened Gideon's face. “Ye gods. The thought of raising the
two
of you in the same house makes me quail.”

Both chuckling, they headed back to the truck. As they drew near, Finn opened the door and hopped out. With tact that stunned Gideon, his apprentice simply gave a nod of greeting. “Hey, Lochlan.”

“Hey, Finn.”

“Back in the truck, boyo. We're giving Lochlan a ride home.” He paused. “Unless you would care to join us for breakfast?”
I'll place a fair wager the lad never had a chance to eat
.

Identical grins split the faces of both apprentices. Shoving each other with glee, they hurried to the cafe's door, each trying to be the first one inside. With a smile, Gideon followed.

The Journal of Finnegan MacCullen: Monday, Sept 16

I don't know what's worse—not having a dad or having a dad that's a jerk. I'm just glad Lochlan's got Mac Roth for a master. I sure hope he earns his torc soon.

What I Learned Today:

Besides the Festival of the Hunt taking place around the autumn equinox, I also learned that the ruling Council is made up of two Knights and a chieftain. And besides hunting, there are a bunch of other competitions and events.

It's like the Tuatha De Danaan Olympics. In a way.

The Journal of Gideon Lir: Monday, September 16

Martin O'Neill. His unreal expectation for his son is only matched by his dislike of “halfers.” Worse, he is on the
Rath
this year—his elevated status will place an even greater burden on young Lochlan to perform. And I know it will take every bit of Mac Roth's patience and self-control to hold his tongue around the man.

It is a fine line we Knights walk in the training of another man's son. I wonder if I would treat Finn different if Fergus MacCullen were still alive.

On a different note—Mac Roth and I cannot determine why the Amandán have all gone to ground. And where is Iona? As I've often told Finn, fear the unseen foe more than the seen.

Two days later, Finn walked across the street toward their neighbor's house, a covered bowl in his hands. Stopping to adjust the aluminum foil, he glanced down at the slender bracelet knotted around his wrist. Woven from a lion's black and tawny tail hairs, it matched the one worn by his friend, Rafe Steel. Finn smiled at the memory of Joseph Nyeta, Rafe and Savannah's grandfather, presenting him and Lochlan with the bracelets prior to returning home to South Africa after a three-week visit.

“You have certainly earned these, as has my granddaughter, after your battle with the Amandán,” the old man had said as he'd tied them on. “Now, like my grandson, Rafe, you are warriors in the Zulu tradition, brave lions all.” He had winked at Savannah. “And lioness.”

I wish I had a grandfather like him
, Finn thought.
Heck, I wish I had a grandfather at all
.

Crunching through a leftover drift of leaves covering the walkway, he broke into a grin when the front door of the tall, brick home swung open just as he reached it. “Hey, Rafe.”

“About time.” Rafe Steel stepped aside to let him in. An ornate foyer, tastefully decorated with marble floor and an antique entryway
table, greeted him. “I'm starving! What took you guys so long?” He looked past Finn's shoulder. “And where's Mr. Lir?”

“He'll be here in a minute.” Finn held up the bowl. “He said to bring this over.”

“What is it?”

“Irish potato salad.”

“Seriously.”

“No, seriously. The Irish invented it.”

Rafe's black eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Whatever. Come on back.” He led the way through the house and into the expanse of stainless steel and marble and cherrywood that was the Steel kitchen.

Finn's mouth started to water at the aroma of hamburgers sizzling on the countertop grill. Smacking his lips in anticipation, he looked around. “Can't wait to eat. And it looks like everyone's here already.”

Lounging at the table taking up one end of the large room, Dr. Susanna Steel, her ebony skin and high cheekbones giving her a regal air, sat chatting with Mac Roth. The enormous Knight nodded, hanging on every word the doctor spoke. At the other side of the table, Lochlan was laughing with Rafe's twin sister, Savannah, their heads close together. Lochlan's blond hair seemed almost white in contrast to Savannah's shoulder-length black hair arranged in rows of braids. A needle of jealousy pricked Finn, and he ordered himself to ignore it. At the center island, Rufus Steel manned the grill. A chorus of voices welcomed him.

“And what have you done with your master?” Mac Roth boomed, smile flashing white in his red beard. “You dinna lose him, did you?”

“Why, I let the Amandán take him,” Finn replied in his best accent. He set the bowl down on the table alongside a platter holding a selection of fresh, raw vegetables and low-fat yogurt dip that nobody would eat, and a mound of brownies that everyone would fight over. “The beasties are probably feeding on him even now.” A sudden gale of laughter from the others spurred him on. “More's the pity for them—he'll give them right horrible indigestion, to be sure.”

“Indigestion, eh?” Mac Roth said with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Hush, missy.” He shushed Savannah, who started to say something. Next to him, Susanna Steel fought a smile.

“Oh, aye. Me master is tough as a boot. An
old
boot, mind ye.”

“Just how old?” Lochlan asked. He winked at Rafe, who had taken a seat at the table. Rafe grinned back, then clapped a hand over Savannah's mouth when she tried to speak again.

“Why, when Gideon Lir was born, back in the auld country, the Rocky Mountains were only wee pimples on the edge of the plains.”

“Wow. That's pretty old,” Rafe noted, struggling to hold his sister. “Because this latest version of the Rockies actually rose during the late Cretaceous period.
Ow!
” He let out a yelp when Savannah bit down.

Wrestling free, she shouted a warning. “Finn, stop—” Rafe and Lochlan grabbed her before she could finish, her brother risking another bite by clapping his hand over her mouth.

Finn frowned at Savannah's actions. Then, suddenly, the same scalp-tightening, bowel-loosening feeling he got when hunting Amandán, that feeling that something was hunting him
right back
, swept over him. Hairs on the back of his neck stiffened.
Son of a goat
, he cursed silently. “H-he's standing right behind me, isn't he?” he asked in dismay.