Finn's Choice (9 page)

“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 queried.

“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.

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.

Or jumped over the wall
, Finn thought. In his mind, he envisioned his master picking up speed as he jogged across the yard, deep voice chanting the Song, then leaping into the air and clearing the wall effortlessly. He started to turn from the window when he noticed movement in the snowy woods beyond.

Gideon came into view, making his way through the snow on one of the well-trodden paths that led from their property into the western foothills. Bundled in a dark jacket and wool gloves, he
carried his dagger in one hand, and a plastic Walmart bag in the other. It sagged, the plastic straining and its bottom stained dark, as if something was leaking inside. He disappeared as he dropped down into the gully separating the land just beyond the fence and the first line of trees. A moment later, he reappeared by the wooden gate set near the northwest corner and entered.

As Finn watched, the Knight turned and walked along the inside of the wall until he reached the center and halted. After sheathing his dagger, he reached into the bag and pulled out a limp, grayish-brown object, about the size of a rabbit.

Finn gasped. It
was
a rabbit, blood still leaking from a slit throat. Crimson drops stained the snow at the Knight's feet. Holding it by the ears, Gideon held the rabbit up, as if presenting it to an unseen audience, then laid it along the top of the wall. One paw hung limply.

The taste of bile filled in Finn's mouth. He stepped back on shaky legs and sank down on his bed. A minute later, he heard the sound of the kitchen door opening and closing, then the faint thump-thump of snow being stomped off boots.

“Finn?” Gideon's muted voiced drifted upstairs. “Up, now.”

“Yes, sir,” he croaked. He cleared his throat and called louder, knowing Gideon had no patience with him staying in bed one second after being told to move his arse. “Yes, sir.”

Pulling on jeans and a thick hand-me-down sweater that had once belonged to Gideon's long-dead son, he padded barefoot to the kitchen. The hiss of running water greeted him as his master
stood at the sink, washing his hands.

“A grand day for a hunt, eh?” the Knight said over his shoulder. “Eat a hearty breakfast. We'll be meeting the others soon.”

Finn nodded absently. “What's with the dead rabbit thing?”

Turning off the water, Gideon peered out the window as he dried his hands. “An offering.”

“To the
Scáthach
?”
Wow, she gets creepier all the time
.

“'Tis a symbolic gesture, nothing more. Animal sacrifice was part of the worship of the gods and goddesses by us Celts, human and Fey. I am simply doing it to appease her ego. It does no harm to stroke the pride of the ancient gods now and again, especially one whom we are attempting to outwit. Now breakfast, then go dress warmly. Layers, mind you. We'll be out all morning and I do not want to hear you complaining.”

Twenty minutes later, Finn clumped downstairs, a thermal T-shirt under his sweater and his new hiking boots stiff. Snagging his winter jacket from the hooks next to the front door, he started to pull it on when Gideon stopped him.

“You'll get too warm in that, what with the hiking and hunting we'll be doing.” He held out a goose down vest. Its dark green Gore-Tex was faded with age. “Here. Try this.”

Finn pulled it on. Slightly oversized, but comfortable, he zipped it up and swung his arms about. “Fits okay. Just a little big. Is it yours?”

“Aye. I find hunting easier if you can move freely.” He handed Finn his gloves. “Here. Winter has arrived earlier than I had
anticipated. We did not have time to finish outfitting you for the cold.”

“At least I've got my new boots.” Finn stomped a foot, then winced. “They're kind of tight.”

Gideon frowned. “Why, I just purchased those for you. And dear they were.”

Finn's heart sank at their ever-constant battle to afford even the basics. Guilt filled him when he noticed his master was gloveless and his jacket was patched at both elbows. “They fit last week when I wore them, but I guess my feet grew some more.”