Hard to Handle

by Christine Warren

“I saw a place, not a person,” he said. He felt uncomfortable revealing even that much. “Just a scene of somewhere out in the country. Nothing very special.”

  “Describe it.”

  Drum glared into steady, dark eyes that never wavered. Being made of stone gave her an unfair advantage in outstubborning him. And here he’d always thought Maeve was the only one who could manage it.

  “A ruin,” he said. “This is Ireland. We’ve got them coming out our ears.” She just stared; he got cranky. “It was a tower,” he bit out, “or what’s left of one. Stone, three or four stories at some point, now more like one and a half. It’s on a hill surrounded by farmland. Like I said, nothing very special.”

  Ash continued to watch his face, her expression inscrutable. No one spoke for a moment, then Maeve stuck her freckled nose into things. Again.

  “Michael…” Her tone held a caution and a threat, one he was familiar with.

  He ignored her, but Ash turned her head and her attention to the little meddler. She didn’t even have to ask; his own personal traitor turned on him cheerfully.

  “He might not think it’s special, but it sounds awfully familiar.” His sister ignored his glare almost as easily as Ash had done. “There’s a ruined tower near where we grew up, not far from my mother’s house. I’d say it more than fits his description.”

  Drum said, “Whether it does or not, she was looking for a person, not a place.”

  Maeve shrugged. “So you didn’t see a face. Maybe the Sight just showed you where he’s staying instead of him directly.”

  “Where he’s staying?” Drum scoffed. “So this Warden fellow she’s looking for is camped out in a pile of rubble with no roof, where sheep do their business as they wander through? In Ireland. In the autumn.”

  Maeve had a long-standing appreciation for sarcasm, but apparently only when she was using it. Her eyes narrowed. “How are we to know if he has the sense God gave a billy goat?”

  Ash spoke before their conversation devolved along the usual lines—into physical violence. “Wardens are highly intelligent and magically gifted. One would not subject himself to such primitive conditions without taking measures that would leave some visible evidence of occupation. However, I do not believe what you have seen to be without truth. Perhaps a clue was left in this place. I must go and look for myself.”

  “Be my guest,” Drum muttered beneath his breath.

  Of course, his sister heard him. “She is your guest, Michael,” Maeve said, “and she’s not from around here. She doesn’t know how to find the tower; we do. It’s only right that we take her.”

  Not from around here? Drum swallowed a bitter laugh. He supposed you might say that.

  Ash shook her head. “This is my mission, not yours. You have been generous with your assistance, and in pointing me in the proper direction. I cannot ask for more, and I cannot risk placing humans in danger.”

  “Don’t be silly. We’re happy to help. Besides, we’re not talking about jumping off a cliff or fighting those things we saw last night. We’ve both played in those ruins since we were babies. It’s perfectly safe.”

  Drum just leaned back in his chair and set his teeth until he felt the muscle in his jaw jump like a March hare. He knew arguing with Maeve would only make her dig her heels in further, but Ash appeared to have a penchant for hopeless causes.

  “No. While I am grateful for your offer—”

  Maeve continued forward like a piece of earth-moving machinery. “Besides, Ma is expecting to see me this morning, so we’ll be driving out there anyway. It would be silly for us not to give you a ride.”

  We? “You are taking a bus, missy. I have a pub to run and books to do. I’ll see Ma on Sunday, like always.”

  “Oh?” Maeve arched her brows at him. “You mean that when I see Ma and introduce her to Ash, you’d like me to explain that you forced me and my guest to ride the bus rather than driving us out yourself? Why, I would be happy to do just that, brother dear.” She fluttered her lashes at him and smiled widely.

  “Blackmail is a nasty habit, Mae.”

  “But effective, no?”

  Her trap snapped shut around Drum with a nasty click of wicked sharp teeth. Damn her for pushing, and double damn her for knowing his kryptonite. Now he could either acknowledge defeat, or he could face the wrath of the person he felt certain even Saint Patrick himself feared to cross—his mother.

  What was a man to do?

  Chapter Seven

  Green stretches of land rolled past the windows of the car almost as swiftly as if Ash soared above them with powerful beats of her wings. The novelty of riding in such a piece of human machinery had not worn off during this, her second experience. Last night, the streets had been dark and misty, but today the sun shone through the fluffy cover of clouds to illuminate the lush scenery.

  If she hadn’t known better, Ash might think she was feeling a sense of well-being, but that was impossible. Everyone knew that Guardians did not feel.

  While her kind experienced physical sensations, like the heat of fire or the pain of a wound earned in battle, they did not possess anything like the human range of emotions. A Guardian existed to vanquish his enemy—her enemy—and so had no need for any feelings beyond those of a warrior: fury, determination, rage, and hatred for the enemy.

  She knew, of course, of the legend of Guardians who found their mates among human females of power. Those brothers began to experience other emotions in the company of the women who would eventually free them from the prisons of their stony forms. No story existed that spoke of a female Guardian, let alone one with a mate or the ability to feel love or any other human emotion. Therefore, Ash remained as she had been summoned—cold as chiseled granite.

  Were it not for Maeve’s friendly chatter, the drive from Dublin to the siblings’ native village would have passed in silence broken only by the grinding sound of Drum’s clenched teeth. Ash was likely the only one who could hear it, her senses being so much keener than humans’, but the steady soliloquy on the scenery, the Drummond family, and local history drowned most of it out. It could not, however, disguise the white of his knuckles clenched around the steering wheel, nor the continued stiffness of his posture. The man didn’t have to utter a word to make clear his dislike of the situation.

  He wasn’t alone. Ash would have much preferred to follow the trail to her Warden without a couple of humans along for her to worry about. Drum’s vision may not have indicated a threat at the ruin he had seen, but Ash would not have been summoned had dark forces not been stirring in the area. Allowing him and his sister to accompany her chafed against her instincts. She would do her duty to protect them at any cost, but that could interfere with her principal mission—find her Warden, then identify the threat from the Darkness and eliminate it.

  An abrupt break in Maeve’s speech interrupted Ash’s brooding. The woman made a sound of interest and tapped a nail against the car’s rear window. “Ooh, Michael. Isn’t that Peadar O’Keefe?”

  Drum cursed. “Where?”

  “There. Crossing McSweeney’s field. He must be on his way to check the post. Look, he’s waving at us.”

  “Perfect,” her brother grumbled. His fingers tightened further until Ash heard the vehicle’s control wheel creak in protest.

  “And he’s off again, over the stile and down the lane to the post, right past Ma’s house.”

  It was impossible to miss either the glee in Maeve’s tone or the hostility radiating from her brother’s tense form. It appeared as if the woman deliberately tried to annoy her elder sibling, a habit Ash had first remarked upon the previous night. It confused her. She could sense genuine affection between the two, yet each leaped on any available opportunity to taunt the other. If this was a human custom, Ash found it a bizarre one.

  But maybe she had missed the human girl’s true intent. “Do I miss the significance of a familiar person walking in this area?”

  Drum answered over his sister’s smirk. “M
aeve is pointing out—needlessly—that now he’s seen us, our neighbor is certain to tell our mother we’re here to visit.”

  “This is undesirable?”

  “I intended to drop Maeve off without stopping and take you right to the ruin. Now I can’t.”

  Truly, the course of human logic eluded her. “I do not understand.”

  “My brother is just being grumpy. Ma would be crushed if you just ran off like that. She’s always saying how she doesn’t see enough of her only son. It won’t kill you to spend a minute or two humoring her.”

  “But it might kill you.”

  Maeve made a rude noise, but otherwise ignored her brother’s threat.

  Ash shook her head and held her tongue as Drum steered the car through the narrow lane between the hedgerows. They turned a corner, and the road opened to reveal a white farmhouse less than a quarter of a mile farther on. They slowed and turned into a gravel yard beside the building. In front of them, an old barn appeared to have been converted into an automotive garage, while fields stretched beyond a stone wall to the left. On the right, a woman stood just on the other side of a low picket fence with her arms crossed over her chest and an expression on her face that Ash could not read.

  Maeve opened her door almost before the vehicle had stopped. She flung it wide and jumped out to catch the strange woman in an enthusiastic embrace. “Ma, I’m famished. To look in his kitchen, you’d think Michael lives on bread and water.”

  “Well, we all know your brother is no monk, so I think it’s more likely he couldn’t be bothered to do the marketing.” The woman’s voice was rich, and her accent held even more of Ireland than either of her children’s. “I thought you said you’d be here last night.”

  “My research took longer than I expected. By the time I finished and called Drum to come and fetch me, it was after midnight. We didn’t want to wake the whole house, so I stayed with him and decided to come out this morning.”

  The elder Drummond female pursed her lips. “So I can see, and I see you’ve brought himself with you. And a guest.”

  Ash saw Drum tense when he heard that. He blew out a long breath, then pried his fingers from the steering wheel one at a time and climbed from the car. Ash followed suit and watched as the man stepped over to greet his mother.

  “Hello, Ma.” The man had to lean down a considerable distance to kiss her cheek, even though she stretched to meet him. “How are you?”

  “Well enough, you don’t need to ask,” she said, “but you and your sister both are rude beggars for standing here and not introducing your friend.”

  Her words might have included both of her children, but her eyes remained steadily on her son as she spoke. Ash saw Drum flinch and wondered at his reaction. “Right, Ma, this—”

  “—is Ash. She’s a—”

  “—friend of Maeve’s.”

  The siblings spoke over each other, each glaring when the other’s voice rose louder. Mrs. Drummond looked between them but quickly turned her attention to Ash. She extended her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, dear. As my children have forgotten every manner I’ve attempted to drill into them, I can tell you I’m Maddie Drummond. Welcome to my home. Now, is Ash short for Aisling?”

  Ash shook her hand, feeling both warmth and strength in the elder human’s lightly callused fingers. Maddie Drummond stood even shorter than her daughter, barely skimming two inches above five feet. Her face was round but for the determined point of her chin, and her blue eyes were exact replicas of Maeve’s. Her mouth echoed the shape of her son’s, only softer, and bracketed by lines that indicated frequent smiles and hearty laughter. Similar lines framed her eyes, but otherwise her fair, freckled skin looked smooth and fresh. Her dark brown hair was peppered with gray, and her figure was trim, though softened by age. She appeared to be in her late fifties, but guessing the ages of humans was not a skill Ash could brag of.

  “No, ma’am,” she answered. “It is simply Ash.”

  Maddie held her gaze for several seconds, seeming to look behind the dark but human-shaded irises of Ash’s mortal disguise. For a moment, the Guardian felt a stirring of unease.

  But then the woman smiled and pushed open the low gate. “Well then, I’m very pleased to meet you, simply Ash. Now come in the house, and have a cup of tea while I feed this brat here. I know it’s near to lunch, but breakfast will be quicker. Are you hungry?”

  From the corner of her eye, Ash could see Drum’s tension ease, while on her other side Maeve’s seemed to tick upward a notch. Still, neither spoke while they followed Maddie around the side of the house, bypassing the front door to enter through another at the rear of the structure.

  They stepped directly into a small kitchen filled with warmth and the smell of baking bread. Through an archway to the right, Ash could see a large table spread with a cheery red cloth and surrounded by six chairs with worn wooden seats. Several more stood back against the walls, and she would guess that beneath its cover, the table could extend to accommodate at least a dozen in total.

  Maddie shooed them toward it with one hand, the other reaching to pull a kettle from the top of the range. “I’ll start a new pot while one of you tells me what brought you out here this morning.”

  Drum slid into the chair at the foot of the table, his expression wary. “Maeve told you it was too late to bring her out last night.”

  After taking her own seat, Maeve nudged Ash to the one beside her, putting Drum to her left and the archway directly opposite. It gave her the perfect view of Maddie’s face and the skepticism written over it.

  “And as you know lying is a sin, that’s as may be. But it doesn’t explain why Peadar O’Keefe told me he saw your car on the road from Dublin instead of just Maeve walking here from the bus stop in the village.”

  “He was telling Ash just this morning about the ruined tower in McGinty’s far field,” Maeve said as her mother brought a plate of sliced brown bread and a crock of fresh butter to the table. “It seemed silly not to bring her out and let her see it for herself. Any marmalade?”

  She ignored her brother’s scowl and reached for the bread. Ash could read the threat of strangulation in the man’s eyes and marveled at Maeve’s lack of concern.

  Maddie set plates and silverware before each of them, along with a glass jar filled with orange marmalade near her daughter. “Oh? Did the two of you have other plans for this morning?” she asked with a pointed glance at Drum.

  He shook his head. Ash guessed that his nonverbal response owed to his inability to unclench his jaw. She wondered if perhaps, for Maeve’s sake, she should move his knife out of reach.

  She attempted a distraction. “I told your son and daughter both that I did not require an escort to visit these ruins. I had planned to come alone and not disturb anyone.”

  Maddie had placed several rashers of bacon into a hot pan and began cracking eggs. Over her shoulder, she shot Ash a look of dismay. “Come alone? And without stopping for a visit? I’d never have forgiven you.”

  Ash refrained from mentioning that if she had not stopped, Maddie Drummond would not have known her to forgive. It seemed like a detail the older human would not appreciate.

  “Michael, how many eggs, dear?”

  “None, Ma.” He pushed his chair back from the table. “While Maeve has breakfast here, I’ll walk Ash to the ruins so she can look around. We’ll be back in an hour and get out of your hair. Maeve can catch the bus back to Dublin before her next class.”

  Maddie spun away from her stove and brandished a spatula. “Michael Stephen Drummond, you sit back down in that chair and possess yourself in a little patience. Did I forget to teach you manners while you lived under this roof? You will not hustle this young lady in and out of my door like some sort of shameful secret. You will eat your breakfast, drink your tea, and engage in a civilized conversation. Do I make myself clear?”

  Drum dropped back into his chair and snapped his jaw shut. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. Mae
ve, come fetch the tea.”

  The young woman jumped up to obey while Ash watched their mother with appreciation. The human woman had impressed her with the ability to plow straight through her son’s objections. Her fearlessness in the face of what Ash knew to be powerful determination would make a warrior proud.

  Maeve returned carrying a tray loaded with a steaming ceramic teapot, four cups, a bowl of roughly shaped sugar cubes and a small pitcher of milk. While she distributed and poured, she and Maddie struck up an animated conversation surrounding local events, Maeve’s graduate work at the university in Dublin, and other assorted items of mutual interest. Through it all, Drum remained silent and brooded over his teacup, speaking only when asked a direct question. Neither woman commented on his surliness as they finished preparing and serving breakfast.

  When everyone had taken seats behind plates piled with bacon, eggs, potato scones, and fried mushrooms, Maddie lifted her teacup to her lips and turned her gaze on Ash. “So, dear, tell me a little bit about yourself. You have an unusual accent. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard a thing like it. You’re not English, and you’re not American, are you?”

  Ash froze, a forkful of bacon poised in midair. Her gaze flew from Maeve to Drum before darting back to their mother. “Uh, no. No, I am not. I was … er, born … in Dublin, but most of my time has been spent, uh, elsewhere.”

  “Really? Is your family in the military, then?”

  She nodded slowly, feeling her eyes widen. “You could say that.”

  “I hear that’s a very difficult life for a child, to be always on the move.” Maddie made a clucking sound. “But you plan to make your home in Dublin now?”

  “Ma, give her a chance to eat,” Drum interrupted. “It’ll get cold if you keep her talking like this.”

  “Sorry, sorry. You’re absolutely right. Ignore me for a nosy gossip, Ash, dear. Go on and finish your breakfast.”

  She felt a surge of relief and immediately dropped her gaze to her plate. She owed Drum a debt for his distraction maneuver, but it had pointed out to her that she should perhaps think of a story to explain her human presence, at least until she found her Warden. The search might require further interaction with humans, and it would be best to continue concealing her true identity when possible. She did not wish to alert the nocturnis ahead of time that a Guardian walked among them. It would give them more time to conceal their actions and intentions.