The Stag Lord

by Darby Kaye

  Hand in hand, they followed Cor inside. Declaring that he, too, needed to freshen up and shave, Bann disappeared inside the bathroom.

  Shay took the opportunity to change into a newer sweater, a black V-neck cashmere that hugged her in all the right ways, and a pair of boots with just enough heel to give a swing to her walk. She hesitated, then added a belt with a leather sheath to her outfit. She selected one of her favorite bronze blades, slim and lethal and just this side of Colorado’s weapons’ law, and thrust it into the sheath.

  High-fiving herself for having washed her hair earlier, she bent over and brushed it vigorously, remembering with a smile Bann commenting that he liked it loose and flowing around her shoulders. Then she applied a dusting of blush, a few strokes of mascara, and some tinted lip balm. She studied herself in the mirror, then, humming, she headed to the living room.

  Bann and Cor were waiting for her.

  Cor was dressed in one of the sweaters Ann had sent, a cream-colored crewneck sweater, just a trifle large on him. Hand-knitted by Hugh’s mother, its pattern spoke of the Aran Islands off the west coast of Ireland. His hair was somewhat tamed and his face scrubbed. He held his new jacket in one hand.

  Bann’s hair was damp and slicked back, except for that lock that always flopped over one eye. He was freshly shaven, as well. Under a canvas barn coat, he wore a button-down royal-blue shirt, a shade darker than his eyes, tucked neatly into a newer pair of jeans. His torc gleamed around his throat. She noticed he was packing a blade, too.

  “Wow. You guys are a handsome pair.” She grabbed her purse and a leather jacket from the coat closet. “All the other women are going to be so jealous.”

  “As are the men.” Bann helped her on with her coat, then reached for the doorknob.

  Shay’s cell phone binged. Making a face, she dug it out of her purse and looked at the screen. Shock emptied the air from her lungs. “What the hell?”

  35

  FIVE MINUTES LATER, THEY were rolling.

  Bann drove faster than was prudent, considering the rush-hour traffic and the fact that he had spent the day driving to Kansas and back. A fact that his still-healing wounds reminded him of with every bump and pothole. “Did they say when it happened?” He braked, then jerked the wheel to avoid doing a Ben Hur on a bicyclist braving the cold. Turning off the busy thoroughfare onto the more serene streets of Hugh’s neighborhood, he downshifted as the road began winding up into the foothills.

  “They didn’t know.” Shay glanced at him over Cor seated between them. “It could’ve been any time since we buried him. They only just noticed it when they decided to take a short hike this evening.”

  “Dad? What’s going on?” Cor looked from Bann to Shay to Bann again. One foot jiggled against the floorboard with a tap-tap-tap.

  The boy had been strangely non-inquisitive when Shay had announced they were going back to Hugh and Ann’s instead of to dinner. Even when she insisted they all bring an overnight bag, just in case, the boy had simply nodded and repacked.

  Bann rubbed his jaw, trying to figure out how to explain everything to his son without sounding ghoulish. He gave up. “Something has disturbed Max’s grave.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means something, or someone, has removed the rocks and the dirt.” And Max’s body. He chided himself for being too cowardly for saying that to the boy.

  “Why?”

  “We don’t know, son.”

  For a long minute, the only sound was the protest of the engine as the truck labored around another steep switchback.

  Then Cor spoke in a low voice. “Was it Max?”

  The hairs on Bann’s neck snapped to attention. Now, where would he get an idea like that? “What do you mean?”

  “Did he come back? And climb out?”

  “No, kiddo.” Shay took one of Cor’s hands in hers. “Even if we really, really love someone and wish something like that could happen, it just doesn’t work that way. Pets don’t come back to life.” She draped an arm around his shoulder. “Except in Stephen King novels.”

  Slowing as he neared Hugh’s property, Bann frowned at the closed gates. Odd. They knew we were on our way. He cranked the window down and was reaching for the keypad when the metal barrier rumbled open. In the dusk, the boars on the gates seem to bow them inside the protective walls. They rolled along through the trees toward the house. Every window on the ground floor was a square of yellow.

  As they neared the front, he noticed a Jeep was parked off to one side. He pulled up beside it with a squeal of brakes. Before he could exit, Shay jumped out of her side, holding the door open for Cor to clamber down after her. She waited for Bann as the boy raced to the front door.

  “Weren’t we just here?” she said with a rueful grin.

  “This morning, I believe.”

  In spite of his apprehension, Bann smiled when Shay took his hand and led him toward the house. The front door swung open as Cor’s foot hit the top step. Hugh and Ann appeared, their shadows painting black silhouettes across the porch.

  “Cormac Boru!” Hugh swept Cor into a hug. “Why, you’ve grown since last we met.”

  “You just saw me this morning,” Cor pointed out, enduring the embrace with a minimum of wiggling. Tilting his head back, he grinned up at the Knight.

  Hugh let go and chucked Cor under the chin. “That long, eh?”

  “So, does this mean what I think it means?” Ann pointed to Bann and Shay’s joined hands. “Because my earlier threat still stands, Shay Doyle.”

  “What threat was that?” Bann leaned over to kiss Ann on the cheek.

  Shay patted his arm. “I’ll tell you later.”

  Stepping aside to allow Shay and Ann to precede him, Bann clasped Hugh by the arm. The older Knight clapped him on the shoulder.

  “I’m sorry your return is marked with not-so-pleasant news. There is something not right about the grave.” He led the way to the kitchen and out the back door.

  Shay and Ann, with Cor between them, were already walking across the yard. Soft, pale glows emanated from the female Knights’ hands. Bann pulled his own moonstone out of his pocket. A lunar hue of white swelled and spilled out between his fingers.

  Reaching the others waiting by the gate, Bann caught his son’s arm and pulled him to one side. “Do you wish to remain in the house?” he asked in a low tone.

  “No!” Panic crept into Cor’s voice. “I want to go with you.”

  Meaning “I don’t wish to stay in the house by myself.” “Right, then.”

  Taking the boy’s hand, Bann fell in behind the Doyles as they made their way into the woods. Ahead, lights bobbed amongst the trees, as if playing a crazy game of tag. He could hear James and Rory talking to each other.

  Stepping into the clearing, Bann looked around. The young Knights stood on the far side of a black hole. Their moonstones illuminated a jumble of dirt and rocks strewn about. It was as if the earth had opened its maw and vomited the contents of the grave.

  “Hey, Bann. Cor.” James nodded at them. “Glad you’re back. And Cor?” He pulled something out of his jacket pocket. “I found this back in the woods when we were scoping things out. Just pure luck—it was half buried in a patch of snow.” He handed the object to the boy.

  For a moment, Cor’s face lit up at the sight of his switchblade. “Thanks,” he said, and tucked it into his pocket.

  “And you”—James turned to Rory—“owe me twenty bucks. Pay up.” He held out his free hand, grinning while Rory pulled his wallet out with a scowl.

  “Wait a sec.” Shay looked from one to the other. “You guys bet on whether Bann would come back?”

  “No.” James tucked the bill away. “We bet on whether he would be back within the next twenty-four hours.”

  Ignoring the cousins’ interchange, Hugh knelt down. “James. A light, please.” He leaned over and studied the hole.

  Letting go of Cor’s hand, Bann crouched beside him. The stink of something foul
and stale assaulted his nose and coated his tongue. A crumpled green cloth was shoved into one corner of the hole. Flickers of gold danced along the threads of the Celtic design partially hidden in the folds.

  “This hole was not opened from the outside,” Bann said in a low tone. “Something forced its way out. See how the soil is dispersed about the clearing.”

  “Aye.” Hugh sat back on his heels. “And the only thing that was in this hole was…Max.” The words hung in the air with the same fetid stench as the grave.

  Bann glanced over at Shay standing a few feet away, one arm draped around Cor’s neck as she kept him from approaching the grave. Her other hand rested on the haft of her knife. He rose to his feet. “Shay, you should know—”

  “I already do,” she said softly. “As much as I wish to the gods I didn’t, I do. I can read the signs as well as you.” She raised her chin. “So, now, what we have to figure out is how and why. And where is he now?”

  “Was it him?” Cor’s eyes were as wide and dark as the hole. “Max?”

  “Why do you think that, son?”

  “Because of that book of Shay’s. The one with all the legends and stuff in it.” When the others crowded around, Cor continued. “There’s a story about this guy that drinks the blood of some god. I can’t remember why. But it was a good god, not a bad one. And then he gets killed. Not the god. The guy. And they bury him and he comes back to life.”

  “And then?”

  Cor shrugged. “I didn’t read the rest of it.”

  James cleared his throat. “I did. I mean, I’ve read a version of that myth. According to the legend, if you ingest a drop of an Old One’s blood at the moment of death, then you are accorded a second chance at life. Your new life begins at dawn on the next day.” He looked at Ann. “You said you just found this? Could it have been opened several days ago and you didn’t notice?”

  “Well, sure.” Ann brushed a strand of dark hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. “We hardly ever go out this way. It was dumb luck we decided to take a walk before dinner.”

  Rory scratched his head. “I don’t get this. If the legend is true, then why aren’t there a bunch of second-lifers running around? I mean, there are plenty of gods and goddesses that would share a drop with one of us Tuatha Dé Danaan, right? Maybe not one as important as Danu, but certainly, Brighid or maybe Manannán mac Lir or—”

  “And just how would you propose finding one at the exact moment you were to perish?” Hugh said. “The timing alone makes it almost impossible. But I take it from your expression there is something more, eh, James?”

  Bann’s instincts whispered a warning as the young Knight glanced at Cor, then hesitated. He suddenly noticed how dark it had gotten since they first arrived. The skin between his shoulder blades began to crawl, as if someone were drawing a bull’s-eye on the spot with a sharpened fingernail. His instincts went on high alert at James’s next words.

  “Let’s finish this inside. The woods at night are not the best place to discuss what I’m about to tell you.”

  36

  SEATED ON THE LIVING room sofa, Bann stared into the fire, hypnotized by the flames snapping their fingers as they danced. The fragrance of burning wood was a solace. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and slumped lower in the cushions, allowing his muscles to relax for the first time all day. Seated in silence next to him—now, that’s a rare thing in a person, the ability to enjoy the quiet—Shay’s hand rested on his thigh; he could feel its warmth through the denim.

  After herding everyone inside, Ann had demanded a respite. “The ghost stories can wait,” she had said, “until we’ve eaten supper.” Declaring that Rory was the lucky one who would be helping her and Hugh cobble together a meal, she shooed the rest of them out of the kitchen. James had disappeared with Cor to the upstairs study, claiming he needed the boy’s aid with something.

  Bann’s eyes flew open when a buzzer squawked in the entryway. He started to rise. Shay planted a hand on his chest.

  “Relax—it’s just someone at the gate. Be right back.” He could hear her calling to Ann that she would get it. After a few minutes, she came back and walked around the sofa to face him, her brow puckered. “Like the song says, bad company.”

  His pulse surged. He stood up, hand reaching for his knife. “Who?”

  “Weston Tully. He’s pissed about something.” She made a face. “What else is new? He says he wants to talk with you. Since he couldn’t find us at my place, he came here next.” A violent pounding on the door interrupted her. “Speak of the devil.”

  “Stay here.” Bann started across the room.

  Shay shoved in next to him. “You’re joking, right?”

  Side by side, they reached the entryway just as Hugh and Ann came hurrying from the kitchen with Rory on their heels. The door shuddered from the blows.

  “Hugh Doyle!” Weston Tully shouted, his voice muted by the thickness of the wood. “Open up this damn minute!”

  Hoping James would keep Cor upstairs, Bann reached for the knob rattling from the force of the continued attack. He yanked it open. A surprised Tully stood with his fist raised in the air and a look of fury twisting his features.

  “Enough.” Bann kept his hand near his weapon. “I’ll thank you to leave these fine folks’ door in one piece. Now, why are you—”

  “It’s all your fault, Boru!” Spittle flew from Tully’s mouth as he shoved into the foyer. “First Quinn. Now another of my clan—young Thomas. Throat ripped wide and left to bleed out his life.”

  “What are you talking about?” Hugh moved to Bann’s elbow.

  Tully stabbed a finger in Bann’s face. “You brought that monster into our midst. Now, Cernunnos and his band of Fir Bolgs are slaughtering—”

  “If you recall, I informed you several days ago,” Hugh said, “that the Stag Lord was no more.”

  “Then how do you explain what happened this evening?” At their looks of confusion, he continued. “Thomas was discovered dead in his backyard just a few hours ago. He was savaged by something with fangs or claws. And it was no goblin, I can tell you that!” He took another step toward Bann, eyes narrowed.

  Bann met him halfway. “Your point?”

  “Somehow, you’re involved. This death is because of you.” He stabbed again. Bann envisioned sweeping his blade up and across. A blow. Then Tully’s amputated finger spinning off into the darkness like a Vienna sausage taking flight. “We’re going to hunt this creature down before it can kill again. And if we find it has anything to do with you, then we’ll be back for retribution. Blood for blood.”

  “A threat?”

  Tully curled a lip. “A promise.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait a second.” Ann cocked her head. “You said you’re going to hunt down this creature. How do you know it’s not a man or a—”

  “It left prints. Pawprints. Like a dog’s.” Tully whirled around and stomped down the steps, disappearing into the gloom. A few moments later, an engine started up. He roared away, the red taillights of his vehicle glaring back at them like demon eyes in the dark.

  Silence fell with a thud. They looked at each other, the same suspicion, the same horror, mirrored in each other’s faces. Then everyone began speaking at once. Shay stood to one side, eyes staring into the distance.

  Bann stepped out onto the porch. Behind him, he could hear the Doyles through the open door. Worms of guilt squirmed inside of him. He was right. I brought the shapeshifter into their midst. And now two young Knights are dead. One who deserved it and one who did not. A hand took his, warming it against the chill of the night.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Bannerman Boru,” Shay said.

  “No doubt.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Not directly, but—”

  “But nothing. Quinn made his own choice. A bad one, but still, it was his choice to team up with those uglies, not yours.”

  “And the other Tully? The one that died
this day?” He dropped her hand to punish himself and stepped to the edge of the porch. Leaning a shoulder on one of the column, he spoke to the night. “How am I not liable for his death?”

  A footfall. Then Shay wrapped an arm around his waist, palm pressed against his hip. “Because you’re not. Suckage happens…”

  “Suckage?”

  “Yes, suckage. To good people. To innocent people. And you can’t prevent it.”

  Bann let her pull him around and make him take a seat so that they were eye to eye. The wood railing dug into the backs of his thighs. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that we’re a warrior people. Death and life are part of the Circle. All you’re responsible for is doing what you can to keep Cor safe and whole and alive, as well as yourself.”

  “And you.”

  “I can take care of myself, thank you.”

  “That, ye can. And ye’ve taken grand care of me and mine as well.” Bann pulled her into his arms, capturing her between his legs. He pressed his cheek against hers. “Gods, Shay. Max—”

  “I don’t want to think about it.” She snuggled closer. “I’m just trying to keep my shit together, so could we talk about something else? Please?”

  “How do you do that? Push your emotions to one side? ‘Tis rare in a woman.”

  “I’ve had to learn to do it in order to be an effective Healer. Otherwise, I’d be devastated anytime one of my patients was in terrible pain or even died. A defense mechanism, you might say, to keep myself sane.”

  “And is that mechanism working for you now?”

  A long pause. “Not so much.”

  “Hey.” Rory stuck his head out. “Ann sent me to get you guys. Supper’s on the table. And Bann? Cor refuses to come downstairs. James tried, but the kid’s locked himself in the bathroom.” He vanished.

  I do not blame him, Bann thought. Some days, I wish I could do the same. “Shay, go ahead, would you? And tell the others to not hold supper for us. We’ll be along directly.” Or not, depending on how upset he is.

  “Or not. Depending on how badly he’s melting down.”