Mystical Warrior (Midnight Bay)

by Janet Chapman

  She started down the path, Misneach’s footprints in the snow making it easier for her than Trace, as he was having to wade through drifts that came up to his thighs.

  “Misneach!” she heard him shouting. “Come on, boy! Come back!”

  The daylight was fading, but Fiona couldn’t tell if it was from the storm clouds moving closer to shore or merely dusk descending.

  Trace broke onto the path several paces in front of her, still calling to Misneach, and Fiona realized he didn’t know she was there. The young dog didn’t even slow down when he reached the rocky beach and barreled right into the crashing surf.

  “Misneach!” she cried, coming to an abrupt halt when Trace spun around in surprise and caught her.

  “No, you can’t go in after him,” he growled.

  “But what’s he after?”

  “There!” Trace said, pointing at the waves a short distance away. He let go of her and pulled his gun out of his holster but grabbed her arm to stop her when she started to pull out her own gun. “No, I need you to keep your hands free,” he said as he pulled her along the beach to follow Misneach. “There,” he said, pointing with his gun. “He seems to be going after something that’s floating in on the waves.”

  She clutched his arm as she strained to see. “Is it a body?” she asked, having to speak loudly against the raging wind.

  “No, it looks like a fancy stick or … shit, it looks like some sort of wizard’s staff. Misneach!” he shouted. “Get back here!”

  When the young dog just kept swimming, Trace fired two shots in the air—to get the pup’s attention, she assumed.

  “Goddamn it, get back here!” he shouted, walking farther down the rocky beach, pulling Fiona out of the way when a wave splashed over a rock beside them.

  “He’s got it!” she cried. “He’s bringing it in.”

  Trace held her back when she started down the beach to intercept Misneach. “Don’t touch it, okay?” he said. “It might be a trick.”

  A large whale came unbelievably close to shore, swimming very fast, causing a wave to swell behind Misneach, who was struggling to keep his head above water because of the weight of the stick.

  “The whale’s helping him,” she said when the wave pushed the pup in to shore.

  Misneach waded onto the beach sideways, dragging the long stick right up to them. He dropped it, gagged, and spit up with hacking coughs, then shook all over to shed his coat of seawater. He stood with his legs splayed, staring up at them, his tongue hanging out of his mouth and his chest heaving with his ragged pants.

  “Can I at least pick Misneach up?” she asked over the wind and the loud chattering of the whales and dolphins.

  “He’ll catch his breath easier if you don’t. What do you think it is?”

  “I believe you’re right; it looks like a drùidh’s staff to me. Papa drew me a picture of a sword once, claiming he had one hidden in a cave that had belonged to his father, and it had jewels on it just like this does. I believe Matt has it now, only he turned it into a pen so it wouldn’t be conspicuous in this century.” She shrugged. “Drùidhs turn their staffs into all sorts of different things. Father Daar, the priest who lives with Kenzie and Eve, used to have a crooked old cherry-wood cane.”

  Still keeping his gun pointing in the general direction of the staff, Trace looked out at the bay and then back down at it. He bent and picked up a rock the size of his fist and tossed it, striking the jeweled stick. When nothing happened, he stepped closer, motioning for Fiona to stay back, and touched it with his foot.

  And still nothing happened.

  “Do you suppose Mac’s father sent it?” she asked. “Maybe it’s to help us protect him or for us to give to him so he can protect himself.”

  “Or whoever’s trying to kill Mac sent it, and the moment he touches it, he’s dead.”

  When they both just stared down at it, Misneach clawed the stick with his paw. He stopped and looked at them, then used his nose to push it toward Trace’s foot.

  “He seems to think we should pick it up,” Fiona said. “But I wonder how he knew it was floating in the sea to begin with?”

  Trace looked out at the ocean and shrugged. “Maybe he speaks whale.”

  “Then I wish he spoke English, too, so he could tell us what they told him,” she said, smiling when Trace looked at her. “Let me pick it up and see what happens.”

  “No,” he said, glaring at her. “I’ll pick it up.”

  She grabbed his arm when he started to bend over. “And if something happens to you?” she asked when he straightened. “Then who’s going to protect Mac?”

  His glare instantly disappeared, and he touched his finger to her chest just below her neck. “You are, Miss Calamity Jane.”

  She grabbed his finger. “And just who is Calamity Jane?” she growled.

  He laughed, snatching his hand away. “A feisty cowgirl who had a thing for guns. I’ll rent you the movie one of these days, and we’ll watch it on my big new television.” He turned, bent down, and picked up the staff before she could stop him, stepping away as he straightened. “It’s really quite heavy,” he said, hefting it in his hand as he studied it. “I can’t believe it was floating.”

  Misneach started whining, rising on his hind feet and pawing at Trace’s thigh.

  “He’s shivering,” Fiona said, trying to pick him up.

  The pup scooted behind Trace, and when she reached around to get him, he ran a couple of feet away. Then, when she straightened, he ran back to Trace and started pawing at him again and whining.

  Trace slid his gun into his holster and scooped Misneach up in his arm.

  “I can carry the staff,” she said, holding out her hand. “Are we going to give it to Mac?” she asked when he hesitated.

  He turned the staff over, studying it again, and then looked at her. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll leave it outside, and we can describe it to him and see what he thinks.”

  He tried handing Misneach to her, but the pup struggled to stay with him.

  Fiona unbuttoned her coat, grabbed the dog, and immediately shoved him inside and buttoned him in.

  “I can see Getze’s kids aren’t going to give you any grief,” Trace said, nodding approval. “Let’s get going. It’s getting dark and starting to snow again.”

  They hadn’t made it halfway down the beach when Trace suddenly tripped and fell. He sat up with a muttered curse, glaring at the jeweled stick lying in the snow. “I swear the damned thing tripped me,” he said, getting to his feet. He picked up the staff again and started walking toward the path they had made getting down here.

  Misneach had finally settled down, and Fiona felt him shivering only occasionally, although now she was starting to shiver as he was soaking her chest and belly. Still, she couldn’t help but smile, her arms wrapped securely around him over her coat.

  “What are you smiling at?” Trace helped her up over the incline where the beach stopped and the tall grass started. “You think it’s funny that I fell?”

  “No,” she said, rubbing a hand down over the lump sticking out in front of her. “I was just remembering how it felt to be carrying Kyle inside me.” She laughed outright. “I waddled like a duck the entire way home the last three weeks that I carried him.”

  He started to smile but then sobered. “You can laugh at the hardships you faced?” he asked quietly, wrapping an arm around her as they trudged through the snow. “Lean into me to keep your balance.”

  She laughed again. “I certainly could have used you a thousand years ago. I swear, I walked halfway across Scotland.”

  “How in hell can you laugh about it?”

  “Because for those few weeks, I was as free as the hawk I eventually became. I was so looking forward to having my child, wondering if it was a boy or a girl, and anxious to get home to Papa.” She smiled up at him again. “It was hard, Trace, but I think it was the most alive I’d ever been.”

  He stopped in mid-step, looked down at her
protruding coat, and then lifted his gaze to hers, his eyes dark with some emotion she couldn’t quite read.

  “I would have carried you across Scotland if I’d been there,” he said quietly, “and then called your son my own.”

  “You’d have been a wonderful father to him,” she whispered.

  He wrapped his other arm around her and leaned over Misneach, and Fiona couldn’t stop herself from stretching up to meet him. But before his lips actually touched hers, a powerful vibration shot up the length of her back just as a loud hum filled the air.

  Trace tried rearing away, but the staff seemed to be stuck to her, just the way those nails had clung to the magnet he’d given her to use.

  “Let it go!” she cried, shoving at him. “Get away!”

  “I can’t pull it off!” he snapped, tightening his arms around her. “Hang on to me!”

  Misneach yelped, popping his head out of her coat just as a blinding light suddenly engulfed them. Fiona balled her hands into Trace’s jacket, trying to hold on to him as his arms tightened around her. The humming became deafening, sounding like it was coming from the whales behind her.

  “Fiona! Where are you? Where in hell did you go?”

  What was he saying? She was right here. He was holding her, squeezing her so tight she could hardly breathe.

  “Goddamn it! Fiona! Where’d you go?”

  It wasn’t until she could see him standing below her in the tall grass, his gun held straight out in his hands as he spun around looking for her, that Fiona realized what she’d thought were his arms around her was really the contorted staff dragging her out over the ocean.

  Couldn’t he see her? She was right here, dammit, being carried away!

  She twisted and squirmed, trying to break free, but the more she struggled the tighter the staff squeezed her. She screamed Trace’s name but couldn’t even hear her own voice, only Misneach’s soft whimpers as he licked her chin.

  “Fiona! Come back! Fiona, where the hell are you?”

  His shouts faded to nothing as she continued moving farther out to sea, a halo of brilliant light protecting her from the storm. And then Fiona screamed again when she suddenly plunged into the ocean, and everything went dark and eerily silent.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Trace gave Mac’s feet a kick. “Get up, Oceanus.” He kicked him again when Mac only groaned. “Come on, wake the hell up.” He started to reach down and haul him up, but quickly stepped back when Mac finally rolled over and he saw the wizard had changed into the beast—only sort of a pasty green.

  “Leave me to die in peace, Huntsman,” Mac rasped, trying to roll away.

  Trace hauled him into a sitting position. “You can die after you help me get Fiona back.”

  “I can’t do anything in this condition,” Mac groaned, holding his ugly head in his hands. He looked up, his bloodshot eyes blinking against the light coming from the tunnel. “Kenzie has every right to take Fiona to An Téarmann, whereas you have no rights over her.”

  Trace hauled Mac to his feet, then shoved him against the wall to keep him standing. “Kenzie didn’t take her; your enemies did.”

  “What?” Mac straightened in surprise. “The battle’s moved over land?”

  “No, a fancy stick washed ashore. When I picked it up nothing happened, but the moment it touched Fiona, it stuck to her like a magnet, and I couldn’t pull it off. And then she suddenly vanished into thin air, along with Misneach.” Trace grabbed his sleeve. “Come on. We need to go get her. Now.”

  Mac pulled away, stumbling farther down the wall. “Go where, exactly? You said she vanished into thin air.”

  “All the action’s taking place out on the bay, so we start looking there.”

  “How?”

  “In my boat.”

  Mac straightened, swaying drunkenly. “Then get rid of de Gairn’s magic, or I won’t be any help to you.”

  “So you can vanish on me, too?”

  “I love Fiona as much as you do. Like a sister,” Mac snapped when Trace glared at him. He waved toward the tunnel. “Get rid of the magic.”

  “Yeah, about that; I don’t exactly know how,” Trace muttered, frowning at the intense light. “Kenzie zapped the walls with some sort of fancy pen, and they started glowing like that. But then he took the pen home with him.”

  “Sweet Neptune, you’re an ass,” Mac hissed, leaning over to brace his hands on his knees. “Wait,” he said, looking up to scan the chamber. “You always have a second way out.”

  “I do, but not you. I had Kenzie wrap the entire room in light.”

  Mac dropped his head to stare at the floor. “I take back my suggestion that you ask Fiona to marry you; she deserves better.”

  “She sure as hell didn’t deserve to be kidnapped. Come on, we’re wasting time,” Trace said, grabbing Mac’s arm.

  Mac flung himself free and lurched away again. “I won’t be any help if I cross that light, because I’ll be dead.” He braced his hands on his knees again. “Tell me what the stick you found looked like.”

  “It was as long as I am tall, with a bunch of cut stones surrounding a ball carved in it about a quarter of the way down. It was heavy but floated on the waves. Misneach swam out and got it, only one of the whales had to help him get back to shore.”

  Mac’s head snapped up. “The whale? He’s still here?”

  “I don’t know if it’s the same one or not. There’ve been dozens of whales swimming back and forth out front all afternoon, as well as hundreds of dolphins.” He shrugged. “I thought your father had sent them to protect you, but after that stick made Fiona vanish, I figure they were sent by whoever’s trying to kill you.”

  “But you said the staff did nothing until it touched her.” Mac shook his head. “There’s no reason for my father to take Fiona.” He looked directly at Trace. “Unless he’s planning to use her to force you to let me go.”

  “Then he’s about to get his wish,” Trace said, driving his shoulder into Mac’s gut.

  He straightened with Mac flung over his back and, ignoring the wizard’s shout of protest, ran into the blinding light of the tunnel. Mac let out a painful roar, but Trace turned and ran up the stairs without even breaking stride, and heaved him into the mudroom as he fell to his knees.

  He got up and dragged Mac into the kitchen, then ran back and shut the wall of the closet, then the closet door, and then the door separating the mudroom from the house. Mac lay motionless, curled up in a fetal position, moaning. Trace walked over to the sink, filled the coffee carafe with water, and threw it on him.

  “I hope you rot in hell,” Mac snarled, rolling away to curl back into a ball.

  “We’ll keep each other company, then,” he said, filling the carafe again. But when he turned to throw it, Mac was up on his hands and knees.

  “Give me a minute to get my bearings!”

  “We don’t have a minute.” He set the carafe on the counter, hauled Mac to his feet and hooked the wizard’s arm over his shoulder, then dragged him out the door.

  “How in hell do you think to find her?” Mac asked, lurching upright when the blowing snow hit his face. “It’s a big ocean, and right now it’s the site of a fierce battle.”

  “I figure if your father took her to trade, one of your buddies will swim out and tell him where you are,” Trace said, heading toward his truck. “And if your enemies took her, they’ll find us quick enough.”

  Mac pulled them to a halt. “The ocean’s that way,” he said, waving at the bay.

  “But my boat is moored in the harbor.”

  Mac blinked at him, and Trace leaned away. Christ, the guy was scary ugly.

  “It will be quicker if my friend takes us to my father.”

  Trace scrambled away. “Your friend? You think I’m going to … that we’re … for chrissakes, I’m not riding on a whale!”

  “Not on it, Huntsman, in it.” Mac lifted what barely passed as a brow on his ugly face. “Surely you’ve heard the story of Jo
nah and the whale.” He swayed on his feet as he held his arms apart. “They have really big bellies, which are quite warm and cozy.”

  Trace caught one of Mac’s outstretched arms and dragged him to his truck. “We go in my boat or I’m tossing you back in that tunnel and leaving you there.” He shoved him in the passenger’s side and ran around and climbed in behind the wheel. The truck was already running, since he’d started it and turned on the heater when he’d brought out his backpack and a couple more weapons before he’d gone after Mac. “Here,” he said, shoving a jacket at him before pulling the gearshift into reverse. “Put that on. I don’t want you dying of pneumonia before I hand you over.”

  “Maybe you should try asking people to do something instead of dragging them around and snapping orders at them,” Mac muttered, leaning forward to put on the coat.

  “So I’ve been told.” Trace backed out to the road and sped toward town, his gut clenching at the thought of Fiona out there alone, probably scared out of her mind.

  Until he remembered she was wearing a gun. He turned onto the harbor road without even slowing down, slamming Mac up against the door. “Christ, I wouldn’t put it past her to shoot your father. And if she’s with your enemies …” He shuddered, unable to complete the thought.

  “She’s armed?” Mac yelped, looking over at him. “With a gun?”

  “You mean, as opposed to a frying pan?” Trace drove directly onto the pier and stopped next to the ramp leading down to the floating docks. Only instead of getting out, he stared at his boat riding on swells being pushed into the harbor by huge waves rolling in from the point. “It looks like we’re in for one hell of a ride,” he said quietly, glancing over at Mac. “Hey, you’re starting to look … less ugly.” He eyed him suspiciously. “You getting your strength back?”

  “Not quickly enough to save our asses if you insist on doing this your way.”

  “As opposed to yours?” He snorted. “I realize there might actually be something to this magic thing, but I draw the line at becoming some whale’s dinner.”