Finn's Choice

by Darby Karchut

  “It is not just the cost of the device, but the monthly fees,” Gideon had said. “And I wish to spend the remainder on something more important than a toy.”

  “It’s not a toy, it’s a tool. Heck, I could have used one this past summer when the goblins captured you, you know.”

  “You did quite well without one, then. For here I am.” Gideon had spread his arms. “And, anyway, who would you call on it?”

  “Lochlan. He’s got one, you know. Mac Roth probably brought it for him…”

  “Mac Roth would no more spend money on that foolishness than would I. Lochlan’s parents purchased that for him.”

  “So, I’m supposed to go without one because my family doesn’t have much money and my master is too cheap to…”

  Black brows had clashed together in a thunderstorm. “You are dangerously close to a line you would not wish to cross, Finnegan MacCullen,” the Knight had said in a low, cold tone. “Now, this conversation is well and truly over. Unless you wish to step across the mark.”

  Knowing his master would be waiting on the other side eager and ready to slap down a rebellious apprentice, Finn had backed down, but it still rankled. Now, with Lochlan flaunting the whole phone/Savannah thing in his face, he was sure the entire universe was out to get him.

  The low whine of a diesel engine broke the tension. Or, at least, put it on hold for a while. They both turned as a moving van rounded the corner and swayed toward them. It slowed, then stopped in front of Mrs. Martinez’s house. A final grumble, then the engine died. The cab doors swung open.

  A girl, the same age as Finn and Lochlan and dressed in jeans and a blue hoodie the exact shade of her eyes, hopped down from the passenger side. Her black hair was pulled back in a long ponytail that swayed with every movement. She glanced around, then frowned when she spotted the boys waiting on the porch.

  Not sure what to do, Finn jerked a hand up in greeting. “Hi, Tara.” He winced when his voice cracked.

  “How’s it going?” she replied in a way that told Finn she couldn’t care less how it was going. She blew her bangs out of her eyes, then jabbed a thumb at the back of the vehicle. “Be careful with the boxes. There’s one in the cab…”

  “Tara Butler! What did we just discuss?”

  A woman, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket the same rich brown as her hair, marched around the front of the vehicle. Tall and slender and wearing a torc around her neck, her hair was caught in a long braid that draped over one shoulder and down almost to her waist. Reaching the apprentice, she tugged on Tara’s ponytail. “Manners, missy. Remember?” She walked over, with Tara in tow, and opened Gideon’s front gate. Stepping into the yard, the female Knight glanced about, taking in the thick hedge that concealed the stone wall bordering the north side of the yard. The sláinte nettle hedge, bristling with broad, saw-toothed leaves and spiny stalks, was already showing signs of settling in for the winter.

  “The place looks the same. Maybe a bit less scruffy.” She smiled up at Finn and Lochlan as she mounted the steps. “Good to see you two again. Where’s your masters?”

  “Fáilte, Knight O’Shea.” Finn grinned back at the Knight who had saved his and Gideon’s lives during the Festival. He stepped back and swung the door wider, allowing the Knight to enter first. “Gideon and Mac Roth are back in the kitchen. Mac Roth wanted some tea.”

  “Think I’ll join them.” She disappeared inside.

  To Finn’s surprise, Tara took a seat on the railing. Swinging a foot, she eyed Lochlan, who leaned against the house, arms crossed over his chest, and he eyed her back. Neither said a word. Finn could swear the porch’s temperature had abruptly headed south. Knowing Gideon would want him to be the polite host, he cleared his throat. “Um…so, how have you been, Tara?” Shot anyone lately?

  “Okay. I guess. Not crazy about us having to move here.”

  You and me both. He tried to keep the thought off his face.

  Tara stared at Lochlan’s throat. “Got your torc, I see.”

  “Yup.” Lochlan straightened, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It’s cold out here. I’m going inside.”

  Finn followed his friend, the girl on his heels. While Lochlan made a beeline for the kitchen, Tara sauntered over to the fireplace and examined the weapons hanging on pegs over the mantel.

  “Sweet collection.” She stood on tiptoe for a closer look at Gideon’s prized weapon, an antler-handled dagger, then turned to take in the rest of the room. Her gaze traveled across their shabby furniture, then lingered on the Knight’s desk tucked under the stairs leading to the upper-level bedrooms, before glancing at the doorway into the kitchen and the sound of voices.

  He waited for the caustic comment. Go ahead. Tell me how small it is. Or how our stuff looks like we got it all from a used furniture place. Which we did, but that’s beside the point. His mouth sagged in astonishment when she gave a nod of approval.

  “Cool place.”

  Finn picked his jaw off his chest. At that moment, a voice called to them from the kitchen.

  Kel O’Shea and Mac Roth were seated at the table, enjoying mugs of hot tea and slabs of warm, brown bread slathered in butter and jam. Lochlan sat with them, working on a second breakfast. Chewing, he raised his eyebrows in question. Finn shrugged. He sat down next to Lochlan and grabbed a slice of bread.

  At the counter, Gideon was removing tea bags from two steaming mugs. Tossing the spent bags into a bowl—to be used twice more, Finn knew—he glanced over his shoulder. “Tara Butler.” He offered her a cup and a warm smile. “And how are you this fine morning?”

  “I’m good, thank you, Knight Lir.” She blushed as she took the mug and cradled it in both hands and leaned against the counter.

  “Please, call me Gideon.” He joined her with his own mug. Finn noticed her blush deepened.

  “Kel said I’m not supposed to.”

  “Whist.” He flicked away the comment. “I give you leave to address me in the same manner as young Lochlan there.”

  Tara glanced at her master for permission, who nodded. “Fine with me,” Kel O’Shea said. “But only if the boys here call me Kel.”

  Kel. Finn tried saying it in his head. It just felt too…weird. Like a nickname between friends. Why it wasn’t the same as when he addressed Mac Roth as Mac Roth, he wasn’t sure.

  But his uncertainty must have shown on his face, because the female Knight added, “Or Kel O’Shea, if that feels less…familiar.”

  “Yeah, I like that better,” Finn said, relieved.

  “Right.” Mac Roth drained his mug and popped one more bit of bread into his mouth as he rose. “Now that we’ve established the formalities, ’tis time we get to work. That lorry is not going to unload itself.”

  For the next few hours, Finn and Lochlan marched back and forth from van to house to van again, hauling boxes, unpacking them as needed, then breaking down the empty ones flat and stacking them in the corner of the living room. To his surprise, Tara worked right beside them, surprisingly strong for her slight frame. Meanwhile, Mac Roth helped Kel O’Shea by moving furniture around to suit the Knight.

  The sound of hammering echoed through the quiet of the neighborhood as Gideon molded sheets of bronze over the top of the stone wall encircling Mrs. Martinez’s property. As the morning wore on, he moved to the doors and windows, adding strips of the metal. Finn recalled this past summer when he and his master had done the same thing to their house.

  Since even a touch of bronze burns the beasties, if not destroys them, Gideon had explained, and they be poor climbers to boot, capping our wall with bronze, as well as encasing the window sills and doors with the metal, fortifies our home from attack.

  After their last trip to the van, Lochlan began folding up the moving pads while Finn picked up the one remaining item off the seat in the cab—a long, slender box secured with duct tape. Something inside shifted from side to side with a hollow clunking sound, and oddly, with a faint twang. Wonder what this thing is?
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  Walking toward the house with weary arms and tired feet and grateful to be finished playing Sherpa, Finn noticed Kel O’Shea had stepped out onto the porch to inspect Gideon’s handiwork. Their shoulders touched as she leaned over to examine one of the front windows. She said something in a low, teasing voice, then tilted her head and glanced up at Gideon, laughing.

  Finn stumbled at the look on Gideon’s face as he gazed down at the female Knight. Something hot and sharp slipped between his ribs. It took him a minute to recognize it as jealousy. Not the envy he had felt earlier about Lochlan and Savannah. This feeling was mixed with a sorrow. Like he had lost—or was going to lose—something priceless to him. Like he was going to lose his place at his master’s side.

  Or in his master’s affection.

  Confused, Finn missed the first tread. Catching his toe on the next step, he lurched forward, then fell, slamming his knees into the sharp edge of the treads. The box flew from his hands, hit the uppermost step, teetered for a moment, then tumbled end over end back down and crashed on the stone pathway.

  “Son of a goat!” Eyes tearing up in agony, Finn pushed himself upright, not sure what was worse—looking like the world’s biggest dork-skull or the pain in his knees. Face on fire, he limped down the stairs, aware of everyone staring at him. The throbbing ache made each footfall a nightmare.

  “Finnegan MacCullen!” Gideon snapped as he hurried past and reached the box first. Gazing down, he shifted the box with his foot. A faint rattling sound. He glared at Finn. “Get yer head in the game, ye idjit.”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose,” Finn mumbled. Aware of Lochlan watching from a few yards away, he could feel the blush traveling from his face to his ears. It flared up even worse when Tara appeared in the doorway, an empty box in one hand.

  “What was that noise—No!” She ran down the stairs, shoving past Finn. “You have got to be kidding me!” Crouching down next to the container, her fingers tore at the tape, cursing under her breath the entire time. Ripping it open, she paused, then reached inside. With a low moan, she pulled out a fiddle, now in two pieces. Its neck was snapped off and dangled from the strings.

  “Oh, Tara.” Kel O’Shea joined her, kneeling beside her. Tara cradled the two pieces. “We’ll get it fixed. Or we’ll get you a new one.”

  “I promised Granddad that I’d take good care of it.”

  “I know. But we’ll figure something out.”

  Tara nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. Gathering the newspapers, she repacked the broken instrument, then picked it up and started for the house.

  Finn stepped in front of her and held out his hand. “Tara, I’m sorry…”

  “Get out of my way.” The blue ice in her eyes made Finn want to do just that. “Before I knock you out of my way.” She shoved past him without a word.

  Finn watched as she disappeared inside. He sighed and massaged his knees.

  Lochlan joined him. “She’s probably going for her bow and arrows.”

  Finn didn’t see Tara again until lunch. Conscripted by his master to help attach bronze sheeting to the window frames, he kept glancing toward the front door as he worked to the clanging of hammer on metal. “When am I going to stop doing that?” he finally blurted out.

  “You mean making an utter fool out of yourself in front of a young woman?” Gideon laid another bronze strip to the window sill, then nailed it in place with three sure strokes. “When I’ve figured out, I’ll let you know.”

  The door opened. Mac Roth stepped out. Kel O’Shea and Lochlan followed. “Kel and I will return the rental truck and pick up a bit o’ lunch for this mob. We’re taking Lochlan with us.”

  Gideon nodded. “We should be finished by the time you’ve returned. And Tara?”

  “She’s unpacking in her bedroom.” Kel O’Shea started to say something, but then changed her mind. Instead, with a nod at Finn, she headed for the van and started the engine. Mac Roth and Lochlan hopped into their Jeep. With a honk and a wave, they followed the van around the corner and disappeared.

  For the next hour, as he helped Gideon with the last few windows, Finn caught the muted sound of slamming doors from inside the house. Squatting down by his tool box, Gideon rummaged about for another carton of nails.

  “You know, Finn, you might try apologizing again. Now that she’s had time to cool that temper of hers.”

  “She won’t listen.”

  “Aye, she may not. But you will feel better for offering to make amends. That is all you can do when you wrong someone.”

  “What if she won’t accept my apology?”

  “That will be her choice.” He gave Finn a nudge. “Go along now.”

  “But what if she tries to shoot me in the butt?”

  “Best keep your back to the wall, then.”

  Dragging his feet, Finn opened the door and stepped inside. Smaller even than their small home, Finn decided it qualified as a wee cottage. He had only been in Mrs. Martinez’s single-level house a few times to help with minor chores. Pausing, he looked around the living room. The furniture, basic but homey, had been re-arranged in a more casual setting.

  At the far end of the living room, a wide archway framed a kitchen. A large round table took up most of it. Beyond, a door led to the back yard and the woods. Off to the left sat a fireplace made from the same stones as the wall outside. On the right, a hallway led to what Finn assumed were bedrooms. Thumping sounds drifted from that direction.

  “Um…Tara?” he called.

  The sounds stopped. “What?”

  “Can I talk to you?”

  “Can I stop you?”

  A tiny flame of anger flared in Finn. He stomped it out. Before he could think of a really clever quip, she spoke again.

  “Fine.” A long sigh. “Come on back.”

  He walked down the hallway. Three doors led off of it, two on one side, and a bathroom on the other. He stopped at the closest room and peered around the doorway.

  Tara sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a duffle bag of shirts and jeans. Shaking her bangs out of her eyes, she glared up at him. “Make it quick.”

  Wishing he was anywhere but in that room, he squatted down across from her. Sitting back on his heels, he noticed a stack of underwear next to the shirts. Heat burst across his face and ears. He tried not to stare, but the more he tried, the more his eyes kept landing on them. Finally, he forced his gaze to stay locked on Tara’s face.

  “I’m really sorry I broke your fiddle.” He made a quick decision. “And I’ll figure out a way to get it fixed.” Once I figure out how to earn the money.

  “It won’t sound the same.” She looked away. “It belongs to my grandfather.”

  “Is he still…?”

  She nodded. “He actually lives with us. Has ever since my little sister was a baby.”

  Feeling lower than a slug, Finn tried to think of something to say. “You’re lucky to know him.”

  “Don’t you know your grandparents?”

  Finn shook his head. “My parents got killed on a hunt when I was a little kid. I don’t really have much in the way of family, except my aunt and uncle, who weren’t exactly thrilled about getting stuck with me. And you’ve met my cousin, Ennis.”

  “That jerk from the Festival? The one that got you in the whole mess with the Scáthach?”

  “Gives you an idea how popular I was with them growing up.”

  “Because of your mortal blood?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her expression softened. Just a bit. “Well, that’s not your fault. And anyway, it’s what makes you the Spear and all.”

  I’d trade all that power to have Mom and Dad alive again. Not wanting to wade back into that particular bog of sorrow, he changed the subject. “So. The fiddle. I, uh, I didn’t know you played.”

  “I don’t really play.” Tara hesitated, then leaned over and reached under the bed. She fished out the broken instrument and laid the pieces across her lap. “It’s more like
torturing the thing. Kel was going to let me take lessons from Elaine MacDuff—that fiddler from the Festival? I want to get really good and surprise Grandpa next time I go home for a visit.”

  “Elaine MacDuff? She’s amazing. She was riffing on The Minstrel Boy.”

  “As were you guys.” A brief smile flashed across her face. She studied him, her head tilted. “I don’t know how you can stand in front of a crowd and sing like that. You two were rocking the barn.”

  Finn shrugged. “I’ve only done it twice. And I had Gideon, so I could kind of fake it.”

  “Knight Lir…I mean Gideon…has an amazing voice. Plus, he’s really…you know.”

  “He’s what?”

  A faint pink crept along Tara’s cheek. She plucked at one of the fiddle’s strings, coaxing a plink from it. “Um…good-looking.”

  “I guess.” Finn shifted in place. His earlier reaction to Kel O’Shea sent another wave of confusion crashing over him. He sagged in gratitude when she decided it was her turn to change the subject.

  “So, what’s your favorite group?”

  “You probably never heard of them,” Finn said. “I have two, but they’re pretty unknown unless you’re into Celtic music.”

  Tara raised her eyebrows. “Really? Can’t get much more Celtic than,” she pointed at herself, “Tuatha De Danaan.”

  Finn laughed. After a moment, Tara joined in.

  “Finn? Tara?” Gideon called from the living room. “The food has arrived.”

  They stepped into the room just as Kel O’Shea and Lochlan, loaded down with plastic bags, walked through the front door. Mac Roth appeared a moment later with several large pizza boxes balanced in one giant hand. The aroma of spicy pepperoni and Parmesan cheese mingled with the scent of impending snow. As they gathered in the kitchen and began unpacking the food, the doorbell rang.

  Kel O’Shea frowned. “Weird to have visitors when we’ve just moved in.”

  “Probably Rafe and Savannah,” Finn said. “They said they were going to come by after lunch to help.” He headed for the front door and opened it.