by Darby Kaye
Praise For The Stag Lord
“Darby sets a vivid scene as backdrop to a passionate story with a strong romance, and even stronger family unit. She had me at Bann’s Irish brogue, Cor’s young bravery, and Shay’s sheer strength of will, then slayed me with the Doyle family. Darby Kaye’s Tuatha Dé Danann shouldn’t be missed.” –M.D. Waters, author of Archetype and Prototype
“Darby Karchut’s new novel is a refreshing glimpse into the often-visited world of Celtic mythology and tradition. It paints familiar myth with new colors and gives us heroes we want to root for—and reasons to keep turning the pages.” – Walter H. Hunt, author of the Dark Wing Universe and Elements of Mind
“Karchut (Kaye) continues her exploration of the fighting Irish in this crisp and feisty urban fantasy. Adult fans…will relish the relationship between an heir to the Celtic throne and the young Healer, Shay, whose skills are constantly put to the test.” –D.C. Farmer, author of The 400lb Gorilla (The Hipposync Archives)
“There is no slow burn with this read…a resounding success.” –RoloPolo BookBlog
“The combination of setting, love of family, and creating outstanding three-dimensional characters kept me invested in this book…I’m gathering my breath for December when I’ll dive into Unholy Blue.” –Donnell Ann Bell, best-selling author of Buried Agendas and Deadly Recall
“…a delightful tale filled with action, mystery, and romance…A fine kick-off to the Bannerman Boru series.” –Rabid Reads
“…highly recommend for fans of urban fantasy, and to readers who are looking for something new and different with brilliant characters to fall head-over-heels for.” –A Belle’s Tales
Also by Darby Karchut (Darby Kaye)
Urban Fantasy
The Stag Lord
(Spence City)
Middle Grade Books
(Spencer Hill Middle Grade)
Finn Finnegan
Gideon’s Spear
The Hound at the Gate
Young Adult Books
(Copper Square Studios)
Griffin Rising
Griffin’s Fire
Griffin’s Storm
Non-fiction Books
(Copper Square Studios)
Money and Teens: Savvy Money Skills
Essential Money Guidebook: Simple, Sustainable Personal Finance for Real People
Words and Phrases
Amandán (AH-mon dahn) - goblin-like creatures
bodhran (BOW-rawn) - Irish frame drum played with a doubled-headed stick
Céad mile fáilte (kad MEEL-a FALL sha) - A hundred thousand welcomes
codladh sumh (culla SOVH) - Sleep well
cú (Coo) - Hound
Fáilte (FALL-sha) - Welcome
Faugh a ballagh (FOW-an BALL-ah) - Clear the way!
Fortitudine Vincit - He conquers by fortitude.
gle mhaith (GLAY moth) - Very good
mo chara (muh KAR-uh) - My friend
mo shíorghrá (muh HEER-ggrah) - My love or my treasured love
ogham (OH-ehm) - a type of alphabet for one of the ancient Celtic languages, usually found carved in tall, slender standing stones from around the 5th century
O’Siobhan (O SHIV-awn) - Irish surname
Poc sídhe (POKE shee) - fey or fairy stroke
Samhain (SOW-ayn) - Halloween
Sláinte (SLAWN-cha) - health
Tuatha Dé Danaan (TWA day dhanna) - an ancient warrior race of mythical beings from Ireland
Unholy Blue
(The sequel to The Stag Lord)
Darby Kaye
© 2016 Darby Karchut
Sale of the paperback edition of this book without its cover is unauthorized.
Spencer Hill Press
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Contact: Spence City, an imprint of Spencer Hill Press, 27 West 20th Street, Suite 1102, New York, NY 10011
Please visit our website at www.spencecity.com
First Edition: January 2016
Darby Kaye
Unholy Blue/by Darby Kaye–1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Modern-day Celtic warriors must once again face an insane, vengeful god while preparing for a wedding.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this fiction: Ace, Aer Lingus, Amazon.com,
Batman, Borriello Brothers Pizza, Cabela’s, Celestial Seasonings, Chia Pets, Chippendales, Coors, Cosmopolitan, Donald Duck, FedEx, Fig Newtons, Ford, Frodo, Gandalf, Gevalia, Gimli, Google, History Channel, Home Depot, HotHands, Jeep, Lauren Bacall, Lisa Frank, Marvel Comics, PetSmart, Plexiglas, Puppy Chow, Starbucks, Star Wars, Spider-Man, Superman, Teflon, The Dukes of Hazzard, The Godfather, The Lord of the Rings, Thor, Transformers, Uggs, Volkswagen Bug, Volvo, Wolverine
Cover design by Errick A. Nunnally
Interior layout by Errick A. Nunnally
978-1-633920-51-4 (paperback)
978-1-633920-52-1 (e-book)
Printed in the United States of America
“Eyes of most unholy blue.”
—Thomas Moore, Irish poet (1779-1852)
The Song of the Tuatha Dé Danaan
I am a wind on the sea,
I am a wave of the ocean,
I am the roar of the sea,
I am a bull of seven battles,
I am a hawk on the cliff,
I am a teardrop of sunlight,
I am a gentle herb,
I am a boar enraged,
I am a salmon in a pool,
I am a lake in a plain,
I am the vigor of man,
I am the meaning of poetry,
I am a spear on the attack, pouring forth combat,
I am the god who fires your mind.
1
WHILE SHE WAITED BY the open door of the plane for the passengers to disembark, the flight attendant watched as the man in 8C—ruggedly handsome with tall, dark, and come fly the friendly skies with me looks—unfolded himself from the aisle seat. He tucked the tail of his blue shirt into his jeans, then reached into the overhead bin for a small duffle bag and a canvas barn coat. He pulled a small box out of the pocket of the coat, the kind of box one would find in a jewelry shop; he peeked inside, then put it away. A faint smile curling a corner of his mouth, he edged into the crowd of passengers impatient to exit.
On autopilot, the attendant thanked each passenger as they shuffled by, not even noticing that very few acknowledged her. She caught herself in time to keep from wrinkling her nose when a whiff of jet fuel fumes drifted into the commuter plane, fouling the clean air of the late October afternoon. Actually the last day of October, she realized. Halloween. She glanced out the door at the range of mountains to the west. The lowering sun crowned the peaks with coronets of silver. She never tired of that view; it always reminded her why she had chosen the city of High Springs as her home base, instead of Denver, an hour’s drive north.
As the man made his way toward her, duffle in one hand, jacket in the other, she noticed that his eyes were a startling blue, almost the same color as the Colorado sky. No, not almost. Exactly.
She had checked the manifest earlier—out of curiosity and nothing more, no matter what the other attendant had said. The man, with the unusual name of Bannerman Boru, had flown out of Pittsburgh. As she continued to smile at each departing passenger, she wondered what business he had had in Pennsylvania, and what had brought him out West.
“
Thank you for flying with us,” she said, giving him a first-class smile.
An unusual neckpiece encircled his muscular throat beneath the shirt collar. Made of heavy gold wires twisted together like a rope into a thick cable, it was capped on either end with not-quite-touching twin horse heads. The word torc flashed through her head. The piece reminded her of the sword and sorcery movies she watched in guilty pleasure.
“My pleasure, miss.” The old-fashioned response, as well as the whiff of an Irish brogue, made her heart flutter. Ducking through the door, he climbed down the metal stairs, his workman’s boots ringing softly. He walked across the tarmac to the terminal, an eagerness in his stride that made her envious of whoever he was hurrying to see.
She sighed. Damn. They don’t make ’em like that anymore.
Waiting off to one side of the main terminal, Shay Doyle double-checked her appearance in the darkened glass outside of the airport bar’s window, much to the delight of two Marines having a beer on the other side. She gave a nod at their raised glasses. Their faces were young and fierce with life. Semper Fi, gentlemen, she thought. May the Morrigan not come for you until you’ve heard the laughter of your grandchildren.
Turning away, she ran her fingers through the reddish-blonde hair that flowed past her shoulders, fluffing it just a little, then tugged at the leather jacket she wore over her favorite black V-neck cashmere sweater. The jacket was South Dakota biker chick meets New York City chic, and always made her feel badass in all the right ways.
A drawn-out sigh caught her ear.
Shay glanced down at the boy fidgeting beside her. He was tracing the pattern in the carpet with the toe of his sneaker, the picture of boredom. “Hang in there, Cor. He’ll be along any second. It always takes a few minutes for everyone to get off the plane.”
Cor Boru looked up at her, a mini version of his father, Bannerman, right down to the long-lashed blue eyes—the same shade of blue as Shay’s own eyes, and the distinctive trait of their people, the immortal Celtic warriors known as the Tuatha Dé Danaan—and the same dark brown hair shot with streaks of bronze and copper. “It seems like Dad’s been gone a long time.”
“Barely a week, buddy.” But when you’re eight, almost nine, years old, and have been glued to your father’s hip for the past year, a week can seem like an eternity, even if we all three talked on the phone each and every night. She reached over and swept aside the lock of Cor’s hair that was forever flopping over one eye. Grinning, she thought back to all the times this past week she had tried to tame that errant lock, while caring for the boy who could possibly, hopefully, with a bit of Irish luck, be her future stepson.
Cor ducked. “Don’t.” He batted her hand away when she tried again, then laughed when she made a scissoring motion with her fingers. “And no haircut!”
Shay’s grin widened at his laugh. Gods, I adore this kid. How could I have fallen in love with both father and son so fast? I can’t believe it’s only been a month since we met. The events of the last thirty days played out in her mind like a movie trailer. Coming across an injured Cor and a frantic Bann. Learning that the man and boy were not only also Tuatha Dé Danaan, but the descendents of the High King of Ireland, Brian Boru, and thus the targets of the vengeful shapeshifter Cernunnos, known as the Stag Lord. The growing affection among the three of them as Bann decided, much to Cor’s—and Shay’s—delight, to stay in High Springs and make a go at a normal life. And finally, the fateful day when they had battled and defeated Cernunnos.
Or so we thought. Not only had Bann been critically wounded, but her dog, Max, had sacrificed himself to save father and son. Lingering grief filled her over the fact that the god had managed to somehow transfer his essence into her dog, enabling the shapeshifter to take over Max’s body and somehow live on.
“Shay. Cor.” A deep voice—a beloved voice—called their names. They spun around.
“Dad!” Cor took off first. Sprinting through the crowd with an agility that was as much part of his warrior heritage as of his training, he dodged around—and in one case, jumped over—various pieces of rolling luggage, much to both the amusement and indignation of other travelers. With another shout, he launched himself at his father. Timing it perfectly, Bann dropped the duffle bag by his feet and caught Cor in mid-air.
Shay’s heart melted when Bann hoisted Cor higher in his arms. The boy wrapped his limbs around his father and clung like a squirrel on a spruce tree. After a fierce hug that made a few passersby smile, they leaned back far enough to gaze into each other’s eyes. As Shay approached, Bann asked something in a low voice. Cor grinned and shook his head, then glanced back. “Nope. She’s right here.”
Shy and eager at the same time, Shay paused, not sure if Bann would appreciate her flinging him to the ground in public. Probably not, seeing that he’s a bit old school by nature. Well, I can’t blame the guy. He is over a hundred years old.
“See, I didn’t lose her, Dad.”
“Welcome home, Bann.” Shay knew she was grinning like a fool. She didn’t care.
Cor wiggled down and stood bouncing in place as he glanced at the man and woman staring at each other. “I think you’re supposed to kiss now,” he whispered in a loud voice.
Bann reached out his hands and took Shay’s. All her shyness melted away when he smiled. “Shay, darlin’.” He pulled her near, holding their clasped hands against his heart. He stared down at her, as if memorizing her face. “By the Goddess, I missed ye and the boyo.”
Melting even more as his brogue deepened with emotion, Shay reached up and ran her fingers along the dark stubble marking his strong jaw. “Not as much as we missed you.” She stood on tiptoe and brushed his lips lightly with her own. Her body flushed at the heat in his gaze. “Hot time in the old town tonight.” The old tune flitted through her head. She took his hand. “Come on. Let’s get your luggage. By the way, Ann and Hugh insist,” she added, speaking of her aunt and uncle who were like a second set of parents, “that we have dinner with them before heading back to…um…my place.” Our place.
“And Dad, guess what?” Cor picked up the duffle and slung it over his shoulder, almost toppling backwards from the weight. A hasty grab from Bann saved him. “Nah, I got it.” The boy readjusted the bag and staggered toward the escalator leading down to the lower level and the baggage claim area. Hand in hand, Bann and Shay followed. “Shay’s getting you a new—”
“Hey, blabbermouth.” Shay bipped Cor on the back of the head. “I thought I told you I wanted it to be a surprise?”
Standing on the moving step behind Cor, Bann reached out and gripped the back of his son’s jacket, holding him in place when the boy wobbled from both the movement and the weight of the duffle. “A new what, son?”
“Shay said I’m not supposed to tell you.”
“Ah. Then you best mind Shay.”
Shay peeked up at Bann. Just holding his hand made her pulse race along. It kicked up a notch when he leaned closer.
“Speaking of surprises, I’ve one for you,” he whispered.
“Is it a big surprise?” she whispered back, turning her head so that Cor couldn’t hear.
“You know I’m not one to brag.”
Shay groaned and rolled her eyes, secretly delighted at the flirting. Before she could think of a quip, he continued.
“Actually, I have several surprises. One is being shipped with the rest of our things, which should get here on the sixteenth.” He stepped back to allow Shay to exit the escalator first, then fell in beside her as they made their way to the carousel.
“I can’t believe you managed to rent your house and packed up and arranged the shipment of your belongings, all in a week’s time.” She slowed, letting Cor go ahead, and lowered her voice. “And what about your wife’s family? Are they still all…?” She made a twisting motion with her fist over her heart.
“Aye.” Remorse darkened Bann’s face. “They are still wounded over the fact that I’ve moved Cor so far away, so soon after Eliz
abeth died. I explained to them they are welcome to visit their grandson anytime, but that Cor and I need to make a new life. A place where the memories of this gods-be-damned past year won’t haunt us so much.”
Shay slipped her arm through his and gave it a squeeze. “Well, as you know, everything’s been quiet around here. No sign of Cernunnos and no attacks.” Even though the god was using her dog’s dead body to attack members of a rival clan—for reasons we still haven’t figured out—she refused to refer to the shapeshifter as “Max.” “Although that pack of goblins we hunted a few weeks ago is still being a nuisance.”
“And the Tully clan?”
“Still making threats. You know the Tullys—they’re just looking for an excuse to stir up trouble. Our clans have never gotten along all that well.” And there’s the understatement of the millennium.
“I’m surprised you and Quinn Tully ever even dated.”
“Me, too. Jeez, what was I thinking?” Shay made a face, recalling her brief affair with Quinn, who had been first resentful of her position as Healer and then had become downright nasty about it. He had even slapped her at a party, right in front of Bann. Although she and Bann had just met forty-eight hours earlier, the Knight had beaten Quinn Tully into unconsciousness. Which had led Tully to ally himself with the Fir Bolgs, fellow beings of ancient Ireland and long-time enemies of their people…the same creatures that had later attacked Bann, Shay, and Cor. “I know this sounds heartless,” Shay said, “but I don’t feel one bit sorry the shapeshifter killed Quinn. He deserved it, the dickwad.”
Bann cleared his throat. “Big ears,” he murmured, jerking his chin at the boy in front of them.
“Oops. My bad.” She raised her voice. “Ignore that, would you, Cor?”
Cor tipped his head back to look at Shay. “Is it one of those grown-up words I’m not supposed to use?”
“Yeah.”
“You and Dad sure say a lot of them.”
Bann and Shay glanced at each other in chagrin.