Page 23 of Outside the Veil (Endangered Fae #1)

Chapter fourteen

Finn’s Stand

T he crickets chirped outside the door again the next morning, re-emerged from whatever place they’d hidden in during the unnatural storm. Finn still slept, curled cat-content on the sofa.

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,” Diego muttered as he sipped his coffee.

Too bad Mr. Frost had failed to understand the woods also held dire and terrible things.

He stared out into the trees a moment more, longing for the simple days of sun-dappled trails and scrambling over roots and logs. “Promises to keep and so on.”

He returned to his computer and his research. Some kernel of inspiration would appear—he desperately needed to believe it would. An hour into his largely fruitless search, Finn’s soft tread padded down the hall.

He wrapped his arms about Diego’s neck. “Good morning. My arms were empty.”

Diego turned his head to kiss a warm forearm, though he didn’t take his eyes from the screen.

“Have you found aught, my hero? Some scrap or crumb to aid us?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. There is a story about a shaman who killed one.”

“Shaman? What might that be?” Finn leaned forward to nuzzle at his ear.

“A healer, a person who spoke with the spirit world. I suppose kind of a wizard, though not one who tried to control nature. In this case, one of the original tribal people who lived here.”

“Ah. A druid.”

Diego turned his head to look at Finn and received a soft kiss. “Yes, like that.”

“And how did this shaman defeat the beast?”

“It sounds like just a story to me. Talks about the shaman and the wendigo both becoming gigantic and raging back and forth across the forest. He wins, but it doesn’t say how.”

“Pity.” Finn sank down to sit cross-legged on the floor, his head on Diego’s thigh. “Do you know any shamans?”

“No.”

For a few minutes, Finn picked at carpet threads in silence. “We should speak to the wise woman. On the little far-speaker, the…phone. We could do this, yes?”

“Who are you talking about, carino ?” Diego murmured, only half listening.

“Tia Carmen.”

“Oh. You think she’s a…” Diego let the question trail off. The herbs, the calm acceptance, the little charms of bones and feathers in her apartment suddenly made him uncertain.

He called, and she answered on the second ring.

“ Tia Carmen, estás una bruja ?”

“ Sí, por supuesto, Santiago. But why would you ask such a thing now? You have always known I believed in the old ways.”

“Yes, but I always thought it was just old customs, old superstitions. I never thought of you as a…witch. Finn calls you the wise woman.”

“Your Finn has his eyes open. What’s happened, querido ? Something is not right, I think.”

He told her everything without hesitation, things he would have thought insanity or at least fantastic lies a month before. She listened in silence without skepticism or questions.

“ Pobre nino . I hoped you would have some peace up there,” she said on a little sigh when he had finished.

“So did I.”

“Does Finn know how to use the phone now?”

“Yes, he’s figured it out. Why?”

“Let me speak to him, please.”

Diego hesitated in confusion then held out the phone. “Tia Carmen wants to talk to you.”

“Ah, good.” Finn took it. “Good morning, dear lady, how do you fare in that monstrous poisoned village?” He paused to listen. “Oh, yes. As you said. And it was wonderful. He’s quite…”

His voice trailed off as he left the room for a more private conversation. Diego’s ears burned. He didn’t want to know.

Finn’s voice soon grew louder and more agitated, though, impossible not to overhear. “Yes, yes, I thought of that! And so has he! I can’t allow it— No, I know. There has to— Pardon? It might be. Perhaps.”

His voice subsided and Diego lost his half of the conversation again. When Finn returned, the phone beeped its off-the-hook warning. “Take it, please, my hero. Gods. Why is it screaming at me? Have I hurt it?”

“No, you just need to learn to turn it off now.” Diego did, but the absence of noise failed to ease Finn’s anguished look. “What did she say?”

“Naught of any importance.”

“Finn, please.”

“She said such a terrible hunger creates a void in the universe and it must be filled. She says it is the only way to defeat the thing. I told her I cannot, by gods, I will not sacrifice you to the thing. She said she understood but nevertheless, the hunger, the empty place, must be filled.” Finn flung himself down beside Diego, head in his hands.

“ Carino , don’t get so upset.” Diego stroked his hair. “Maybe she meant something else.”

“What else? We hold the beast’s mouth open and pour sand in to fill it? There is no ‘else’! And it will not have you!” Finn surged to his feet again and began to pace the house, muttering to himself.

After an hour, Diego intercepted him in the upstairs hall.

“Stop. Just stop. All this stomping around is giving me a headache.” He wrapped his arms around Finn and rested his head on his chest. “Come sit with me. Have something to eat. Hurling epithets at the problem doesn’t seem to help you think any better. ”

Finn leaned his head on top of Diego’s. “Your pardon, my love. I didn’t mean to distress you.”

“I’m not distressed. You’re just making me crazy.”

A plate of chicken salad and a long make-out session on the front porch later, Finn curled up in a patch of sunlight and went back to sleep.

“Must be nice,” Diego murmured, with a little smile. If only all his lovers had been so easy to please. He went back inside to make the belated call to the ranger station to call off the search for his dog.

As evening approached, Finn seemed calmer. He sat at the kitchen table engrossed in a drawing of red and orange water-droplet globs. When Diego returned from his ritual of checking the doors and windows, Finn stood and took him by the shoulders.

“Wish me luck, my love,” he said with a forced smile.

Diego’s heart sank. “Why? What are you planning?”

“You make me sound devious,” Finn protested, hand over his heart.

“Finn, don’t— Oh, God, please don’t.”

He pulled Diego into a fierce embrace. “I should have done this long since. Cowering here at night, instead of going out to face it. You have sheltered me and protected me from the first moment we met, my hero. Past time for me to return the favor. More than a favor. In this, it is my place to protect you.”

“But the last time it got hold of you—”

“I was ambushed and snared. I go out to issue challenge, to stand and fight as I should have done in the first place.”

Diego lifted a hand to smooth the silken strands of hair back from Finn’s face. “Don’t be an idiot. This isn’t some cheesy Western and it’s not high noon. We’ll find another way. I don’t want you hurt. Or worse.”

“Ah, he cares.” Finn kissed his fingers. “But it would do my heart good to know you had a shred of confidence in me. It nears, Diego. Kiss me and tell me you love me.”

“Finn, I—” The words stuck in Diego’s throat. He wasn’t going to talk Finn out of this. Dear God, oh, dear God.

“Well then.” Finn’s smile slipped a bit. “Kiss me at least and be prepared to give me a hero’s welcome on my return, eh?”

Long arms folded him close and Finn closed the distance between them, a lightning spark of heat in his kiss before he pulled back with a wink and a grin. He strode to the front door with Diego trailing like a dust mote in the wake of a hurricane.

“Finn!” He tried once more at the front door while anguish threatened to swallow him.

“Stay inside, my love,” Finn demanded as he strode onto the porch. “I must know you are safe. No distractions. Stay back from the doors and windows.”

The soft blue light danced over his skin as Finn spread his arms to the night. His form melted, grew and resolved into a Kodiak-sized black bear.

“But you said it can’t reach me inside,” Diego protested, his voice far too small against the rising wind.

“It can’t.” The bear turned back to give his shoulder a pat. “I can’t say the same for flying debris. Close the door. Do not open it, no matter what you hear. Not until the sun’s orb clears those trees. Promise me. Swear it.”

Diego swallowed hard, heartsick. No distractions. He had to give Finn that much of a chance. “I promise. Lo juro. Not until I see the sun over the trees.”

Bear-Finn shambled down the porch steps and rose onto his hind legs. “It is here.”

A piercing shriek shot through the rising howl of wind. Finn flung his head back and roared challenge.

“Oh…God… Finn,” Diego whispered as he heaved the door shut.

Through the front windows, the bear remained visible as he charged toward a huge dark shape lurching from the trees.

Then the wind slammed full force into the glass.

The casements rattled and creaked. Diego retreated to the upstairs hallway, one of the few windowless spots in the house.

He gathered comforters into a nest. The temperature would plummet soon.

A heavy thud vibrated through the wall. Roars mixed with unearthly shrieks.

The wind tore at the house until he wondered if the roof would fly off.

Did the magical prohibition extend to the roof?

If the house lay in ruins, did the threshold rule still hold?

And the wind did howl, and the wind did blow …

The song rose unbidden from his memory and he whispered the words as he rocked back and forth in his blankets. “ Get down, get down, little Henry Lee, and stay all night with me… ”

Something screamed and a terrible crash hit near the back wall.

“ And the wind did roar and the wind did moan… ”

His whispers rose to compete with the bedlam outside as he ran through chorus and verses again and again, until his voice grew hoarse.

A shivering splinter came from one of the back bedrooms, followed by the discordant notes of glass falling to the floor.

Finn bellowed words he couldn’t understand but the defiance rang clear, still on his feet and fighting.

Through the terrible sounds of battle, Diego concentrated on Finn, as if he could send strength to him. He imagined he could feel Finn’s bright warmth against his mind. His own brain created the illusion to comfort him, no doubt, but he clung to it regardless.

A deafening crack sent him under the covers like a small child in a storm. “Damn it, Finn, why did you suddenly have to play Lancelot?” He huddled, shuddering through what seemed hours of violent cacophony.

When the noise finally ceased, it happened so abruptly he thought he had gone deaf.

He crept to the top of the stairs, listening.

Was it over? And if it was, why didn’t Finn burst through the door to tell him?

Nothing, no noises reached him at all besides his own breathing, the absence of sounds in the woods more ominous than any of the screeches and calls of a normal night.

He eased downstairs, every creak on the steps a gunshot in the silence. Wait—there was a sound now, the susurration of something dragging along the planks of the front porch. He pressed his ear to the door. The faint whispering stopped directly in front of him.

“Finn?” he whispered.

Help me…

He wasn’t certain if his ears heard the words or his mind. “Finn?”

Diego… Help me…

He had promised. No matter what he heard, he would keep the door shut. But what if it was Finn? What if he was so badly hurt he couldn’t speak, so badly wounded he wouldn’t make it through the night?

His hand shook on the doorknob. “ Carino , if it’s you, you’ll have to figure out some way to let me know.”

The porch light refused to turn on, the bulb most likely broken. Diego eased the door open a crack. The biting cold sent fire down his throat. A long, pale body lay stretched out on the planks.

“Say something,” Diego urged in a desperate whisper. “Anything and I’ll pull you inside.”

The body shifted as if trying to rise, the head lifted to meet the light streaming from the house. Dark patches mottled a face hidden by wind-whipped hair. Diego stepped forward, straining to see. A long-fingered hand reached toward him.

“Close that thrice-cursed door!” Finn’s voice bellowed from his right.

Diego startled back a step. The face in front of him split in a sickening, cadaverous grin.

Not Finn, Dios, not Finn. A roar shook the house.

The wind rose to shriek through the doorway.

The thing on the porch leaped up, Finn-shape melting into something huge and dreadful.

Diego glimpsed a rush of enormous wings and a sinuous black shape that slammed into the wendigo before he wrestled the door shut.

“Ohgodohgod,” he whispered, and sank down on the bottom step in the hall, heart slamming against his breastbone.

“Don’t open the door, no matter what you hear,” Finn had said.

He sat watching the grandfather clock’s pendulum and the slow tick of its hands, waiting out the hours, desperate for the first gray hint of morning.