The Stag Lord by Darby Kaye

left, leaving the door ajar.
    Taking a moment to shove down the swelling in his throat, Bann took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand across his face, then headed back to the kitchen.
    A fire snapped and popped in the hearth. It blessed the room with warmth and light and the primal aroma of burning wood. Shay bustled about the kitchen, preparing a pair of trays already set with bowls of reheated stew and biscuits. Each tray was graced with a tumbler half-filled with an amber liquid.
    Guilt stabbed Bann. Because of me and mine, that monster is lurking about this fine woman’s home . “Shay Doyle,” he declared. “You are in danger.”
    â€œNo. I’m in the kitchen.” She raised a hand, forestalling him. “And before you start, I get it. The bird was a warning, right? From someone or something you two are apparently running from? And now that someone or something knows you’re here. With me. Thus, the whole”—she deepened her voice—“‘Shay Doyle, you are in danger.’”
    â€œYou must understand—”
    â€œI’m not finished. Now, you told me we’re protected if we stay indoors, since my home’s warded against attacks from most supernatural beings.” At Bann’s nod, she continued. “Which means that person or thing is constrained by the Old Ways. Modern inventions such as gunpowder, electricity, and so on won’t work for them, right? And they can’t enter unless invited and all that?”
    â€œWell, yes. As far as I know.”
    â€œIt’s like a vampire is after you guys.” She grinned. “Just kidding.” She stuck a spoon into each bowl of stew. “Look, for right now, we’re all safe. Cor is healing. And I’m not about to waste food.”
    â€œI cannot ask you to—”
    â€œDude, I’m, no, we are Tuatha Dé Danaan. Magical warriors of ancient Éireann . Children of the war goddess Danu. You know, fellow soldiers and all that. Ye ken?” Her eyes twinkled as she slipped into a brogue.
    Sensing he would not win this fight, or maybe I do not wish to , Bann inclined his head. “Aye, I ken.”
    â€œI thought we’d eat by the fire.” Shay indicated the trays. “It’s too creepy being at the table with that thing just on the other side of the glass.”
    â€œI agree.” He stepped closer. “Is that whiskey?”
    She nodded. “Yeah, I thought we could use something a bit stronger now , instead of later. Grab a tray and go make yourself comfortable.”
    Bann picked up the nearest one and carried it over to the sofa facing the hearth. After placing the tray on the coffee table, he scanned the bookshelves while he waited, too pumped full of adrenaline to sit.
    A wide variety of titles, including obscure texts on medicinal plants of the Rocky Mountains, were shelved next to paperback thrillers and biographies of famous women. Framed photos were scattered between the books. Judging from the clothing of the people in them, Bann guessed they were all taken in the last sixty or seventy years. He noticed one picture showing a man with a fiery beard in a tie-dyed shirt, holding up his fingers in a peace symbol while his other hand held a hatchet straight out of a horror movie. Almost every person in the photos sported red hair; most held a variety of blades, including knives, daggers, and in one case a sword. A few of the younger people, both men and women, proudly flexed tattooed arms. The same tat as his. Family members , Bann guessed.
    One newer photo caught his attention. It showed a barely teenaged Shay in faded jeans and a pink T-shirt, her long hair held back with a matching pink headband. She was leaning on the railing of a redwood deck, beaming at the camera. On closer inspection, Bann saw she clutched a hunting knife proudly in one hand.
    â€œThat was taken on the first day of my apprenticeship. Outside of my master’s