The Stag Lord by Darby Kaye Page A

house.” She joined him with her tray. “Gods, I was a goofy-looking thirteen-year-old.”
    â€œDid you train here in Colorado?”
    â€œI did. Right here in High Springs. In fact, I grew up here. I’m that rare breed—a Colorado native. I still have lots of family here.” She gestured with her head for him to take a seat on the sofa. “How about you—Pennsylvania, right?” She let out a low whistle. “I hear the goblins back in those old coal mines are some kind of fierce.”
    â€œAye, the few beasties that are left.” He hesitated, then continued. “I was born in Éireann , however.”
    â€œI thought as much. When did you come over?”
    â€œEarly part of the century. That is to say, the early part of the previous century.”
    â€œWow, you don’t look a day over thirty.”
    An unexpected vanity surprised him. “Thirty, eh? Well, it’s been a stiff year.”
    Their shared amusement was as warm and welcome as the stew.
    Sitting on either ends of the sofa, they ate in silence for a few moments. The wind played a dirge in the chimney, causing the fire to blaze now and again. Rain, on the verge of becoming sleet, drummed on the roof in a hit-ormiss fashion. While Bann ate, he found himself peeking at Shay out of the corner of his eye.
    She sat with one leg curled under her, bowl in hand as she dug into her stew with a gusto that matched his own. Her ponytail was draped over a shoulder like a fox stole, shades of russet in the golden strands. She picked up her glass and raised it in the air. “Your health.”
    Picking up his own drink, Bann leaned over and clinked it against hers, sloshing his whiskey over the edge and into hers in the old custom. “To yours as well.”
    The drink was liquid peat smoke in Bann’s mouth. He let it trickle down his throat, embracing the burn. Placing his empty bowl back on the tray, he sank into the softness of the cushion. Full belly. Neat whiskey. Safe refuge. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. For just a moment .
    A half-hour later, he jerked awake at a soft rattling sound.
    The fire was a red smear in the darkened room. He pushed off the sofa, wincing as sleeping muscles and joints protested about having to move after they had just gotten comfortable. He told them to shut up.
    â€œSorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” said a low voice from the kitchen.
    Shay stood guard by the back door, armed with her bronze blade. The blinds, bunched to one side, swung back and forth. “Wanted a clear view,” she explained, barely speaking above a whisper. When Bann joined her, she gestured with the knife toward the yard. “It’s gone.”
    â€œThe magpie?”
    â€œYeah. Of course, a coyote may have simply snatched it. They’ll eat anything. But…” Her voice trailed off.
    Bann scanned the shadows. Boulders, most of them higher than his head, squatted around the property, each one looking like a giant hobgoblin taking a crap. Junipers and piñon trees, twisted into multi-limbed monsters, bowed with each gust of wind. “…but probably not,” he said, finishing her sentence. Not with my luck. Of which I have none. Unless you count the shitty kind .
    â€œSo.” Shay examined the point of her blade. “Are you going to tell me who or what is after you and Cor and why you refuse to have anything to do with your people? And why you’re so dead set against your son knowing there are other Fey in High Springs?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œTo which question?”
    â€œAll of them.”
    â€œWhy? Because I’m Tuatha Dé Danaan, too?”
    â€œDad?”
    Cor appeared, yawning as he made his way toward them, his bare feet silent on the wood floor. Bann stepped away to intercept him. Behind him, he could hear the clatter as Shay closed the blinds.
    â€œAnd just what are you doing up, boyo?”
    â€œI guess