chapter twenty
It was a very long afternoon. After talking to my father, I sat in my room brooding for longer than I’d like to admit. The phone rang on and off, and although I was sort of tempted to eavesdrop, I was probably better off not knowing.
Finn made it back from the hospital at a little past six o’clock. I didn’t much want to hang out with my father at the moment, but I did want to see Finn, to reassure myself that he really was—miraculously—okay.
Saying he was okay was overly optimistic. I could tell by the careful way he walked and the tightness at the corners of his mouth that he was still in pain. Even Dad could tell, because he quickly urged the Knight to take a seat. Finn sank down onto the sofa gratefully.
“Are you well enough to guard her?” my dad asked. I guess his compassion only went so far.
Finn shrugged stiffly. “Not if I’m escorting her around the city. But in the house with the added protection of your spells, I can manage it.”
“Can’t you find someone who isn’t hurt?” I asked Dad, biting my lip as I looked at Finn. I hated the thought of him possibly having to defend me when he was already injured. I wasn’t sure I could bear a repeat of this morning’s nightmare.
“I can manage,” Finn repeated before my dad could answer. “I wouldn’t say that if it weren’t true.”
Dad nodded his agreement and turned to me. “Even at less than a hundred percent, you won’t find a better guardian than Finn. Besides, I’m meeting Alistair and Grace for dinner and strategic planning in less than half an hour. I wouldn’t have time to find a replacement.”
I didn’t bother to argue. I prefer to save my energy for battles I can win.
Dad left about ten minutes later, and I wondered what I was supposed to do for dinner. I’d skipped lunch altogether, and though Dad had called me to come down for afternoon tea, I hadn’t taken him up on the offer. I was famished.
Finn levered himself off the sofa, and I winced in sympathy.
“Please don’t get up!” I said, although he was already on his feet. “Do you need something?” My mind kept flashing back to the sight of his beaten and bloody face, to the knife stabbing through his shoulder until the tip was buried in the floor. And as brave and strong as he was, he hadn’t been able to completely muffle a scream when the paramedic had pulled the blade out.
“I’m not an invalid,” he said, and proceeded to amble toward the kitchen.
I was horrified when he started pulling food from the fridge and I realized he meant to cook. That answered my question about dinner.
“You are not cooking,” I told him in a voice I’d used on my mother when she was too drunk to be allowed near an open flame.
His response was to arch one brow at me while he continued gathering ingredients. It looked like he was planning on spaghetti and meatballs, based on what he’d pulled out so far.
“I’ve been cooking since I was about six,” I told him. “I can handle making spaghetti. Please sit down.”
My voice cracked a bit, to my embarrassment. But after what he’d gone through today on my account, it made something deep inside me ache to see him doing this for me when I could do it myself. I had come to Avalon partly in search of someone to take care of me, to let me be the child I’d never gotten the chance to be. Funny how now that I had the chance, I wanted nothing more than to take the reins back into my own hands.
Finn put down the green pepper he’d been examining and turned to face me, leaning a hip against the counter. “I’ve been cooking since I was six, too, and that was a lot longer ago for me than it was for you.”
“But’”
“If you’d succeeded in having me sent home, I’d be in my own kitchen cooking my own dinner right now.”
I swallowed hard a couple of times, hating the fact that I felt like crying over something so stupid as who was going to cook dinner. I’d made it through the attack and its aftermath without bursting into tears; surely I could hold them off now.
Finn took a couple of steps toward me, and his voice gentled. He actually had a very nice voice—deep and kind of sexy—on those rare occasions he chose to use it.
“Dana, I appreciate your concern for me,” he said. “But the truth is, you were hurt far more than I was.”
That opened the floodgates, and the waterworks started no matter how hard I tried to hold them off. I covered my face with both hands, still trying for all I was worth to force the tears back into my eyes. Finn nudged me, and before I knew it I found myself in the living room, sitting on the sofa, a real linen handkerchief pressed to my eyes as I bawled like a stupid baby.
Finn didn’t say anything for a long time, letting the most violent waves of emotion settle. I was still sniffling and hiccuping when he finally spoke.
“I’m a Knight of Faerie,” he said. “I have been a Knight since I turned eighteen, and that was … a while ago. I have been run through with swords, shot with arrows and with bullets, tortured in ways I will not describe to you. It is my job, and knowing full well what that job entails, I choose to do it.”
“But they could have killed you!” I protested, trying to wipe away the last of my tears with the soaked handkerchief.
Finn actually grinned. “So could the ones who ran me through, shot me, et cetera. In fact, most of those fully intended to kill me, whereas the Knights today did not.” He turned serious again. “Do not grieve for my pain. But do recognize your own, and let me take care of you.”
I shook my head. “So is cooking dinner part of your job description, too?”
“It is tonight. Let me do this one small thing to help atone for having been used as a weapon against you. Please.”
Back in the good old days, when I lived with my mom, I’d gotten used to winning ninety percent of our arguments. Let’s face it, my will was just flat out stronger than Mom’s. As far as I could remember, I hadn’t won an argument in Avalon yet. And Finn was playing dirty with that whole atonement thing.
“Fine!” I said with poor grace.
But Finn smiled, and I figured I must have done the right thing.
Finn wasn’t exactly ready to challenge Chef Ramsay for supremacy, but he was surprisingly good. Even with the Fae eyes, which always struck me as mildly feminine, he had the manly-man look of a guy whose specialties came out of cans and freezers, but I had to admit, he seemed at least as at home in the kitchen as I did. I can’t say I was comfortable letting him wait on me, but I managed to bite back every protest that tried to escape my mouth.
He was back to his usual taciturn self, but since I now knew he was capable of something resembling a conversation, and since I still had a lot of questions about the attack, I decided to grill him while we were eating.
“Did you know those two Knights?” I asked him.
He deliberately stuffed a meatball in his mouth so he couldn’t answer, but I just tapped my fingers on the table, waiting for him to chew and swallow. If he’d hoped the delay would make me drop the question, he was in for a sad surprise.
“Well?” I prompted.
“Yes.”
“Yes, you knew them?”
He nodded, then shoved more food in his mouth. I was obviously going to have to work for it if I was going to get information out of him.
“So since you knew them, you were able to identify them to the police, and that’s why no one asked me any questions?” That still seemed a bit … off. There’s no way I would have escaped a chat session with the police if this had happened in the United States.
“It’s not a police matter,” Finn said when he finished chewing.
“What? How can that possibly not be a police matter?” My voice had risen almost to a shout, but I forced myself to quiet down. “What kind of backward, crazy-ass place is this?”
His lips twitched, but it was a sorry excuse for a smile, even if he did find my outburst amusing.
“It’s not a police matter because the Knights are from Faerie. I’m sure they were back over the border before the police even got to the shop.”
“Well, aren’t there Fae on the police force? Can’t they go into Faerie after them?”
“Can the U.S. police force chase criminals into foreign countries?” He obviously knew the answer, because he didn’t pause for a reply. “The chances of getting someone extradited from Faerie are approximately nil. Which is why they could afford so brazen an attack.”
I let my fork clatter on my plate. “So let me get this straight. Anyone from Faerie can just waltz into Avalon, commit whatever crime they feel like committing, and then waltz back into Faerie? And no one can do anything about it?”
“That’s overstating it. Getting into Avalon isn’t a simple thing. We have to guard the borders against the various creatures of Faerie who are not permitted to enter. But if the person wanting to enter is Sidhe, and there has been no specific order issued to prevent them from entering…” He shrugged. “Your food is getting cold.”
Great. Now I had two Fae fathers in Avalon. I was still hungry, though, so I picked up my fork and took a few bites before I went on the attack again.
“What about leaving Avalon?” I asked. “I’d have to go through immigration to get out. What about those Knights?”
“You go through immigration to get into England, not out of Avalon. There is no immigration process in Faerie. Now let me finish eating in peace.”
He’d probably talked more during this dinner than he had in the last week. I stopped with the questions, but I was still thinking furiously. If the Sidhe could come and go from Faerie whenever they pleased, then my life would be constantly in danger. I’d have Finn to guard me, of course, but today had proven that one guy—no matter how strong and magically gifted—wasn’t always going to be able to keep me safe. When that Knight had grabbed me today, I’d been about as useful as some horror-movie scream queen.
“Do you think you could teach me some basic self-defense?” I asked Finn when we’d finished eating and were clearing the dishes.
He raised an eyebrow at me. “No amount of self-defense would have helped against the Knights,” he told me. “Had your father had any inkling that Knights might be sent against you, he would not have let you leave the house without a considerably larger retinue.”
Not what I wanted to hear. “I’m not asking you to turn me into some kind of super-ninja. I just don’t want to feel completely defenseless.”
“But against Knights, you are.”
“That’s not the point,” I said, wondering if he was being deliberately obtuse. “At least if I had some clue how to defend myself, I’d know how to try to get away. Besides, at the rate I’m making enemies, I could easily be attacked by someone other than a Knight.”
For the first time, Finn looked like he was considering the idea. He crossed his arms over his impressive chest and gave me an assessing look.
“It is against the Knight’s code of conduct to share our training with someone who is not a Knight.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off with a gesture. “But, ” he said, “with your father’s approval, I can arrange for someone else to give you some basic instruction.”
There was a hint of a grin on his lips, and it made me suspicious. “Do you have someone particular in mind?” I asked.
Finn looked almost smug. “I do. And I can almost guarantee he’ll provide you with just the motivation you need to harness your inner warrior.”
“And exactly what does that mean?” I asked, beginning to think I might not like getting what I asked for.
“I’ll let you find that out for yourself.”
I swear, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes held just a touch of evil.
Dad didn’t get back until almost ten—it must have been some dinner meeting. I was sitting on the couch with Finn at that point, watching a weird British sitcom where I only got about a third of the jokes. Finn didn’t exactly yuck it up either, but the faint smile on his face every time the laugh track went off suggested he was enjoying it.
Even in the few hours we’d spent together tonight, Finn’s condition had visibly improved. He moved much more easily as he rose from the couch to greet my dad. The two of them had a brief conversation before Dad thanked Finn and sent him on his way.
Dad opened what turned out to be a liquor cabinet and poured himself a healthy dose of what I think was brandy. He swirled it around his glass, but didn’t immediately drink.
“I’m guessing from the look on your face and the fact that you immediately dove for the booze that things didn’t go so well?” I asked.
His expression lightened, and he snorted softly before taking a small sip of his brandy. He gestured me to the sofa, and we sat on opposite ends.
“It went about as I expected,” he said. “We all immediately agreed that it was imperative we work together to keep you safe. And then we spent the next three hours arguing over how best to do that.” He laughed, shaking his head and taking another sip of brandy.
It didn’t sound particularly funny to me. “So what did you decide?”
“We decided that we’d talk more tomorrow.”
I groaned. “You have got to be kidding me.”
His smile was wry. “We are all politicians, my dear. Coming to a consensus will take some time and energy. We did agree that we need to arrange a safe house for you.” I must have looked alarmed, because he continued hastily. “Not that you aren’t safe here. You’re just … too accessible.”
“To who?”
He shrugged. “When you have enemies as serious as yours, it is best that those enemies not know where you are.”
Gee, I was so glad Dad was still being open and honest with me. Did he think I didn’t notice that he didn’t answer my question?
“Don’t worry,” he said, taking another sip of brandy. “My home is as good a place as any right now. It’s just not the best permanent solution.”
I didn’t say anything, because I was beginning to feel the bars of the gilded cage rising around me. I was already under a sort of twenty-four-hour watch, and I saw the little freedoms I had now—like going shopping—slipping away. If they put me someplace where no one else could find me, then I’d be even more in their power. They’d be cutting me off from the outside world.
It was a depressing thought, but if I had any hope of arguing the Big Three out of it, I had to have better fuel than “I don’t want to be hidden away in some secluded location like a princess in a fairy tale.” Right now, that was all I had, so I decided to keep my mouth shut. Maybe after a good night’s sleep, something would come to me.
I started to force a yawn, and it turned into a real one very quickly. Dad gave me a look of paternal sympathy.
“You’ve had a long day,” he said. “Perhaps you should get some sleep.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I swallowed down another yawn.
There was an awkward moment, as neither one of us seemed to know what to do. It wasn’t like I was going to kiss him good night or anything, but there was still an uncomfortable feeling like I should make some demonstration of affection. I think Dad felt it, too, but was just as flummoxed by it as I was.
“Well, good night,” I finally said.
“Good night,” he replied with a formal bow of his head. “Sleep well.”
And I supposed that was about as affectionate as we were going to get.