When the Stars Threw Down Their Spears: The Goblin Wars, Book Three (18 page)

“If you want to cut us up with your teeny little knife, you know where to find us.” Lollan followed her, but Bairre hesitated.

“Tell Roisin I haven’t forgotten my promise,” he said.

“What promise was that?” Finn asked.

Bairre laughed. “I promised to take care of her and her cat. Tell her I haven’t forgotten.”

Sixteen

T
HE
adrenaline didn’t drain from Finn as they walked on through the cemetery.

“That’s why your little friends disappeared so quickly,” he said. “They knew those creatures were about.”

The sound of a lawn mower starting up somewhere on the grounds made Gil grab his hand, but Finn shook him off.

“I want both hands free in case I need them.”

“That’s just a little engine,” Teagan explained to the phooka. “It’s louder than a car, but not as scary.”

“Yes, it is,” Gil said.

“Not as scary as the beasties we just met, then.” Finn glanced back the way they had come.

Teagan turned to look, too.
Those
were the creatures Roisin was crying over? There was something about the Dump Dogs that was more frightening than any other creatures she had met aside from Mab and Fear Doirich himself. Something
wrong
about them.

She felt a ridiculous amount of relief when they reached the towers and crenelated walls that marked the gates of Rosehill, as if the barrier could somehow keep the creatures in. Finn let Gil take his hand again as they walked down the street.

“Are we going to talk to Roisin or Thomas?” Teagan asked when they reached the street. “Or . . . both?”

“We have to talk to both of them, don’t we? And Raynor as well.” Finn glanced over his shoulder. “Those three mean trouble for us all.”

“Roisin can’t be waiting for Bairre,” Teagan said. “She and Thomas are promised to each other.”

“No doubt,” Finn agreed. “We’ve heard it from the both of them. I wonder if Bairre’s heard it.”

“Highborn games,” Gil said. “She made them
both
promise.”

Teagan shook her head. Roisin wouldn’t . . . would she?

“I have to give them a heads-up, at least.” Teagan dialed Abby’s number.

“Did you change your mind about coming with us, or what?” Abby said when she answered. “Because you could still catch the bus down.”

“No,” Teagan said. “I met some Highborn this morning and I need to give Thomas a heads-up.” Teagan looked over her shoulder. “Thomas and Roisin both know them.”

“So, is it the guy Roisin was crying over this morning?” Abby asked. “What’s he like?”

“You remember that creep your sister dated before she got married?”

“The one who’s serving time in the state pen, or the guy that went into pharmaceuticals?”

“The one in the state pen.”

“Yeah, I remember the jerk.”

“I think this guy might be worse.”

“What did he do?”

What had he done? Nothing. It was just a feeling.

“Tea,” Abby went on before she could answer, “you get a feeling about a guy, you trust your gut.”

Teagan pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it.

“Hello?” Abby’s voice was tinny and small. “Hello?”

Teagan put it back to her ear. “How did you know—”

“I told you before. I got powers. With you, I don’t even need them. Why? Because I’ve known you forever, that’s why. You meet a guy like that, forget about giving him a second chance. You don’t give him a first chance. I’ll have a talk with Roisin. Sometimes smart girls do stupid things before they learn better.”

“Good,” Teagan said. “I need to talk to Thomas. Is he there?”

“Saoirse, Lollan, and Bairre,” Thomas said after she’d explained. “I do know them. Did they say anything about me?”

“Yes.”

“They lie,” Thomas said. “Whatever they said, it’s a lie. I have sworn that I will do no harm to your family. By commission or omission, I will do no harm. I am not one of them anymore.”

“You don’t think they’ve been eating corpses, do you?” Teagan asked after she’d put away her phone.

“If they dug up a grave, they did it without getting dirt on their clothes or under their fingernails,” Finn said.

“They
were
full, though,” Teagan said. “And probably full of meat they ate last night.”

“How could you know what the beasties were full of and when they ate?”

“Their reactions were sluggish. Probably because they’d consumed the amino acid tryptophan, which is a precursor of serotonin”—both Finn and Gil had stopped in their tracks and were staring at her—“which is converted to melatonin, the ‘darkness hormone,’ which lowers the body temperature and—”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Gil said.

“She’s her father’s daughter,” Finn said. “The man’s a librarian.”

“Tryptophan comes from meat,” Teagan explained. “Your body uses it to make melatonin, but only when it’s dark outside. Melatonin makes you sleepy. So the Dump Dogs ate meat last night.”

“Well, that’s perfectly understandable, then,” Finn said. “Except for the part where you could tell that by looking at them.”

“I could feel it,” Teagan said. “I know you feel electricity too, Finn.”

“Sure. From you. When we’re very close, or touching. And kissing’s like”—he glanced at Gil—“something we’ll discuss later. But I didn’t feel a thing from the uglies back there. That’s what she meant about being a sensitive, is it, then? You feel the electricity in more than just me?” He sounded a little hurt.

“Yes. But not always. When we were fighting Kyle, I knew where everybody was, even those behind me. I knew which way they were going to move a fraction of a second before they actually did it. I knew the moment the impulse left their brains.”

“And this started after Kyle changed your DNA?”

“Before that, but it’s more focused now. When you saw the Dump Dogs, I felt the adrenaline hit your system.”

Finn considered that.

“How about when . . . other things hit my system?”

“Such as?”

“Let’s say I’m about to I kiss you?”

“Yes. It’s like body reading instead of mind reading.”

“And can you do this through the walls? Say, when I’m sleeping in the room next door?”

“Yes,” Teagan said.

“Crap.” Finn ran his hand through his hair. “Well, I’ll be sleeping in the yard with the phooka.”

“Good,” Gil said. “It’s scary all alone. And cold.”

Finn swatted the top of Gil’s head. “I didn’t say we were going to snuggle. But if you were cold, you should have told somebody. I’ll find you another blanket.”

“Or you could just promise not to eat children and come inside,” Teagan suggested.

Gil pressed his lips together and shook his head.

Teagan shrugged. “Have it your way. Why will you sleep in the yard, Finn?”

“Because . . .” His face pinked. “Let’s just say that sometimes my body’s got a mind of its own. I’m not sure I want you knowing what it’s thinking.”

“I could always do what Aiden does.” She plugged her ears. “La, la, la!”

“Will that work?”

“Probably not,” Teagan admitted. “But the couch downstairs would be far enough away, and more comfortable than the yard.”

“Right. It’s the couch, then.”

“Crap,” Gil said, then put up his trotter as Finn moved to swat him again. Finn dropped his hand and shook his head instead.

“Don’t go using that language around Tea.”

“You did,” the phooka pointed out, still hiding under his trotter. “You said ‘Crap’!”

Finn’s face contorted. “I set a bad example
for a phooka
.”

“I’m not offended,” Teagan said. “I hear worse things at school every day.”

“But your da—”

“Is old-fashioned,” Teagan said.

“No.” Finn shook his head. “It’s more than that. John Wylltson is a thinking man. I’ll discuss it with him. Oh, cr . . . ud.” Teagan followed his stare.

Seamus McGillahee had managed to find the Wylltsons’ house after all. His office was parked just a few doors down.

“I’ll tuck Gil into the backyard, then. Tell the man I’ll be in shortly.”

Seamus was sitting on the couch with Mr. Wylltson. There were books spread all around them. He liked to gather his favorite authors around him like a council of wizards as he considered a problem even though he knew the books by heart. He was connecting ideas, and using the physical books like pushpins to hold them in place.

Grendal was perched on the back of the couch, scratching his chin and watching.

“Why didn’t you go with Roisin, Grendal?” Teagan asked after she’d said hello to everyone.

“Nnnnnot feelingsss good,” the
cat-sídhe
said.

Mr. Wylltson followed her gaze. “Oh, I didn’t realize he was here. I could have read aloud before Seamus arrived.”

“You read to
cat-sídhe
?” Seamus didn’t sound pleased with the idea.

“To Grendal, at any rate,” Mr. Wylltson said. “He’s acquiring English.” The tip of Grendal’s tail twitched.

“Learning anything?” Teagan asked.

Mr. Wylltson held up
The Art of War
by Sun Tzu.

“‘I will force the enemy to take our strength for weakness and our weakness for strength, and thus will turn his strength into weakness.’”

Seamus nodded toward a leather-bound copy of
Poetics
. “Aristotle agrees. He advocates using people’s preconceived ideas to move their minds any way you want them to go.”

For some reason it annoyed Teagan to see him entering her father’s game.

“By trailing a coat behind you?” she asked. “And daring the Highborn in the legal system to reveal themselves to the might of your mind?”

“Touché.”
Seamus inclined his head to acknowledge the point. “The coat was ill-conceived.”

“You might be surprised how well it worked out in the end,” Teagan said, relenting a little. He had helped her in the police station. And he was looking out for Finn.

“Of course it did.” Seamus grinned. “I believe I’ve mentioned the McGillahee touch?”

“
Touched
is one word for it.” Finn had come in from the kitchen. “I can think of others. Let’s get this interview over with, McGillahee. I told Raynor about the Dogs. He’s popped over to the cemetery to have a talk with them. You might want to check on Joe, Tea.”

“I thought he was asleep.”

“Just napping, apparently. Oh, and your little pink friend is hanging about in the alley. McGillahee?” He motioned toward the door, and the two of them went out.

“That young man,” Mr. Wylltson said as he watched them walk down the street toward the van, “has a great deal of potential.”

“Finn?” Teagan asked.

“Seamus,” Mr. Wylltson said. “He actually
is
as smart as he thinks he is. That’s rare. He’s got two parts of the equation. He’s got a great brain, and he’s looking for his courage. But I’m not sure about his heart.”

“Are we discussing Seamus McGillahee, or the Tin Man, Scarecrow, and Cowardly Lion rolled into one?”

“I wonder,” Mr. Wylltson mused. “Someone wounded that young man. He’s hidden his hopes away. Seamus has big dreams, so big he doesn’t dare believe they can come true.” He turned away from the window. “What was that about Dump Dogs?”

Teagan explained as briefly as she could.

Grendal growled when she mentioned Bairre’s name and scratched at his chin again. Teagan frowned.

“So he is Roisin’s friend?” she asked the
cat-sídhe
.

“Nnooobody’ss friend.” His tail lashed.

“Did you eat breakfast this morning, Grendal?” she asked.

“Nnooow,” the
cat-sídhe
said. “I wassssn’t hungry.”

“And you said you were tired. Would you mind if I felt your chin?”

“It itches,” Grendal said.

“Is Grendal sick?” Mr. Wylltson asked.

“I’m not sure.” Teagan sat down on the couch close enough to reach the
cat-sídhe
.

“I’ll go check on Joe,” Mr. Wylltson said. “I won’t be much help here.”

The
cat-sídhe
tipped his head up, and Teagan worked her fingers through his thick fur until she could feel the skin beneath. It was covered in what felt like tiny scabs and was hot to the touch. Mange. It felt like mange.

“Have you touched any other
cat-sídhe
since you got here?” she asked.

“Yess,” Grendal said. “The dead cat.”

It had to have been yesterday
.

“And that’s the only
cat-sídhe
you’ve touched since you’ve gotten here? You’re sure?”

“Yess.”

It was too soon for mange to have developed. But lethargy and loss of appetite, coupled with the scabbing skin—it had to be mange. And it could kill him.

“I don’t want to
itch
.” He looked miserable. “I have to take care of the pretty kitty.”

“You have a pretty kitty?”

Grendal put his hand to his head, as if he were confused.

“Yggdrasil’s . . . kitties.”

Teagan sat back. “The tree had kittens?”

“Two kittens.” Grendal looked frustrated. “I took care of two . . .” He thumped his head with his fist, as if trying to shake the words loose. “Sssomething iss wrong with my thinker.”

Teagan had no idea whether or not mange could affect the brain. She’d never spoken with a mange patient before. But something was befuddling the
cat-sídhe
.

“Are you talking about Roisin and Aileen?”

“Yess!”

“Girls. You took care of two little girls.” She’d assumed that Grendal was Roisin’s pet. Not her rescuer, guardian, or caretaker. She thought about her mother’s fondness for cats. The
cat-sídhe
weren’t the only ones who saw glimpses of their own story in Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical. Aileen Wylltson must have, too. Glimories of magical Grendal.

“I took care of Aileen until she got scary. Like you.”

“I’m not scary,” Teagan said as his hand drifted toward his chin.
“Don’t scratch!”

Grendal jerked his hand away and sat up straight.

“Too loud.” He rubbed his ear.

“I’m sorry,” Teagan said softly. “You don’t want to break the skin by scratching. I think that’s why the cat on the sidewalk died. He scratched himself open, and germs got into the wounds.”