Finn Finnegan

Finn Finnegan — page 3 — those He slowed then stopped when he reached the end of the cul-de-sac A small house sat by itself next to an empty lot Old-fashioned in a cottage-y way it was painted the same shade of rusty green as the pine trees flanking either end of its broad porch Wooded foothills rose behind it while proud mountains strutted away further west A massive stone wall as high as his chin bordered the yard Shifting from foot to foot he peered at the wrought-iron gate bisecting the wall His heart sped up when he noticed a Celtic knot gracing the center of the gate Beyond a flagstone walkway snaked through the shaggy lawn Stretching the length of the northern wall a thick hedge bristled with broad saw-toothed leaves and spiny stalks A few spots along the hedge were plucked bald On the other side of the hedged wall a battered pickup truck gray with age rested in the graveled driveway Relief flooded the boy at the sight of the deadnettle hedge This has gotta be the right

Finn Finnegan — page 4 — house He was reaching for the latch when the screen door creaked opened He froze Now just where would ye be going asked a deep voice A man stepped out and sauntered to the edge of the porch A head above average height with a whipcord build he wore a faded denim shirt open over a white tee shirt Hooking his thumbs into his jeans pockets he rested a shoulder against one of the wooden columns curiosity on his lean face I’m-I’m looking for someone I know he lives on this street but I can’t remember his address Before he could say more a shadow ghosted across the yard Man and boy stiffened and looked up A crow soared overhead a black X wheeling in a tight circle against the sun It cawed sharply just once and glided away The boy whirled to face the street his heart slamming against his ribs and the pack slipping from his shoulder His eyes darted from shadow to shadow looking for any sign of

Finn Finnegan — page 5 — movement A sharp whistle pulled his head around The man stood at the bottom of the steps a knife the length of his forearm in one hand The blade was a bronze flame Come boyo he said his voice low and urgent Get behind me on the porch Quickly now before they attack The boy hesitated glancing at the knife and then shoved the gate open with a clang He winced when it bounced off the wall swung back and smacked his elbow Cursing under his breath he ran across the yard and darted around the man taking the steps two at a time Grabbing a broom propped next to the door he tucked the bristled end under one arm gripping his makeshift weapon like a jousting lance Armed he licked his lips and took a position behind the man on the edge of the porch Have ye a blade the man asked over his shoulder as he scanned the neighborhood Does it look like I have one A bit cheeky The man glanced back

Finn Finnegan — page 6 — For someone wielding a broom I’d have taken a pitchfork but hey this was all you had The man raised an eyebrow Make that very cheeky He continued to survey the area The rumble of a garbage truck echoed from the next block over An automatic sprinkler squirted on in the yard across the street After a few more minutes of vigilance the man relaxed and turned around Flipping the knife into the air with a practiced move he caught it by the handle and tucked it into a sheath hanging from his belt under the tail of his denim shirt instead of warning us about Well boyo the manky bird may be playing us for fools They do that from time to time the Amandán he said his voice colored green with an Irish lilt Lesson number one When I tell ye to move I mean run like the very devil is behind ye Those goblins are almost impossible to spot when camouflaged And they’re bleedin fast Very fast

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