The world materialized around Dorian and Garnash. It was night on the East Coast of America, and she had to admit that she was thrilled by the extra cover the darkness offered. There was a small assortment of megaliths placed in a slight valley nestled in a group of hills. The stones looked old and worn by the harsh Northeastern winters. Of course, all of the megaliths she had seen to this point looked old and worn. Dorian allowed her eyes to adjust after the violent flashing of light by the runes and looked around. She noticed a stream and the high grass and weeds of a field. There was a stone base on the banks of the stream as well. It looked to her like the remnants of a watermill.
“We’re about twenty miles outside of Syracuse University,” Garnash said in anticipation of Dorian’s question. “This is an old Wampanoag holy site.”
“How did you know Brendan went to Syracuse?”
“I told you that he was famous. Practically everyone knows who he is and what he’s up to!”
“What’s a Wampanoag?” asked Dorian with a raised brow.
“They are a Native American tribe that was settled in these parts. Come on, we’ve got quite a ways to travel.”
Dorian pulled out her cell phone and noticed that she didn’t have a signal. “I was going to call him, but it looks like my phone gets shoddy reception out here.”
“It’s not the phone, or your cell service —it’s the interference from the tether. Your phone will be useless for a while, I’m afraid.”
Dorian put her phone into the back pocket of her now filthy jeans while she and the Gnome began the twenty-mile walk. She hoped that a shower and a change of clothes were waiting for her at the end of the road.
…
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me!” Frank called out. He closed the door to his apartment behind him.
Frank’s grandmother, Cecilia, padded out of the kitchen, welcoming her grandson with a huge hug. “I thought you’d never get home, boy! You had me worried sick.”
“Sorry, Grandma,” Frank said politely. “Remember I was at the gym.”
Grandma CeCe laughed and patted her grandson’s cheek. “Reggie, I’m so glad you came to dinner, son.”
“It’s me, Frank, Grandma.” Frank searched her eyes for recognition, but the old lady just smiled broadly. Her dementia had steadily gotten worse over the past few months. Her care was so expensive! They were running out of money, and he didn’t know what to do.
“I made your favorite, Reggie,” Cecilia gushed. “Spaghetti and meatballs!”
“Thanks, Grandma CeCe, but you know you’re not supposed to be cooking,” Frank replied. Grandma CeCe looked a little hurt and that always made Frank feel guilty. The doctors told him he needed to be honest with her and to try and keep her grounded in reality, but it broke his heart to see her sad. “You know how I love your spaghetti, Grandma.”
Frank followed his grandmother into the kitchen and stopped at the counter. His grandma, despite her memory loss, always put the mail on the counter every day. He flipped through the envelopes expectantly. Nothing from any of the colleges he applied to yet, and he was beginning to worry since it was getting late into the summer. He had graduated a year early, but apparently that didn’t mean much since he was a graduate of the often ridiculed Forest R. Warner High School. He had worked so hard trying to get out of high school to better care for his grandma. She deserved to be taken care of since she had done it for him his whole life. He even took a job at the local market to help with the bills and pay for a cell phone in case someone had to get a hold of him about Grandma CeCe. Frank put a lot of pressure on himself between the job, school, and being a caregiver that his only relief was the few hours he spent training at the gym every week. He needed the outlet badly. He would go there and work out his frustrations on the mat or in the weight room. He hadn’t counted on meeting Lizzie.
“Where is George at? That man is always running late,” Cecilia commented.
“Grandpa isn’t around anymore, Grandma,” Frank responded. “He died a while back.”
“Well, he’s late for dinner, so we’re starting without him.”
“Okay, Grandma,” Frank said as he took his seat at the worn-down kitchen table.
Cecilia plated the food and laid one down for each of them: one for her, one for Frank, and one for George. “That man is always running late.”
Frank loved his grandma more than anyone. After his father died and his mother had abandoned him, his grandmother had taken him in and raised him. In the last three years, her health, especially her mental capacities, had declined more rapidly. That had pushed Frank to work as hard as he could to graduate high school early. He had dreams of going to college and fulfilling the expectations he had for himself, but that wasn’t possible at the moment, at least not fully. He had applied to the community colleges just to get started on the general classes that he knew he had to take. Maybe he could get some online classes because then he could be there for her. His grandmother needed him and he owed her the same response of love that she showed him. Frank had grown up quickly having to face so many stressful events, but he had something special with Lizzie O’Neal and that was a good thing. She was something else altogether, something that he hadn’t counted on.
His phone vibrated and he checked the text. Thinking of you, is what Lizzie wrote. She had no idea what a source of strength she was. He just hoped that he could be a source of strength for her as well.
…
“Janey mac!” whispered Biddy to the griffin. The megaliths at Leeds were standing tall, towering over the gruesome aftermath of a bloody battle. “So much death.”
Griffin pawed at the ground and cautiously stalked forward among the many dead Gnomes. There were two Alphyns that had fallen in the fracas but not a single Descendent of Magog. The giants were apparently too tough for the Gnomes to defeat.
“Griffin, do you see Brett or Vivian?” Griffin scanned the ground and found no sight of them.
“I need to check on them.” Biddy removed a notepad from her pocket and then searched for a pencil. She patted her other pockets down and accepted that the pencil must have been lost along the way. She landed on the ground, tucking her orange wings in tightly to her back, and plucked a pine needle from the blood-stained ground. She carefully stepped over to the closest Alphyn and dipped the end of the needle into a gash the dead creature had in its side. She sat down on a rock and took to scratching out a message to Rory in blood.
It was frustrating that the blood didn’t act like ink or graphite in a pencil. It took several dips in the Alphyn’s side to collect enough blood to form a legible word. She was busy thinking about how she could make it as short of a note as possible that she didn’t notice the Alphyn’s eyes open. She failed to see it lift its head from the ground and angle its giant mouth at her back. She didn’t have a clue that it was opening its mouth and setting its tongue to spear her like a fish.
Griffin, however, did notice. The powerful flying creature reared back and brought down its mighty front claw on the Alphyn’s neck crushing it with a sickening crunch!
“Crimeny!” shouted Biddy in alarm. “I know you’re hungry, Griffin, but don’t eat that disgusting thing in front of me, if you don’t mind.”
Griffin tilted his head in puzzlement before Biddy thrust the note in between a couple of toes on his lion-like hind legs. “I’ll be along shortly, but I need to check on Brett and Vivian. Take this to Rory and help defend our home.”
Griffin left straight away and Biddy began to backtrack to the Blanchs’ house.
“Please, let them be alive,” she prayed.
…
The sun had still not peeked over the horizon, which meant that anyone with half of a mind was in bed dreaming and snoring, but Brendan found himself turning off the alarm that he had set on his phone. He rubbed his eyes and yawned and thought about how he hated his coach at the moment. His coach, who Brendan decided was a psychopath, was probably already at the field torturing his players.
Brendan glanced over to the twin bed across the room and saw that Ken was already up and gone. Ken had the knack for staying up until way too late at night and then getting up before everybody else in the house. It was like he didn’t really need to sleep. Maybe he was a robot or a vampire without the sparkly skin, but whatever it was, it was annoying.
Brendan flung his legs off the side of the bed and sat there while he let his brain catch up. He rubbed his head and wondered how crazy his hair looked. He ground his knuckles into his eyes and then gave a big stretch, the kind that made his eyes close and his toes curl. He almost gave himself a calf cramp, but he pulled out of the stretch just in time to save himself that discomfort. When he opened his eyes, he nearly screeched like a little kid.
“Meghan?” he said as he pulled his blanket over to cover up his boxers. “What are you doing in my room?”
“I need to tell you something,” she replied from the edge of his bed.
“Can’t it wait until later… like way later?”
“No, Brendan, we need to talk about it now,” she replied, wrinkles of concern etched in her forehead. “I really have a big crush… ”
Brendan wanted to listen. He wanted to hear her concern, but his mind wouldn’t let him. Instead, his mind fell into a vision as he blocked out the present.
…
It was always so weird when a vision came on and Brendan was transported somewhere else in time. Sometimes his own physical appearance in the vision stayed exactly as it was from the previous moment in reality, but sometimes it didn’t. He looked down and was relieved to see that he was clothed in one of his favorite pair of jeans and a T-shirt instead of boxers, his normal sleeping attire. Brendan wondered if he had more control over the visions than he had thought.
He recognized the location of the vision from previous visits. The trees, the stream, the primitive watermill, were all just as he remembered… well almost. The old guy and his daughter were there; he was clutching at a stone box while his daughter was hiding behind him. In the distance, there were three stone pillars, which he had noticed in his previous vision. They were simple stone structures that were mossy and old. They reminded him of pictures he had seen of Stonehenge or Easter Island. Why were they there?
“Are you alright, Sorcha?” the guy asked in a thick Irish accent.
“I’m fine, Da.” Sorcha gingerly peeked around her father’s shoulder at the box. “Is she in there?”
Her father timidly looked down at the box in his arms. Brendan walked forward to get a better view. There were worn runes, but the weird part was that the runes were moving! They were moving and sliding positions, changing shapes in violent ways, redecorating the box’s façade, and generally freaking out everyone in the vision. It was so similar to the box they had back home; only the runes on that box didn’t go pin-balling around.
The man nodded his head. “I believe so.” His words didn’t sound very confident to Brendan, but they seemed to assure the daughter. A rustling in the surrounding tree line caught the man’s attention and he called out. “Who’s there?”
Brendan looked around and saw nothing, but he sure “felt” someone’s presence. His feeling was confirmed seconds later when a small tribe of men eased out of their remarkable camouflage and approached the father and daughter. These men were natives wearing animal skins and furs. Some were carrying bows while others brandished heavy clubs.
“We don’t want any trouble,” the old man said, rising to his feet, his hands still grasping the box.
One man among the tribesmen cautiously stepped forward and placed his bow on the ground near the Irish people. The native was probably fifteen or sixteen, about the same age as the girl. The young guy lifted his hand to his chest. “I am Samoset of the Wampanoag.”
The father looked back at his daughter before he spoke. “My name is Toren O’Neal and this is my daughter Sorcha.”
“We,” Samoset began, apparently looking for the right English words to say. “We have seen your action.” Toren raised an eyebrow. Samoset pointed at the box, his eyes fearful from what he had just witnessed and Brendan could hardly blame him.
Brendan knew what the young man had seen too, and he knew why it had frightened him. The thing was haunting. It had that wail that resonated in your mind and a way about it that was downright chilling.
“We need to bury this.” Toren lifted the box up so that the men could see. They all jumped back and raised their weapons at the evil thing.
Samoset turned quickly and motioned with his hands for the group to be calm. He turned back to Toren. “We will not allow that to be buried here on our land.”
The disheveled Irishman scowled, but the young native stood his ground on the issue. There was no way Samoset was going to let that evil be buried on Wampanoag grounds. Brendan could see the struggle on Toren’s face. The box had to be hidden; there weren’t two ways about it. “You saw that the spirit in this box is pure evil, Samoset. It must be hidden away!”
Samoset turned back and consulted with an older man. They spoke in their language, yet Brendan understood everything.
“The man has a point, father. You saw the spirit with your own eyes. You know that it must be dealt with,” argued Samoset.
His father nodded. “It is a sign. This man came to our land with a terrible burden, but you, son, must take them west to the land of the sun. The box should be safe there.”
Samoset faced Toren and spoke in English. “My father is Chief of our people. He agrees with you that the box should be hidden away, and he agrees with me that it shall not be placed on our lands.”
“The sooner it’s hidden the better, Samoset,” argued Toren. “Someone will seek her.”
“You have to understand, friend, that Wampanoag land is sacred. Our people have a great purpose here and this evil being will corrupt the grounds and the minds of our people,” Samoset heaved out a burdened breath. “It is the way it must be.”
Toren pursed his lips in frustration and nearly let his temper get the best of him. Only his daughter’s hand on his arm kept him from speaking.
“That is why I have been chosen to take you to a place where her prison will be hidden away from others.”
Toren looked back at Sorcha. “It will be a dangerous journey, my daughter.”
“I am ready for this, Da.”
Her father smiled. Brendan couldn’t help but admire their courage. Toren had faced down an evil being without any great magic or protection. The guy had an old box and a boatload of resolve, and that was it. It looked like his daughter was a lot like her father. Really, it sounded like all of the O’Neals had what it took to fight against evil.
“Let us gather a few of our possessions from the settlement and then we can be on our way.”
Brendan looked past the tribesmen and watched as some weird symbols on the megaliths began to glow. “That can’t be good.”
Toren had spotted the symbols too and shoved the box into Sorcha’s hands and then turned to Samoset. “Take her and the box and go now!”
Samoset looked at the megaliths and understood. Sorcha did not understand at all.
“Da! I can’t leave you!” she screamed.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her on the forehead. “You are my greatest treasure, my Sorcha. Fulfill my promise to Queen Finna.” Toren wiped away a single tear that ran down the girl’s face. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Da,” she said as Samoset took her by the arm and led her away from the blinding light that flashed in the midst of the megaliths.
They ran into the forest just as the first sounds of battle began. Brendan was torn about where to go. Should he stay and see what was to become of Toren, or follow the daughter? His decision was made for him when the largest man he had ever seen stepped out of the flash of light.
“You cannot hide from the Descendants of Magog, O’Neal!” shouted the big guy.
Toren revealed a flintlock pistol from beneath his overcoat and cocked the hammer. “Who’s hiding, oaf?”
The next few seconds became a blur of violence and bloodshed of which Brendan caught very little. The Wampanoag and Toren O’Neal attacked the giant with arrows, clubs, and knives, but it was all having little effect. The giant swatted a warrior aside with a powerful backhand. He snatched up another by the leg and tried to use the poor guy like a club, only the giant just slammed the man down into the grass and then proceeded to fling him into the stream. Brendan thought it was remarkable when Toren charged up the giant’s clothes, set his gun even with the ear, and pulled the trigger. The giant fell in a heap, with Toren going along for the ride. He landed on his backside on the ground and stayed there for a second, hoping to catch his breath.
Samoset’s father reached out and helped Toren to his feet. “Thanks, Chief.”
The megaliths became alit again, only this time a familiar person stepped out of the flash. Toren shook his head. “Conchar.”
The wizard smiled mirthlessly at the Irishman. “I had a little help finding you, although I’m sorry to see that you are still alive.”
“I can say the same.” As Toren spoke he began to reload his pistol. The Wampanoag warriors raised their bows and took aim at the strangely-dressed man who had appeared out of the light.
“I thought the Banshee would have done you in, Toren.” Conchar casually walked forward, his eyes trained on the Irishman.
“Not today, wizard!” shouted Toren out of frustration and anger. Brendan could see the man’s conviction displayed prominently in his expression. “You meet your end this day.”
Brendan didn’t know much about Toren O’Neal, but he knew he was one of the coolest ancestors ever! He wanted to say that old Grandpa O’Neal would put a stop to the psycho and it all would be over and done with.
But Brendan knew better.
Toren pulled the trigger and the Wampanoag men fired their arrows, but not a single one touched Conchar. The wizard froze the projectiles in midair and then turned them on their owners. The arrows struck the warriors down and made them writhe in pain. The bullet struck true in Toren’s chest and he was flung onto his back.
Conchar gradually ambled forward and squatted down near Toren’s head. “It was all for nothing, Toren. You worked so hard to keep him from coming back, but you failed.”
Conchar must have been enjoying the moment, Brendan noted, because he took his time, seemingly taking pleasure from Toren’s death.
“I have the dagger, Toren.” The dying man’s face spoke to the horror of that idea. “And soon your lineage will help me make it all happen.”
Brendan didn’t know what he was talking about. Who was coming back? How would Toren’s ancestors help to make that happen? Too many questions.
“Aye, I have fallen, but we O’Neals are strong,” Toren said through fading breath. “Mark my words, my lineage will prevail.”
“We’ll see about that,” sneered Conchar. “Does it bother you that on this very spot where you lie dying, that my master will begin his new reign?” Toren gave the wizard one last look of defiance and then he closed his eyes forever, stress finally gone from his face.
The megaliths flashed again and Conchar was joined by a female giant. She stomped forward leading one of the scariest and strangest dog-like things that Brendan had ever seen.
“Revern, Toren’s daughter has fled with something that belongs to me. Take these warriors and find them.” Conchar waved his hand and all of the warriors who were still alive, even though they had suffered wounds, rose to their feet at his command. Samoset’s father was among them. All of them sported red eyes and devote allegiance to Conchar. “Kill her and bring me the megalith coffer.”
Conchar strolled back to Toren’s body and kneeled beside him again. “How does death feel, Toren? How does defeat taste?” Conchar reached down and ripped Toren’s shirt at the collar and exposed a Celtic charm hanging on a thin, silver chain. The wizard ripped the necklace free and placed it in his pocket before he strolled back to the megaliths and disappeared in a flash of light.
Brendan wished he could have struck Conchar down where he stood, but that was impossible. This was only a vision of things gone by, so he was limited in power. He didn’t have time to think on it because his conscious mind was leaving the past and running headlong to the present.
…
The walk had been long but pleasant. Dorian had learned a lot about Garnash and the Gnomes. Not surprisingly, the Gnomes and Leprechauns were related. She wondered to what degree, but in the end it didn’t matter. If there was some master plan at work, then that was the main concern. Maybe she could search out the ancestry in her spare time when things settled down again.
“So, it looks like your people haven’t really had any time of peace, have you?” she asked her traveling companion.
Garnash shrugged. “Not really. I mean, there are short spans of time where there aren’t any battles, but the stupid giants are always causing some sort of mischief. To be honest about it, they are quite annoying.”
That was an understatement, she thought. “D’Quall called himself a Descendant of Magog.”
“He certainly did.”
“So who in the world is Magog?”
Garnash stopped and looked up at Dorian. The first thing he wondered was why she was still at human height. The second thing that crossed his mind was how could she not have heard of Magog?
“Magog was a person, so we think, but not in the sense that historians have noted.” He waited for recognition to come to the Queen’s face, but when it didn’t he continued. “Many historians trace Magog back to Biblical times, or more specifically, back to a son of Noah.”
“Like with the ark?”
Garnash nodded. “Precisely, only these Magogians are not related to Noah at all. They are related to another figure from the Bible, or at least our brightest minds place them as relatives of Goliath.”
“Really? Maybe I should have thrown stones at D’Quall then,” Dorian chuckled.
Garnash did not laugh. “I doubt that would have done much good against him,” he said dryly. “The Magogians have allied themselves with some very powerful and dangerous groups, as you might have noticed.”
Dorian did, in fact, know what sort of dangerous people the Magogians had partnered with if Dullahan was any indication. She had tangled with the demon rider before and didn’t plan on doing it again anytime soon.
“How do you know so much about them?” she asked.
“Our Gnome history has been intertwined with Magogian history for as long as my kind has recorded. It’s not a complete history, only snippets from travelers and spying on the Magogs.” The path ahead was forked, and Garnash indicated that they should take the one on the right. “What we do know is they are a Northern people who grew to gargantuan proportions, whether it be by nature or by magic, I don’t know.”
“You think that the size of these people was influenced by magic?”
Garnash considered the question. “It’s possible. Depends on the source of the magic, I suppose. And before you ask, I have not come across a necromancer that could pull off that kind of spell on an entire race of people.”
That made Dorian wonder—if it wasn’t the witches or wizards, who possibly could have been able to change an entire race’s genetics?
…
Biddy was in a cautious hurry, cutting through the trees on her way back to the Blanch family home. She hoped that they would be okay, but her gut feeling told her just the opposite. When she saw the fire that was consuming their home, she knew she was right.
“No, not them,” she whispered aloud. She flapped her orange wings furiously and zipped her way directly towards the blaze. “Please, do not be home.”
She hovered in midair at a distance that allowed her to feel the heat but to not get burned. Her eyes darted every which way, looking for some sign of movement.
“Biddy?”
The soft voice felt like an explosion in Biddy’s ears. She spun around quickly and spotted Vivian under the cover of the trees. Biddy pulled hard against the air and shot like a rocket to her new friend’s side.
“Oh, thank God!” Biddy examined the good-hearted witch quickly and determined that she was in good shape considering the melee that they had left. “Where’s Brett?”
“We ran once the giants and the Alphyns broke the Gnomes’ line. A few of the Alphyns pursued us. The hideous beasts blasted our homes with fire from their mouths.”
“I really hate Magicks sometimes!”
“Well, we battled them for only a short while, at least until they were called back.” Vivian coughed and then smiled at the absurdity of the situation. “Good thing those dumb animals are trained well.”
“Where is Brett?” repeated Biddy.
Tears welled in Vivian’s eyes. “I don’t know.”
Half of the house was still smoldering while the other half looked like the remains of a bonfire, but to Biddy’s surprise the remnants of the roof that sat on top of the blistered mess began to move.
“Ready yourself, deary,” ordered Biddy.
A small pile of debris was slowly but surely pushed aside and a very dusty and tired Brett emerged. He coughed out a huge puff of soot and stumbled out of the mess.
“Brett!” shouted his wife as she rushed to his side.
“Well, that was quite a pickle,” said Brett to relieve the tension.
Biddy flew in close to the couple. “I’m so relieved that the pair of you are alright, but I don’t have time for a lengthy visit.”
“Oh?” asked Brett.
“Aye,” replied Biddy. “The giants are going to attack my Corways. I need to be there to help my village defend itself.”
The couple exchanged quick looks and nodded. “We’re going with you,” they said in unison.
Biddy wanted to argue and tell them that it wasn’t their fight, but when she thought about it, Corways could use all the help it could get.
“Thank you. Now we need to figure out how we’re going to get there fast. I sent ahead to deliver the message to Rory.” Biddy flapped a few feet away and thought about the situation.
“We need us a Gnome,” suggested Brett.
Biddy turned quickly and smiled. “That’s a grand idea, Brett. Let’s find us a Gnome.”
…
“There’s his house, Garnash,” Dorian said, pointing out the Celtic Heritage House from the cover of a fence. “I doubt the people around here will be used to seeing a Gnome, so you may want to wait out here.”
“You mean the house where tons of Magicks live about? You mean the people of that house will not be expecting a Gnome?” laughed Garnash.
A pair of tiny women with wings fluttered by and giggled to each other after looking in Garnash’s direction. “Hey, handsome!”
“Fairies of any land can’t get enough of a Gnome, you know,” he bragged while he stood up a little taller.
“Easy there, heartbreaker,” Dorian teased. “Still, people aren’t used to seeing the likes of you.”
“Fine, luckily for you Gnomes are great at not being seen. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”
Dorian shrugged and took to the path leading to Brendan’s frat house. Her legs were sore. She and Garnash had been walking all night. She wanted nothing more than to just sit down, get a nice big glass of ice water, and fall asleep. Of course seeing Brendan was priority number one, but sleep was a close second.
The house was still dark, being so early in the morning. She could hear the snoring through the walls as she took to the front steps. She was going to try the handle, but just before she grabbed it, someone else stepped onto the front porch.
“Well, hello there,” said Ken in his smoothest voice. “If you’re looking for someone, then you just found him.”
It was all Dorian could do not to laugh in this guy’s face. “I am looking for someone, but unfortunately for you, you are not him.”
“That is too bad. The name’s Ken and judging by your accent, I bet you’re here to see Brendan.”
“That’s right,” she said with mild surprise.
Ken reached over the doorframe and grabbed a key from a not-so-hidden place. He unlocked the door and replaced the key. “Let’s go. He’s my roommate.”
Walking into the Men’s CCH was like walking into a boys’ locker room. It smelled like sweat and body odor, there were clothes and trash laying everywhere, and the sound of running water could be heard off in the distance. Dorian really hoped that Brendan wasn’t contributing to the mess.
“Our room is just up the stairs.”
Ken led the way as Dorian followed. She thought she saw a weird little Gnomish something out of the corner of her eye, but she wasn’t positive. She followed Ken up the steps and was a little surprised to hear a woman’s voice coming from beyond Brendan and Ken’s door. Ken must have been surprised, too.
“Uh, maybe he’s not here,” he stammered. “He’s probably out for a run.”
Dorian shoved Ken aside and flung the door open. “What is going on here?”
Brendan looked groggy, but that wasn’t the problem. The fact that some co-ed was holding his head in her lap and rubbing his hair was!
“Get your hands off my boyfriend!” Dorian couldn’t help herself. There probably was a very good explanation for what she saw, but at that moment she wanted nothing more than to rip the girl’s hair out!
“Wait.” Brendan pulled himself off of Meghan’s lap and inched his way back against the headboard. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Looks to me like hero boy is getting fresh with this sweet totty,” Garnash said, melting back into view atop a pile of clothes in the corner.
“What the hay is that?” Ken had to sit down on the side of his bed to keep from collapsing onto the floor.
“I’m a who, not a what, hippy,” shot Garnash.
“What’s going on, Brendan?” asked Meghan, standing up and placing herself in between Dorian and Brendan.
Brendan needed to take control of the situation quickly. “Dorian… uh… this is Meghan and she is also a medical student.”
“Oh, that explains it all,” Dorian said with sarcasm. She turned and left the room fuming.
Brendan exhaled deeply and leapt out of bed when he heard Dorian tromping down the steps.
Garnash hopped onto Brendan’s bed and leaned his elbow against the headboard and gazed at Meghan. “So, you come here often?”
“Why is there a weird little man here?” Ken asked while pointing a shaky finger in Garnash’s direction.
Garnash looked back at Meghan. “What’s with him? He lives in a house full of Magicks and creatures and he acts like he’s never seen a Gnome before.” Garnash studied her for a moment and then added, “Or whatever sort of Magick you are, for that matter.”
“Huh?” Ken said in a panicky voice.
Garnash laughed. “Maybe you’ll wake up to it later, Shaggy.” Garnash looked out of the window and waved. Ken’s head snapped in that direction and caught a glimpse of a tiny woman with sheer wings hovering just on the other side of the glass ogling at Garnash.
“What can I say, Fairies dig Gnomes,” Garnash said with a shrug.
“I need to lie down,” Ken said, falling back into his pillow with his hands on his face.
…
“Dorian, come on. Wait up!” Brendan took the stairs in bunches and followed Dorian right out the front door. “Hey, where are you going?” He quickly stepped around her and tried to slow her progress.
“I don’t need this, Brendan. I am a queen!” She sidestepped Brendan, went down the front porch steps and kept walking down the path.
Brendan ignored the fact that he was in his boxers and moved quickly to get in front of her again. “Slow down!”
Dorian finally stopped. “What do you want, you sod?”
“Sod?” Brendan couldn’t help but smile. “Hey, hey, hey, I am no sod.”
Dorian wasn’t seeing the humor in the situation. “I come all this way to save your life and how do you repay me, I ask —by having your head in some girl’s lap, that’s how! Maybe I should have just let Dullahan come and destroy you if you’ll take any twit into your room!”
“You got this all wrong, Dorian. Wait, did you say Dullahan?” The look on his face must have matched the shock he was feeling at hearing the name of the headless horseman.
“Do I have it all wrong, Brendan? I find some hussy in your room stroking your hair and you think I have it all wrong.”
“Look, I don’t know why she was in my room, but when I woke up she was there and then I had a vision and blacked out. Honestly, Dorian, that’s the truth.”
“A vision? That’s your explanation?”
Brendan nodded. “Worse than that, I met Conchar the other night, too.”
“The wizard Conchar?” Dorian asked in astonishment. Brendan’s eyes confirmed her worst fear. “If that’s so, then things are much worse than I thought.”
Brendan looked down and remembered that he was still in his boxers. “Maybe we should go inside and sort this all out.”
Dorian raised an eyebrow. Maybe he needed to feel a little discomfort. It was so tempting to make him suffer from embarrassment, but there were bigger problems to deal with.
…
Elathan felt his body and consciousness transcend space and time as he latched onto the tether. He could feel the fervent anticipation from his servants. The connection was weak and that infuriated Elathan. That blasted Nuada was to blame for his minions’ separation and banishment, but Nuada was no more, and that was a pleasant thought.
“My hunt for the keys is already set in motion.” Elathan took a moment to concentrate solely on maintaining the connection with the tether before he spoke again. “It won’t be long. The events are such that there is no stopping them.”
The tether wavered and extinguished and Elathan found himself whole again and sitting in his castle. He got to his feet and walked over to the balcony. The air around the castle and his Black Forest lit up over and over again with streaks of black lightning. The golden god gazed out over the Scottish landscape to Port Heggles at an old, rickety ship at the dock. It was a special ship that was going to take him into the depths. How ironic it was that the ship’s captain was one of Nuada’s chosen clan. Elathan smiled at the thought.