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Again the Sidhe was taken aback-and showed a hint of anger. "I have come to
deliver a warning."
To the stranger's further surprise, Sam snorted rudely. "Go tell it to the
Marines," he said, hearkening back to his childhood insults. "I told you, I
have work to do. I've no time for games and nonsense."
Inwardly, he was far from calm. Tannim had put some kind of arcane protection
on him after dinner tonight, when he signed a preliminary agreement with
Fairgrove. The young man had said that Keighvin would be doing the same, but
how effective those protections would be, he had no idea. He knew something
was there; he saw it as a glowing haze about him, like one of those "auras"
the New Agers talked about, visible only out of the corner of his eye. How
much would it hold against? Would it take a real attack if this stranger made
one?
The Sidhe raised a graceful eyebrow, and the tips of his pointed ears
twitched. "Bravado, is it?" he asked in a voice full of arrogant irony. "I
should have expected it from the kind of stubborn fossil who would listen to
reckless young fools and believe their prattle. Hear me now, Sam Kelly-you
think to aid yet another rattle-brained loon, one who styles himself Keighvin
Silverhair. Don't."
Sam waited, but there was nothing more. "Don't?" Sam said at last,
incredulously. "Is that all you have to say? Just don't?"
"That is all I have to say," the Sidhe replied after a long, hard stare. "But
I have a demonstration for fools who refuse to listen-"
He didn't gesture, didn't even shrug-
Suddenly Sam was enveloped in flames, head to toe.
His heart contracted with fear, spasming painfully; he lost his breath, and he
choked on a cry-
And in the next moment was glad that he hadn't uttered it. The flames, whether
they were real, of magical energy, or only illusion, weren't touching him.
There was no heat, at least nothing he felt, although Thoreau yelped, turned
tail, and ran for the shelter of Sam's bedroom.
He remained frozen for a moment, then the true nature of the attack
penetrated. It can't hurt me, no matter what it looks like. After a deep
breath to steady his heart, Sam simply folded his arms across his chest and
sighed.
"Is this supposed to impress me?" he asked mildly. A snide comment like that
might have been a stupid thing to say, but it was the only attitude Sam could
think to take. Tannim had warned him about lying to the Sidhe, or otherwise
trying to deceive them. It couldn't be done, he'd said, at least not by
someone with Sam's lack of experience with magic. And good or evil, both sorts
took being lied to very badly. So-brazen it out. Act boldly, as if he saw this
sort of thing every day and wasn't intimidated by it.
The Sidhe's face twisted with rage. "Damn you, mortal!" he cried. And this
time he did gesture.
A sword appeared in his hand; a blue-black, shiny blade like no metal Sam had
ever seen. A small part of him wondered what it was, as the rest of him
shrieked, and backpedaled, coming up against the wall.
"Not so impudent now, are you?" the Sidhe crowed, kicking aside fallen books
and moving in for the kill, sword glittering with a life of its own.
Sam could only stare, paralyzed with fear, as his hands scrabbled on the
varnished wood behind him-
Tannim cursed the traffic as he waited at the end of Sam's driveway for it to
clear, peering into the darkness. Something must have just let out for the
night, for there was a steady stream of headlights passing in the eastbound
lane-when he wanted westbound, of course-with no break in sight. And there was
no reason for that many cars out here at this time of night. It looked for all
the world like the scene at the end of Field of Dreams, where every car in the
world seemed lined up on that back country road.
"So if he built the stupid ballfield out here, why didn't somebody tell me?"
he griped aloud. "If I'd known the Heavenly All-stars were playing tonight-"
He never finished the sentence, for energies hit the shields he'd placed on
Sam-which were also tied to his shields.
The protections about Sam locked into place, as the power that had been flung
at the old man flared in a mock-conflagration of bael-fire.
Mock? Only in one sense. If Sam hadn't been shielded, he'd have gone up in
real flames, although nothing around him would have even been scorched.
Another Fortean case of so-called "spontaneous human combustion."
But Sam was protected-the quick but effective shielding woven earlier caught
and held. Tannim had not expected those protections to be needed so soon.
He knew what the attacker was, if not who. Only the Folk could produce bael-
fire. And the hate-rage-lust pulse that came with the strike had never
originated from one of Keighvin's Folk. That spelled "Unseleighe Court" in
Tannim's book.
All this Tannim analyzed as he acted. He jammed the car into "reverse" and
smoked the tires. The Mustang lurched as he yanked the wheel, spinning the car
into a sideways drift to stop it barely within the confines of Sam's driveway.
He bailed out, grabbing his weapon-of-choice from under the seat and didn't
stop moving even as he reached the door; he managed to force his stiff legs
into a running kick and kept going as the door crashed open, slamming against
the wall behind it.
He pelted down the hall, his bespelled, bright red crowbar clenched in his
right hand, and burst into Sam's study. Sam had plastered himself against the
wall nearest the door; Tannim flung himself between his friend and the
creature that menaced him, taking a defensive stand with the crowbar in both
hands, without getting a really good look at the enemy first.
He never did get a really good look. He saw only a tall, fair-haired man, a
glittering sword, a scowl of surprised rage-
Then-nothing.
Only the sharp tingle of energies along his skin that told him a Gate had been
opened and closed.
The enemy had fled. Leaving, presumably, the way he had arrived, by way of
Underhill.
It's gonna be the last time he can do that, Tannim thought grimly, framing
another shield-spell within his mind, setting it with a few chanted syllables.
He dropped it in place over the body of the house, allowing the physical form
of the house itself-and, more particularly, the electrical wiring-to give it
shape and substance.
It was a powerful spell, and one of Tannim's best. Now no one would he able to
pop in here from Underhill without Sam's express permission, nor would they be
able to work magics against the house itself.
But it was draining, and Tannim sagged back against the wall when he was done,
letting the crowbar slip to the floor from nerveless fingers. It fell on the
carpet with a dull thud, and Tannim kept himself from following it only by
supreme effort.
He looked up, right into Sam's face.
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