The obscenity grated in Maureen's ear, out of character with the woman's elegant bearing, out of character with the lilting voice so much a reminder of Grandfather O'Brian that Maureen found herself relaxing against her will.
She fought against the same sense of psychic Thorazine she'd felt the night before. "You burned down that nightclub. Two people died."
Fiona shook her head and smiled. "Little Brian burned down the nightclub, love. He set a trap on the door, and it exploded when Sean went through. That started the fire, not us. Brian always was a touch careless with his spells. Ask him about how those fire doors got jammed. He doesn't worry much about mere humans. The holy ones never do."
Maureen blinked, distracted by the phrase. "Holy ones?"
"Yes, love. My darling brother is a monk, one of an order that's set itself the task of hunting down the likes of you and me. They've set themselves up as judge and jury and executioner of the old blood, in the name of Christ and all his angels. And they don't even see the irony of it. He's hunted the world for decades, under the cloak of various names and the uniform of a British soldier."
"A monk?"
"You've heard about the Templars, the Crusaders who protected pilgrims? Religious knights, delighted to separate any non-Christian head from its owner's neck? That's the Pendragons, love, in spades. They've even got their own monastery, tucked away in a dark corner of Wales where the neighbors think the rattle of machine-guns is the British army practicing for peace."
"Monks?" She hated the stupidity of repeating herself, but Maureen felt the warmth of Brian's hand again, and the confused sexual longing he'd aroused in her.
Fiona chuckled, maliciously, as if Maureen's thoughts had been written across her face. "Oh, they're not sworn to chastity, love. Just to obedience and violence. Violence against the old blood."
Maureen's thoughts shied away from the mention of chastity and the tangled path to which it led. She forced herself back to Fiona and danger--danger here and now. "He was warning me about Old Ones."
The woman sputtered with laughter. She caught her breath and shook her head again, the black hair swinging heavy across her shoulders.
"Oh, I love that duck! Brian is an Old One, dear. Ask him his age, the next time you see him. Ask him his true name and his purpose in life. He'll probably tell the truth. Most of the Pendragons will. They just won't tell much of it. You have to pin them down."
Holy Mary, Mother of God. "Just what the hell is an Old One?"
Fiona's dark eyes sparkled in the sunlight. "My brother didn't tell you much, did he? The title means just what it says. The Old Ones are the original people of northern Europe. Scientists like to have everything neatly boxed and labeled, but some of those old skulls they dig up aren't either Neandertal or modern man. We're both and neither, love. The genes give us some interesting powers, including access to the Summer Country. Did Brian tell you why Liam was following you?"
Maureen gritted her teeth. "Something about taking me to this Summer Country."
"And he didn't say why that pea-brained lout would be interested in a random stranger, did he? He didn't say why you could even reach the Summer Country, did he? It's the same reason Brian's interested in you. You carry the Blood. You have the Power. You are an Old One, love. So much for fearing them."
Maureen decided that "love" was going to get tiresome if she heard it about three times more. Particularly since Fiona loaded it with an edge that turned it into sarcasm.
Maureen was suddenly conscious of the oak bark pressed against the back of her scalp. Looking up, leaning against the tree, the ragged lichen and corrugated bark snagged her hair. She smelled the dry sharpness of Father Oak protecting her, and it drew her back into the moment.
She still squatted against the tree, glad of its support. Help me, Father Oak, she prayed, silently. I'm drifting into dangerous dreams again. "Old One?" she added, out loud. "I don't look a bit like Brian, like that Liam creature. I don't look like a Neandertal."
"Neither do I, love. Neither do I. Old Ones show sexual dimorphism. Men are big and hairy; women are small and smooth. Goes for humans, too. We're crossbreeds. Hybrids. I guarantee you have the Blood. Otherwise Liam and my beloved brother wouldn't be sniffing around you. I use the phrase literally. You have an effect on them like doe urine on a buck in rut."
Brother. "You and Brian. He's light. You're dark. Not just size."
"Different mothers, love. Same father. Kind of a hit-and-run man, if you know what I mean. It's an old family trait. You didn't find yourself behaving a bit odd, last night?"
Maureen blushed so hard she imagined steam rising from her cap. Odd was a polite way of putting it.
"It's called a glamour, love. My darling brother was tampering with your head. I don't think he did any permanent damage, but you have been warned."
Maureen felt her blush fade into white rage. She bounced to her feet. Her fists started to clench, and she jerked her right hand out of her pocket before she did something with the pistol and blew a hole in her jacket.
I'll flat-ass kill that bastard!
Besides, Fiona could probably hex the cartridges, just like Liam. It was time to buy a switchblade, or find Granny’s old hatpin. She focused her anger. "What the hell do they want with me? Don't you have women in this goddamned Summer Country?"
Fiona shook her head. "Hybrids, love. Hybrids. You don't breed mules to mules, to get more mules. There aren't many of us, and most of us are sterile. I'm not. You're not. You write it on the wind. Believe me, dear, it gives you a lot of power. You can make a
