The Firehills Read Online Free Page A

and
tattered floral fabric. She had her mother’s way of sitting, legs tucked
beneath her, very self-contained and still. She watched him as he lowered himself gingerly onto a sagging sofa. To avoid her
gaze, Sam looked around the room. The walls bore a bold floral pattern in gold
and burgundy, though much of this was mercifully hidden by a mosaic of old
prints in illmatched frames. Local scenes rubbed shoulders with gilded
paintings of saints and lurid pictures of women dancing in stone circles. Sam
even saw the face of the Green Man, over in one corner, his ancient amber eyes
gazing out from a mask of foliage.
    When he looked back to Charly, she was still studying him.
    “How are you really?” she asked. “You look . . .
different.”
    Sam looked down at the violent colors of the carpet. When
he looked up, there was a sad smile on his face.
    “I think that’s about the right word— different.” He sighed. “I’m OK, really. It’s
just been a bit strange, adjusting.”
    “I can imagine.”
    “Can you?” Sam’s eyes flashed. “Can you really?”
    “OK! Don’t get so worked up! Just trying to be
sympathetic.”
    “Sorry.” Sam looked sheepish. “How about you?”
    “Oh, I’m fine. Very well, in fact.” Charly smiled.
    “What? Why are you looking so smug?”
    “I’ve just been initiated.”
    Sam looked blank. “Oh. Initiated, huh? Well, that must
be . . . nice.”
    “You haven’t got a clue what that means, have you?” snapped Charly in irritation. “Sam, you’re so lame
sometimes!”
    “Sorry,” said Sam, looking bemused. “It’s
something important, then?”
    “Yes. It’s the first step toward becoming a practicing
Wiccan. I’ve had to study for ages, all the rituals and responses and things.
It’s not even supposed to have happened yet. I’m too young, really. But
after what went on last year, with the Malifex and everything, Mrs. P. thought
I ought to, well, jump ahead.”
    “Right.” Sam nodded, trying to look suitably
impressed. “Well, um, congratulations, then.”
    “Thank you.”
    Silence fell.
    “How’s Amergin?” asked Sam eventually.
    “He’s fine. He’s settling in very well—almost too
well.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “He’s, I dunno, not very ‘wizardy’ anymore.”
    “Is there such a word as wizardy?” Sam asked with a
smile.
    “Is now.” Charly stuck her tongue out. “At first,
Mum and he used to spend all their time talking about magic and history and
folklore, but after a while, Amergin got more and more interested in, well, modern things. Television, mostly. Now he spends
most of his time watching Star Trek and bouncing up and down on the couch.”
    Sam smiled at the mental image.
    “It’s not funny! He thinks most of what he sees is
real. Independence Day was on the other week, you
know, with the flying saucers invading Earth? He started running round
collecting canned food and telling us to go down into the cellar!”
    Sam started to giggle, and the door opened.
    “Amergin!” he shouted, jumping to his feet.
    “Sam, my boy!” replied the wizard, grabbing hold of
him and thumping him vigorously on the back. They separated and stood for a
moment, grinning foolishly at each other.
    “You look well, my friend,” said Amergin.
    “You look . . . bigger,” replied Sam. “Around the
middle.”
    Amergin glanced down. “Hrrrmph, yes. Megan has been
looking after me. Come. She told me to collect your luggage and show you to
your room.”

    ‡

    The shopping mall was silent. The hordes of daytrippers
had returned home, and those tourists who were staying in hotels and
guesthouses had not yet emerged to begin their nightly round of pubs and clubs.
In the yellow sodium glare of a streetlight, the litter swirled and danced for
a moment, and there was Finnvarr, Lord of the Sidhe, striding through the still
night. Behind him came the Lady Una, seeming to float on air as the train of
her black wedding dress rustled through the discarded burger