Darkthunder's Way by Tom Deitz Read Free Book Online Page A

Things have Power because you give them Power. And anything that is beautiful has Power.”
    In reply, David threw down the sodden sweatshirt he’d been carrying and commenced prying at his sneakers—then hesitated. He swam here often, skinny-dipping with Alec or his other MacTyrie Gang buddies; he wasn’t particularly shy or modest, nor had any reason to be. But suddenly the idea of undressing in front of Fionchadd gave him pause.
    His companion, however, had no such inhibitions. Before David knew it, he was out of his tunic, his breeches, the small bit of fabric underneath.
    Though he had seen the Faery naked before, David could not resist a surreptitious glimpse at him. Exposed, the differences between the races were clearer: in proportion, in thickness of bone, in smoothness of contours. The Faery’s body was also blemish-free: no moles, no freckles, no scars nor random hair.
    Fionchadd caught him peeking and returned the stare more frankly as David finished stripping. David blushed furiously and dove into the water.
    A second splash was the Faery.
    They swam a lap or two, then David flopped over and floated, moving only enough to keep his head above water, while Fionchadd paddled lazily beside him. David closed his eyes, gave himself over to the magic of the place: the glitter of sunlight, the call of birds, the susurration of falling water that was surely the earth’s first music…
    And then music of another kind; real music, and fast approaching; harmonica it sounded like. Abruptly he recognized the tune: Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy,” of all things. “Oh, crap, Finno,” he “whispered, “you better hide. Somebody’s coming!”
    The merest tremor shook Fionchadd’s body. “It is too late for that; eyes have touched me already—but I will do what I can.”
    “I’d appreciate it.” David scrambled toward the bank.
    He was not fast enough. A bare instant later a figure emerged from the deep shadows of the forest and passed into the lesser gloom at its edge. David’s breath caught. At first he thought it another of the Sidhe, for something about the way the stranger moved, something about the way he carried himself reminded David of that immortal race. But then the visitor stepped full into the light and David knew he had been mistaken.
    It was a boy roughly his own age, though somewhat taller and good bit more muscular. He was dressed in worn blue jeans, purposeful-looking hiking boots, and a red T-shirt emblazoned with a white falcon at dive. An immense blue backpack towered above his head, and thick black hair hung from under a beaded headband to sprawl across his brawny shoulder, setting off the reddish cast of his skin. He looked, in short, a very great deal like an Indian.
    The boy started toward the pool then paused, squinted into the long afternoon shadows. His eyes brushed David, who had retreated to the deeper water in the middle, and he started. “Sorry, guys,” he shouted quickly in a Southern accent David could not place more specifically. “Didn’t know anybody was up here!”
    David risked a furtive glance at Fionchadd who was hanging back even further, then looked back at the intruder, startled to see the boy’s eyes also dart toward the Faery and linger there—he’d expected Fionchadd to shapeshift or make himself invisible, or something, but evidently his efforts had gone awry. “No problem,” he called back, as he slipped as close to the edge as modesty permitted; fortunately the pool was fairly deep at that corner, so he could stand waist deep and still make himself heard above the sound of rushing water. “I was just coolin’ off a little.”
    The stranger crossed the remaining distance and squatted on the edge. A leather thong hung around his neck, and there was a small bulge between his pecs: probably some kind of pouch—which made sense, if David’s suspicions were accurate.
    “Just saw the damnedest thing,” the boy allowed. David’s heart flip-flopped, as a