Finn Finnegan by Darby Karchut

breakfast.

Fourteen
    â€œBut why?” Finn stood in the middle of the kitchen, breakfast forgotten on the table. He glared at his master’s back. “It’s not like I’m going to tell him what I am and start waving my knife around. I’m not stupid, you know.” His voice rose in frustration.
    â€œWhat part of ye’re-not-to-associate-with-mortals are ye not understanding?” Gideon slammed his thick mug into the sink and turned around. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared down at the boy. “Look, ye want friends. And that’s all well and fine. As long as they’re our kind.” He pushed a dirty skillet aside, then leaned back against the counter. “What about Asher?”
    â€œAsher?” Finn made a face. “He’s a jerk.”
    Gideon raised an eyebrow. “‘Tis a bit rude.”
    â€œI could be ruder,” Finn mumbled. “And anyway, Rafe’s cool. This summer, he got to visit his grandfather in—”
    â€œNo, Finn.”
    â€œOh, come on, Gideon! What’s the big deal if I hang out with him once in awhile?”
    Gideon’s face darkened. Ignoring the question, he snatched a piece of paper off the counter and held it out. “Here’s a list of chores and drills ye’re to do whilst I pay a visit to Mac Roth and speak with him about—”
    â€œYou’re not even listening to me!” Finn shoved a kitchen chair against the table with a bang, rattling the leftover dishes. Anger swelled in his chest. He found it hard to breathe.
    â€œI am listening to ye. Ye wish to befriend a mortal. And the Steels are decent folk. But the answer is still bleedin’ no!” The Knight took a calming breath and threw the sheet of paper on the table as he brushed past Finn. “I want these chores completed by the time I get back at one o’clock,” he said over his shoulder as he left.
    Finn snatched up the list and crumpled it into a ball. His mouth twisted with frustration as he hurled it across the kitchen. Whirling around, he stormed out the back door.
    Stalking across the yard, he headed to the punching bag hanging from a tree limb in the far corner. With a growl, he attacked it with his fists, trying to empty himself of the rage. Pummeling the bag, he focused on his hands striking the leather, relishing the shocks traveling up his arms and into his body. He grunted with each dull smack .
    After a few minutes, he slowed down, panting, as his mind drifted back to that evening a week ago, when Gideon had first installed the bag. Finn remembered how his master had showed him the correct rhythm of boxing and the proper balance of feet and fists. Ye might not always have a blade, boyo, so learning a bit of hand-to-hand fighting technique may come in handy . Taking a deep breath, Finn flexed his hands, shaking them out as he stepped back and watched the bag swing to and fro. As his fury drained away, he heard Gideon’s voice inside his head. And. Finn? When yer anger becomes too much, I want ye out here, pummeling this bag. We’ll see if we can’t channel some of that emotion into something more productive. Like boxing exercises .
    As he stood there, Finn listened to Gideon’s truck shuddering to life, the engine protesting as it backed out of their driveway and then drove away. Guess I should go pick up that stupid list and get busy . “I wonder who did all the work around here before I came?” he grumbled aloud. Licking smarting knuckles, he blew on them as he ambled toward the house. He slipped inside the kitchen and glanced at the table.
    The crumpled list rested amongst the dishes, smoothed open. Finn walked over and looked at it. 4. Practice boxing for fifteen minutes was checked off.

    Shoving the pile of dirty clothes under his bed, Finn glanced around his bedroom. Good enough . He froze at the faint sound of voices and the clang of the front gate opening and closing. He