The drunk men turned their attention to Callan, sneering at his intervention. “Mind your own business,” one of them slurred.
Callan placed a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Why don’t we all go our separate ways and enjoy the rest of the Faire in peace?”
The other man, emboldened by his companion’s hostility, took a step towards Callan. “You think you can tell us what to do? You’re outnumbered, and we’ll kick your ass.”
In a swift, fluid motion, Callan shifted his stance, and with a well-placed sweep of his leg, he sent the first man tumbling to the ground, his body hitting the dirt with a heavy thud. The second man, startled by the sudden display of skill, lunged at Callan, fists flailing wildly.
He deftly sidestepped the attack, using the man’s own momentum to send him sprawling face-first into the mud from the rain earlier, beside his companion. The boy watched in awe as Callan effortlessly subdued the two drunk men.
Meeting the boy’s wide eyes, Callan kept his voice low so others who had stopped to watch would not overhear, for he did not want to embarrass the lad. “Are you well, lad?”
The boy nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “That was wicked! Will you teach me how to do that?”
Callan chuckled, glancing at the groaning men on the ground.
“Perhaps another time. For now, let me show you a simple trick.” He guided the boy to one of the men, demonstrating how to properly flip an opponent onto their back. The kid listened intently, his earlier fear replaced by a newfound sense of confidence.
As the two men stumbled to their feet, pride wounded and their anger subdued, Callan fixed them with a scowl. “I trust you’ve learned your lesson. Now, off with ye.”
The men slunk away, disappearing into the crowd. Callan turned back to the boy.
“Remember, lad, violence should always be a last resort. But it’s wise to know how to defend yourself and to look after those who cannot fight back.”
As the boy trotted away, Callan watched him go, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Finished with her shift,Daisy walked through the Faire, looking for Callan, when she caught sight of him showing a pre-teen boy how to defend himself. She stopped, Frankie by her side, tail wagging, as they watched the interaction. Callan was magnificent, moving with the grace of a dancer.
While she didn’t believe his time traveling story, seeing the kindness he showed the boy and others made her heart flip.
When the boy ran off, Callan turned, face brightening when he caught sight of her.
The warm night air clung to her skin as she listened to the sounds of the Faire closing down for the night.
“Shall we go, lass?” Callan’s voice cut through her thoughts about the absurdity of time travel, his rumbly voice and Scottish accent that made her shiver.
They walked across the grounds to the parking lot reserved for the workers. They could have caught a shuttle to the car, but it was such a nice night that she was glad to stretch her legs and walk. When they entered the half-empty parking lot, dimly lit by the weak glow of the street lamps, shadows seemed to flow around the remaining cars, turning them into creepy shapes.
Daisy held tight to Callan’s arm, whistling for Frankie. The dog, nose buried in a scraggly bush at the edge of the pavement, perked up and trotted over.
Daisy’s fingers tightened around Frankie’s leash, the worn fabric rough against her skin. Her heart thumped faster, that sixth sense all women possess, warning her to be careful.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” she murmured, scanning the shadows.
Callan patted her hand reassuringly. “Dinna fash, we’re almost there.”
But then, as if summoned by her words, two figures detached themselves from the darkness. Hooded, their faces mere slivers of shadow, they stepped into a small pool of light cast by the streetlight above.
“Hand over your phones and your money,” one of them demanded, a knife in his hand.
Frankie growled low in his throat, but she held on to the leash, worried for him. “Easy, boy,” she whispered, her voice shaky.
Callan stepped in front of her, the breeze carrying the scent of sweaty man, warm wool, leather, and pine.
She held her breath, watching her hands shake, unable to stop it from happening.
“Leave now, lads, and I’ll nay knock yer teeth out,” Callan said, his tone conversational.
