Hounded

Chapter 18

I awoke in the morning remarkably refreshed but with urgent pressure on my bladder. After relieving myself on the oak tree—out of sight of the few people strolling through the park—I took a deep breath, and it felt remarkably good. I twirled my arms experimentally and felt no tightness in my chest, and I smiled. The earth was so good to me, so giving and so kind.

I retrieved my cell phone and powered it on, checking the time: It was ten a.m., plenty of time to make it to Rúla Búla. I pulled down my clothes, dressed, slung Fragarach across my back, and dispelled the camouflage, walking plainly in the world again. My bear charm was fully charged and I felt completely restored, albeit dreadfully thirsty and a bit esurient.

I had messages from the Tempe Police Department, at first requesting and then demanding that I contact them immediately, as well as messages from Hal, Snorri, and Perry.

Hal just wanted me to know that Oberon was a bottomless pit, and while my dog had been very careful with his car’s upholstery and he appreciated it, the blasted canine had destroyed his citrus air freshener for some unknown reason and left it in shreds all over his interior. All business matters he would tell me at Rúla Búla.

Snorri told me Hal had approved his medical report and thanked me in advance for paying his very large bill.

In a message time-stamped at nine-thirty, Perry called to tell me that the shop door had been successfully replaced. More important, a “totally hawt” blond woman named Malina had shown up at the shop to say Emily would not require her tea or my services further; the contract was considered fulfilled. Whoa. Did that mean the adorable couple of Aenghus and Emily had broken up? Or did it mean something else? And he also said she asked about a letter from a friend of hers; she wanted it back really badly but Perry couldn’t find it anywhere in the shop, though he looked.

Ah, Malina had tried to get Radomila’s blood back. I bet she used that hair charm on Perry and he turned the store upside down trying to find it for her. And now I wondered if Fagles and the gang had gone through the books in my study when they searched my house. If they had, they might have found the scrap of paper with Radomila’s blood on it … and that associate lawyer of Hal’s easily could have missed it or not known its significance.

Better to save such questions for Hal at Rúla Búla, I thought. I assumed my house and the shop would be watched, so I took a taxi instead to the widow MacDonagh’s house.

“Ah, Atticus, me lad!” The widow smiled a cheery greeting and raised her morning glass of whiskey at me from the porch. “What happened to yer bicycle that yer drivin’ up to me door in a taxi?”

“Well, Mrs. MacDonagh, I had myself one of the most hectic Sundays you could possibly imagine,” I said, seating myself in a rocking chair next to hers and sighing in satisfaction. That’s always a good thing to do with the widow: She likes to think that her front porch is the most welcoming and relaxing spot in the city. She might be right.

“Did y’now? Do tell, me boy.” She clinked the ice in her glass and eyed the level of liquid speculatively. “But first I’ll be gettin’ meself a refill, if y’wouldn’t mind sittin’ fer a spell.” She pushed herself up out of the chair with a couple of creaks and said, “Ye’ll be takin’ a glass with me, won’t ye? ’Tisn’t Sunday anymore, and I can’t imagine ye objectin’ to a cold handful of Tullamore Dew.”

“Ah, you’re right, Mrs. MacDonagh, I have no need to refuse, nor would I want to. A cold glass would be lovely.”

The widow’s face shone and her eyes began to fill as she looked down at me gratefully, tousling my hair as she made her way to the door. “Yer a fine lad, Atticus, drinkin’ whiskey with a widow on a Monday.”

“Not at all, Mrs. MacDonagh, not at all.” I really did enjoy her company. And I knew too well the loneliness that clamps around one’s heart when loved ones have passed on before. To have that companionship, the comfort of someone being at home for you for years, and then suddenly not to have it anymore—well, every day can seem darker after that, and the vise clutches tighter in your chest every night you spend in a lonely bed. Unless you find someone to spend some time with (and that time is sunlight, golden minutes when you forget you’re alone), that vise will eventually crush your heart. My deal with the Morrigan aside, it’s other people who have kept me alive so long—and I include Oberon in that. Other people in my life right now, who help me forget all the other people I have buried or lost: They are truly magic for me.

The widow returned with two glasses of whiskey on the rocks, humming an old Irish tune as she jiggled the ice around. She was happy.

“Now tell me, lad,” she said as she sank back into her chair, “what made yer Sunday so dreadful.”

I took a sip of the whiskey and enjoyed the burn of the alcohol and the chill of the ice. “At this point, Mrs. MacDonagh, I’m thinking I should have taken you up on your offer and gone to get baptized. Was the service properly mellow yesterday?”

The widow cackled and grinned at me. “So mellow I can’t even remember enough to tell ye what the father said. Right boring it was. But you,” she said, pronouncing the word carefully like an American and grinning, “had an exciting day?”

“Oh, aye. Got myself shot.”

“Shot?”

“Just a flesh wound.”

“Attaboy. Who shot ye?”

“A Tempe police detective.”

“Lord ha’ mercy, I saw something about that in the paper this mornin’! TEMPE DETECTIVE SHOT DEAD BY POLICE, it said, and a subhead said, Detective shot civilian without cause. But I didn’t read the whole thing.”

“Yep, that was me.”

“Well, I’ll be! Why did the daft fool shoot ye? It wasn’t because of y’killin’ that worthless Brit bastard, was it?”

“No, not at all,” I said. And so I whiled away a pleasant hour telling the widow just enough of the truth to entertain her yet keep her safe. Eventually I made my farewells, promised to trim that grapefruit tree soon, and walked over to Mill Avenue and thence north to Rúla Búla. I got some odd looks, and people gave me a wide berth when they saw the sword hilt peeking over my shoulder, but otherwise it was uneventful.

I got there a few minutes early and Hal wasn’t there yet, so I took a seat at the bar and grinned charmingly at Granuaile. Gods Below, but she was a vision! Her red hair was still curly and damp from a shower she must have taken right before coming to work. Her teeth flashed white at me for a moment, and then she sauntered over to me with a lopsided smirk on her face.

“I knew I shouldn’t have worried,” she said. “When I saw that article in the newspaper, I was thinking I might not see you for weeks. And now here you are, a supposed shooting victim, looking downright thirsty.”

“Oh, I’m a shooting victim all right,” I said. “I just heal fast.”

Granuaile’s expression abruptly changed. Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head to the side as she placed a bar napkin in front of me, and her voice became throatier as she spoke with a newfound accent: “Druids usually do.” With only three words to work with, all I could do was hazard a guess that the accent was from somewhere on the Indian subcontinent. Then, without much of a pause, the old Granuaile—the perky and beguiling barmaid—was back. “What’ll it be? A Smithwick’s?”

“What? How can you change gears like that? What did you just say to me?”

“I asked if you wanted a Smithwick’s,” she said, her face bemused.

“No, what you said before that.”

“I said you looked thirsty.”

“No, what did you say after that and before the Smithwick’s?”

“Um …” Granuaile’s eyes boggled at me uncertainly for a moment, and then comprehension dawned—at least, it did for her. “Oh, I know what happened. She must have talked to you. It’s about time. She’s been wanting to talk for weeks now.”

“What? Who? You can’t throw around pronouns like that without their antecedents if you want people to follow you.”

She smiled and then held up her hands. “Listen, you’re going to need a drink and time for a long story.”

“Well I’ll have a Smithwick’s, then, but I don’t have much time. I’m meeting my lawyer here in a few minutes.”

“Gonna sue them, eh?” She grinned as she went to pull a draught for me.

“Yes, I’m thinking that they deserve a nice lawsuit.”

“Okay then, maybe you can hang out for a little while afterward and I’ll let you talk to her again.” She placed the dark beer down on my napkin and smiled again. I melted inside and began to wonder if it was Granuaile that had this effect on me or whoever it was she had hitchhiking in her brain.

“You’ll let me? Seemed like whoever it was chose her own time to speak up and you didn’t have much say in the matter.”

“She doesn’t do that often,” Granuaile said, brushing off her temporary possession as a minor irritation, as if it were a mosquito bite. “Usually she’s very polite about leaving me in control.”

“A name. Give me a name. Who is she?”

Before she could answer, Hal and Oberon entered the pub, both of them greeting me loudly, though only Hal could be heard and seen by everyone else. Oberon was still in camouflage, but I could see flashes of color shimmering rapidly in the air—he must have been wagging his tail like mad. Someone was bound to notice if that kept up; it wasn’t as if Rúla Búla was empty during the lunch hour.

“Hi, Hal,” I waved, then switched mental gears for Oberon’s sake.

I’m glad to sort of see you too, buddy. Go hide under the table of an empty booth really quick before someone sees your tail wagging and wonders if they’ve had too much to drink. I’ll come pet you and get some sausages for lunch. Be careful not to run into anyone.

I told Granuaile we’d settle up later when I settled down for a nice long talk. She nodded and waved as I followed Hal to a booth where Oberon was waiting, his tail thumping loudly against the seat. People were looking around, wondering what was making the noise.

“By Odin’s beard, get that hound to calm down,” Hal growled.

“All right, I’m on it,” I said as we slid into the booth. I found Oberon’s head and began scratching him behind the ears.

Okay, buddy, you need to calm down. Your tail is giving you away.

I have a pretty good idea, believe me. And I appreciate your being good all that time. That’s why I’m getting you two orders of bangers and mash, but you need to chill out, because we’re starting to get unwanted attention.

I know, but we can’t right now. Back up and trap your tail against the wall—there. Now, did you behave perfectly while you stayed with Hal?

Aren’t you leaving something out? Hal told me you ripped up his air freshener.