The Iron Druid Chronicles 6-Book Bundle
Page 161
“How do we up the stakes?”
“We’ll figure it out in England. The Morrigan saw a way out for us there, but damn if I know what it is. Until we’re there, all we can do is buy time, and I just bought us a bit more. Let’s keep running.”
“Yes, let’s.” Granuaile’s eyes dropped down from my face and landed on Diana’s head, whereupon she gasped. “Atticus, wait. Is Diana, you know, still with us?”
“What?” I peered at Diana and saw that she was slack-jawed. She’d never struck me as the mouth-breathing type, and even if she was, there was no way she could breathe at the moment. Turning my body so that my back was to Granuaile—and therefore to Artemis—I untucked the head from my arm and held it in both hands.
Diana’s eyes were closed and her mouth hung open. I lightly slapped one cheek to see if I got a reaction, even reflexive. Nothing. I shut her jaw and it fell back open.
Being careful to continue speaking Old Irish, I asked over my shoulder, “How is your goddess doing?”
“She’s fine. I mean, she looks more than a little angry, but she’s alive. Yours?”
“Well, we may have a problem.” I cast magical sight and saw that the white glow of Diana’s power was gone. So was her entire aura. She appeared to be truly dead. “Hold up your head for me?” I asked. I craned my neck around and saw that Artemis still shone with energy. “Okay, thanks.”
Diana had none of that anymore, and it dawned on me that my cold iron aura must have slowly snuffed out the magic that was keeping her alive. It hadn’t been quick, like the nearly instant disintegration of faeries when they touched me, but a gradual process that required prolonged contact. The question that worried me was whether she was forever done or if she would be able to begin anew at Olympus, an idea of virtue and ambrosia made flesh. Had I unwittingly turned her mortal, in other words, or was she only mostly dead?
The longer I lingered there the greater chance that a divine observer would figure out what happened—if they didn’t know already. Thinking back to his reaction before he flew away, Mercury might have figured it out. I hoped not. It would be best if the Olympians didn’t know I could do this.
Tucking her head back under my arm as if nothing had changed, I said, “Let’s go, but you run a bit ahead. I don’t want Artemis to see what happened.”
Granuaile resumed running but called over her shoulder, “Is she toast?”
“Tough to say. I think we’ll get some kind of reaction from Olympus soon. If they come for Artemis, bust her head before you let them have it.”
“Ugh. Seems wrong somehow.”
“You mean now that she’s helpless? It’s not murder if you can’t kill her. It’s more like redistributing her consciousness. Only other gods can kill them.”
“Unless you just did it.”
“Right. Aside from cutting off her head, though, I didn’t really mean to kill her.”
Granuaile laughed. “You know I’m on your side, but to an objective listener, that sounds like a less than convincing argument.”
“I know. We’ll have to wait and see.”
As we crossed into Belgium and wove a sinuous path through farms and villages and around cities, occasionally earning a honk from a driver who spotted us along a rural road, storm clouds gathered overhead, darkening the Belgian morning commute.
“Hmm. I think Zeus and Jupiter have received our message. We can expect their reply shortly.”
“What do you think they’ll say?”
“I don’t think they’ll say anything.”
“Then how is it a reply?”
Two thunderbolts lanced down from the clouds above and struck us. Our fulgurite talismans provided protection, but the sentiment was unmistakable.
“That’s their reply,” I said, and it was nothing more than I expected. But what followed was completely unexpected.
Neither head popped up helpfully and allowed the messenger gods to scoop them up on the fly. They dropped at our feet, merely dislodged, and tumbled along as we slowed to pick them back up. We couldn’t let Hermes and Mercury escape with the heads intact; for one thing, they’d find out for sure what had happened to Diana. For another, they’d be able to put Artemis back together fairly quickly and then she’d be only an hour or so behind us. I was already carrying Fragarach in my right hand, so it was a simple matter to shuck it out of its scabbard and halve Diana’s head before Mercury could circle around to pick it up. It was not so simple for Granuaile, however, to take care of Artemis. Hermes was a bit quicker on his second pass—or else the head had rolled a bit farther from her feet—and it was all Granuaile could do to fight him off with her staff and prevent him from picking it up. She was probably thirty yards ahead, and if I went to help we’d have Mercury trying to get involved too. I had to keep my eyes on him or else he would doubtless take advantage when my back was turned. His cursing in Latin certainly indicated he’d like nothing more.
Oberon, wanna play fetch?
Good, I said, returning my eyes to Mercury, now bring her over here and drop her at my feet.
Both Hermes and Mercury tried to intercept Oberon by flying over us, but we backpedaled and Oberon dodged the one pass they had at him. He dropped Artemis at my feet, and I ended it with a wet chunky sound. The Olympians roared in outrage.
“Oh, stop,” I said. “They’ll be fine again before the day is through and you know it. If Zeus and Jupiter would come talk to me we wouldn’t have to go through this.”
They didn’t answer and neither did they attack. Coming after the heads in an attempt to restore the huntresses was one thing, but striking at us and involving themselves in the hunt would violate the terms Odin had outlined earlier. They floated above us, quaking with the desire to show us what an airstrike truly meant, but we simply set ourselves and waited, saying nothing as the storm clouds boiled overhead. Eventually they flew back south toward Olympus and our tense muscles could relax.
Chapter 16
There was no rest for us in Belgium. We stopped only once, and it wasn’t for food, which prevented me from investigating a modern mystery: What do people in Belgium call Belgian waffles? Our Waffles, perhaps, or maybe National Breakfast Pastries? It remains for me an inscrutable conundrum. And so it goes for Belgian chocolate and Belgian witbier. I had spent very little time in Belgium since its rise to international fame for delicious foodstuffs. I supposed I would have to use the modern fallback position and Google it.
The reason for our pause was Hugin and Munin, who flew in to give us an update from the all-Odin all-the-time news channel.
Munin pointed at Hugin, indicating the raven with which I was to bond. Odin’s speech filled my head like Oberon’s did, though it was still a bit odd staring at a raven instead of his one-eyed visage.
The Álfar took out thirty dark elves? Oh. Well, they’re very welcome. I’ll send them some fine Irish whiskey as soon as possible, if you’ll be so kind as to deliver it to them. Because if someone saves you from a potentially life-threatening fight, you owe them booze. It’s a rule that transcends time and cultures.
“Shenanigans.”
“Yes, that’s it,” Odin said. “Shenanigans.”
My aquatic form was a sea otter, and Granuaile could shape-shift into a sea lion. While we could swim the channel like that and Oberon could dog paddle, we weren’t going to kick a lot of ass if the Olympian sea gods got involved. And I could see already how they would rationalize what they were doing; if we were eaten by sharks, well, that happened all the time. It wasn’t direct interference in the hunt.
Though I’d already determined it would be unwise, I asked anyway to see what Odin would say: Can’t we just take the Eurostar train underneath the channel and avoid all that?
He knew very well I wouldn’t do that. What about Artemis and Diana? Any word on them?
I breathed a private sigh of relief—and not just for the extra time. I was glad Diana hadn’t died a true death, for if she had, there would have been no possibility of a negotiated peace between us.
Odin added,
Yes, well, I’m sure they found it less so. Listen, Odin, I need a favor if you can manage it. Get word to Manannan Mac Lir of the Tuatha Dé Danann what’s been happening—and Flidais too, I guess. We need some Irish help to get across the channel, because we don’t have anything that can skate us past Poseidon and Neptune, and we’ll probably need Flidais to help us in the UK after that.
The raven squawked at me, and Odin’s voice said,
I know, and I said it’s a favor. I sensed that Odin wasn’t opposed to helping me, but I’d failed to throw a sufficient sop to his ego first. Thanks to a meal I once shared with Odin and Frigg, I remembered that the Norse diet in Valhalla was quite restricted and unvarying, and Odin might be tempted with gustatory delights. In thanks for which, I’ll send you some Irish whiskey too, plus some Girl Scout Cookies. He could no doubt secure such items on his own if he truly wanted them, but things always taste better when they have the added flavor of contraband.
Done. As long as Manannan shows up and we survive.
What vampire situation?
I frowned. Only vampires? Didn’t they have human bodyguards?
“Interesting.”
I knew all about it. I’d asked Goibhniu to arrange the whole enterprise the last time we were in Tír na nÓg. The idea was to put a bounty on vampire heads, starting with the heart of their power in Rome, and let all the pods of mercenary yewmen know. I couldn’t have known it would work so well or that they’d coordinate and take out every vampire in the city, but I’d hoped for a significant disruption to the vampire chain of command. This sounded like a complete decapitation of their leaders—literally—and it might explain why we hadn’t seen any more vampires since the Polish border, as well as why Leif might be too busy to deliver his own messages. Odin didn’t need to know that, however. There was no telling who else he was talking to, and I didn’t need to have the mysterious puppet master in Tír na nÓg hearing about it and letting the vampires know that I was paying for their heads.
Nope, I said, not a thing beyond what you’ve told me. It certainly brings me joy to hear it, though.
It’s a happy coincidence, I agreed. Theophilus struck me as the sort who preferred to rule from the shadows and not get directly involved, but I bet he would either be required to rule himself now or expend all his efforts in putting some puppets in charge. One of those might be Leif. And I’m sure Leif would be figuring out how to turn the situation to his advantage, as would every other vampire.
Many thanks, Odin.
I shrugged as if it were nothing. He didn’t need to know that. How are the odds?
I broke the connection before I said something unforgivably rude.
Chapter 17
We arrived in Calais, France, around one in the afternoon. Timing and mental exhaustion required an interlude. We needed to give Odin time to find Manannan Mac Lir, and we had a comfortable lead on the huntresses, so we could afford to relax—or at least, not run—and have a decent meal before crossing the channel at night. We snuck into a clothier to grab some duds and walked out looking at least civilized if not fashionable. We also lifted six leather belts for later use. I took note of the name to make sure the establishment got paid later for what we took. Not trusting ourselves to nap briefly, we chose to remain awake and explore the city for a few hours. I kept my eyes peeled for possible enemies but tried to conceal my paranoia. We all studiously avoided talking of the immediate past or the future; we were both desperate, I think, for a thin slice of normalcy. I taught Granuaile a few French words here and there and taught Oberon that the food he wanted was called saucisse. We pulled off another meat heist in a café, but the food was rather pedestrian in Oberon’s view compared to what he’d had in Poland. It took the edge off our hunger until we could enjoy something later, however.
After sundown we walked to a spot near the channel and found a likely looking place to have dinner, called Le Grand Bleu. Before walking in, I asked Granuaile and Oberon to wait while I made arrangements. Casting camouflage on myself, I borrowed a cell phone from the purse of an unsuspecting teenager to call my attorney, Hal Hauk, back in Arizona. I walked a short distance behind her as I called; she missed the phone a bit quicker than I had hoped, due to an addictive need to check for texts or something every few minutes. Her cursing in French was entertaining, but I couldn’t appreciate its fluency once Hal answered his cell phone.
“Whoever you are, it’s four in the morning here,” he said without preamble. “This had better be good.”
“Hi, Hal!” I said, sounding as cheerful as possible. “It’s me, Atticus. On the run in France without ID or money. Need the money right away. Know anybody in Calais?”
Hal groaned. “You’re going to give
me a headache, aren’t you?” his gruff voice rumbled.
“Your kind don’t get headaches,” I reminded him. We stuck to vague words because it wouldn’t be wise to have terms like pack and werewolves bouncing around communications satellites.
“That doesn’t mean you aren’t one,” he said. “To answer your question, I believe there is someone nearby, yes.”
“Can someone meet us at a restaurant called Le Grand Bleu and drop a wad of euros in my hand and you wire them some reimbursement from one of my accounts?”
“Of course I can. But what sort of trouble are you in now?”
“Everyone’s trying to kill me. So far they’ve only managed to do it once.”
“What?”
“The good news is that Granuaile is now a full Druid.”
“That’s great, but who’s after you?”
I couldn’t very well tell him plainly without making eavesdroppers raise a red flag, so I improvised a toupee for the bald truth. “Well, I’m running from several different LARPing troupes.”
Hal caught on and said, “Of course. Which ones?”
“The Fae, the Svartálfar, all the vampires, and the Olympians. Plus Hel and Loki.”
Hal ignored everything except the last. “Loki! Loki is free in the world? LARPing, I mean?”
“Well, to some extent, yeah. The backstory for his role is that he busted out of his binding a few months ago, but he’s been napping for much of that time, trying to heal up a bit after centuries of scarring and sleep deprivation. I’ve been able to distract him from the business of Ragnarok with one shenanigan or another, and right now he’s under the control of Malina’s coven in Poland. Oh, and before I forget, do you remember that cabin in Colorado I had you buy for me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I need you to buy a case of fifteen-year-old Redbreast whiskey and somehow get your hands on a gross of Samoas and put them in the cabin right away. Send Greta to do it or something.”