by Kevin Hearne
“It wasn’t made by a demon, but, yes, it serves a similar function,” I replied, trying my best to sound nonchalant. All this time my Scary Witch-O-Meter had been traveling further and further into the red. The phrase crafted by a demon sent it all the way over to the right so that the arrow was pointing only a degree or two above the x axis. But I asked myself, Why stop there? Let’s ask her a really scary question. “Tell me about getting a new body. How do you propose to do that?”
“In the past I just took them, but now I adhere to a higher moral standard.”
“Took them? I beg your pardon, did you mean live ones or dead ones?”
“Whatever was available and attractive at the time.”
“So the body at the bottom of the sea—that wasn’t the body you were born with?”
“Of course not! I am not knowing of a way to make bodies last for hundreds of years.”
“Of course not.” I smiled and shook my head. “Stupid question, sorry.” The dial on the Scary Witch-O-Meter was now maxed out. If I told her I had figured out how to make my body last thousands of years with a special tea blend, would she eat my brain? Had she heard me tell Granuaile about my knowledge of Airmid’s herblore? “But forgive my ignorance on this issue—when you took a living body, what happened to the soul that was in it at the time?”
“This is the question that has puzzled humanity for centuries.”
“You mean you killed them?”
“I allowed them to move on in the cycle of birth and rebirth.”
I struggled to contain my disgust at her actions and her callous rationale for them. I don’t think I was entirely successful; I saw the beginnings of a frown on her face as she registered how I was taking it. “How do you know they moved on?” I asked. “If you shoved their souls out of their bodies rather than allowing them to die, they may still be wandering the earth as unhoused spirits.”
“That may be true. And believe me, I now know it was terribly wrong of me. I have had plenty of time to dwell on my actions over the past 160 years, and I saw how I preyed on innocent people as I was preyed upon by those Chinese sailors. It was karma coming back to me, and I know it was only a fraction of the atonement I must make for my centuries of sin.”
“Would you say that your time in the ruby was a large fraction of the atonement you need to make, or do you still have a long way to go?”
Laksha raised Granuaile’s eyebrows in surprise and then frowned at the question. “I think you are doubting my good intentions,” she said.
“Given the very brief history you’ve shared with me, I think I’m taking it remarkably well. You’ve achieved a kind of immortality through some really evil body-snatching process, and you consort with demons.”
“Consort!” Laksha looked aggrieved at that accusation. Really evil body-snatching she was okay with, apparently. But then I remembered that Flidais had accused me of consorting with vampires not so long ago, and my reaction was similar to Laksha’s. That’s what I hate about the Vedic concept of karma: Once somebody starts talking about it, I start noticing it.
“All right, I take it back,” I said, waving my hands in frustration. I didn’t want to get sidetracked here. “That word has too much baggage and I shouldn’t have used it, because I hate it too. My point is that your acquaintance with demons and evil magic makes it difficult for me to trust you now and somewhat reluctant to help you. I hope you will forgive my frankness, but I prefer speaking plainly.”
Laksha gave a tight grin and nodded her head once. “I respect that very much. I, too, prefer to speak plainly. So let me make something very clear: I could have taken Granuaile’s body forcibly, as I used to do in days past. It would have been easier to do it that way. And if I wanted to, I could leave her at any time and jump into the body of anyone on the street or anyone sitting at the bar. But I do not wish to behave that way any longer, and that is why I asked her permission to share her body for a time, and she agreed. That is why I am trying to get my necklace back through cooperation and mutual benefit, rather than aggressive and selfish means. I am trying now to enrich the world with my gifts rather than spread chaos and ruin.”
“Truly? And what will happen to Radomila if I help you?”
“Karma. It happens to everyone eventually.”
I let that one slide. “How will you find another body to live in?”
“Granuaile has suggested to me that we visit a hospital where there are people deep in comas or in persistent vegetative states. Bodies that are still alive but whose spirits have already left them. Perhaps I can make use of them, reawaken the brain to a functional level. I have learned much about brains over the years.”
My cell phone beeped at me and I silenced it. “And what if these bodies have spirits still tethered to them, however tenuously?”
“I would ask those spirits if they wanted my help to return to consciousness. There will be many who wish for that. I will help them if I can, then return to Granuaile and try again. Eventually, I will find one without a spirit or one that wishes to pass on. Then I may occupy that body without further staining my soul.”
“So the immediate future for you works like this—please correct me if I’m wrong: I agree to take on Granuaile as an apprentice and help you make karma happen to Radomila. Then, necklace in hand, you go to a hospital and find a new body to inhabit. Is that right?”
“That is correct.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem to me that I’m getting much out of this scenario.”
“I am ridding you of Radomila. She is a thorn in your side, yes?”
“But she is also a thorn in yours. Counting something you want to do for yourself as something you’re doing for me is an accounting trick decidedly skewed in your favor.”
“All right.” She grinned. “I will concede that. What do you want?”
“You see this sword I have strapped to my back? It’s a very powerful magical item.”
“Is it? I had not noticed. May I see it?”
I carefully pulled the scabbard over my head and laid it down on the bar. I withdrew the hilt just enough to show a handbreadth of steel. Laksha studied it, Granuaile’s eyebrows furrowing, and after a moment looked up at me quizzically.
“There is a spell on this that will prevent it from being removed from your person, but otherwise it appears to be a normal sword to me.”
That was pretty good. She could not only sense my bindings but also determine their intent. “Precisely. That is because Radomila has placed a magical cloak on it. I want you to remove it, if you can.” I could remove it at any time with my tears—or so Radomila claimed, but I didn’t really trust her word anymore—and I wanted to see what Laksha could do. Those last three words guaranteed she would do it if she could. She didn’t want to admit that Radomila was a better witch than she was.
“Ah, now I know what to look for. Just a minute.” She bent to study the sword again, stretched out a hand toward the hilt, then stopped and looked up. “May I?” I nodded and she continued. She lifted up the hilt from the bar and peered closely at the base of it. That evidently was not enough; she closed her eyes and then drew it toward her forehead, resting it there for about five seconds. Then the mask of concentration broke and she smiled, placing the hilt back on the bar.
“Magical cloaks have to be fastened to the object, just like a normal cloak must be fastened about one’s neck. The most logical place to do that on a sword would be at the base of the hilt, and that is what she has done. She did a very good job; the cloak overlaps and there is almost no magical leakage at all. What did you have to pay her for such a service?”
“Well, I went to Mendocino to fetch her a certain necklace.”
Laksha threw Granuaile’s head back and laughed. It was not a reassuring one.
“You gave her my necklace in exchange for this cloak! I think she got the better of you in that bargain!”
“Well, she is going to get her karma soon, isn’t she?”
Laksha nodded. “Ye
s, she will.”
“Can you remove her cloak?”
“Yes. It is the work of ten minutes.”
“Excellent. There is one more small service I shall require of you to feel myself duly compensated in our exchange of favors.”
The amused countenance on Granuaile’s face turned suddenly businesslike. “One more. Name it.”
“When this is over—when you have your necklace back and a new body to live in—you will live east of the Mississippi and never enter Arizona again without informing me first.”
She narrowed Granuaile’s eyes at me. “May I ask why?”
“Certainly,” I said. “I have a healthy respect for your abilities, Laksha Kulasekaran. And I applaud your resolution to live cleanly and even do good works from this day forth. I especially appreciate the consideration you have shown to Granuaile to this point—and to me. But in the unlikely event you should again … traffic … with demons, I would prefer that it be someone else’s problem, far, far away.”
She regarded me steadily, and I thought briefly it was going to become an Ancient Geezer Staring Contest, but she dropped her eyes and nodded before it could be construed as a challenge. “Done,” she said. “Contact Granuaile when you wish to dispel this cloak. It will require some preparation and some privacy. Contact her also when it is time to go after Radomila.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Granuaile’s head lolled to the side as if she were chronically narcoleptic, and then it bobbed back up again with the native owner’s personality back in charge.
“Hi, Atticus!” she said, beaming. “Need another drink yet?”
I looked at my glass, still half full, and quickly downed it. “Yep,” I said, plopping the glass down a bit sloppily. “Good to have you back. I missed you.” I took a deep breath and exhaled as the whiskey did its work, burning the tension away. She filled me up again and told me she’d be back after another round of visits to the rest of her customers.
I never got to enjoy that last whiskey, because that’s when Gunnar Magnusson, alpha male of the Tempe Pack, came barging into Rúla Búla with most of his werewolves behind him—including Dr. Snorri Jodursson.
“Where’s Hal?” he snarled at me.
“He left almost an hour ago,” I said.
“Something’s wrong,” Magnusson said. “Have you checked your phone lately?”
“No,” I admitted, then remembered it beeping at me in the middle of my conversation with Laksha. I pulled it out of my pocket and checked the display. It was from Emily, the youngest of the Sisters of the Three Auroras. The text read, “I have your lawyer and your little dog, too! Bring the sword to me or they both die. Emily.”
It had been a long time since I’d felt any desire to truly inflict pain upon another person. I tend to take the long view on dealing with irritating people—as in, I’m going to outlive whoever irritates me, so the problem will eventually go away. I had privately changed “This, too, shall pass” into “You, too, shall die,” and it helped me avoid all sorts of conflict. I can honestly say I had not felt such anger thrumming in my bones since World War II, but that text managed to bring all the old rage rushing back.
She dognaps my friend, holds him for ransom, and makes Wizard of Oz jokes?
Gods Below, I hate witches.
Chapter 21
I showed the text to Magnusson, unable to summon anything coherent to say. He grunted at the message, and passed the phone back to me. I could see the other werewolves bristle as he communicated the message to them through their mental link.
“Will you call her for me, please,” Magnusson said, struggling mightily to control his anger, “and discover where they are holding Hal? He was unconscious for a time, and now he’s awake but they have him blindfolded and he cannot say where he is.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Please remain quiet during the call so she will not know you are listening.” Werewolves would have no trouble hearing everything she said.
Magnusson confined himself to a curt nod, and I punched in the number indicated from the text.
“It took you long enough,” Emily purred at me after a single ring. “Maybe your dog doesn’t mean as much to you as we thought.”
“Prove to me he is still alive,” I ground out. “I will not talk to you any further without that.”
“I will have your lawyer confirm it,” she said. “Hold on.” There was a pause, some rustling and snarling, and then I heard Emily telling Hal to tell me he was okay.
“Atticus,” he gasped at me, strain evident in his voice. “I see half the coven in the woods somewhere.” There was a thud and a snarl, and I heard Emily in the distance shouting at him to just tell me the dog was fine, nothing more. “We’re tied up to trees. Silver chains. Oberon is unharmed so far.”
“That’s enough!” Emily yelled. She returned the phone to her mouth and I heard a couple of whines from Oberon. He was still alive.
“In the eastern Superstition Mountains, take the Haunted Canyon trail to Tony Cabin,” she said. “On some maps it’s called Tony Ranch—same thing. Come alone after dark. Bring the sword. We will bring the dog and the wolf.”
“If either of them is harmed, I will bring the sword into contact with your neck, and damn the consequences,” my voice rasped into the phone. “Do you understand me, witch? You are bound to me by your own blood. If you kill them, you can be sure that I—along with Hal’s pack—will hunt you down. You have no idea what is coming after you now.”
“Don’t I? I suppose I will just have to ask my friend Aenghus Óg. I’m sure he’ll let me know what manner of worm you are.”
“Ask yourself this, witch: If I am a worm to him, why hasn’t he crushed me in the last two thousand years? And why does he feel the need to ally himself with your coven if I am so easily dealt with?”
“Two thousand years?” Emily said.
“Two thousand years?” Magnusson said.
Whoops! This is why I don’t like to get angry. It makes you reveal things you would rather keep secret. Still, I couldn’t let Emily know that she had scored any kind of coup by getting a fairly accurate estimate of my age, so I used it as a hammer.
“That’s right, lassie, you’re completely fucked. The only chance you have of surviving this night is bringing me my friends healthy and happy.” I hung up before she could reply.
“You’re not going out there alone,” Magnusson said immediately. He had of course heard every word.
“I was rather counting on you to come along,” I replied.
“They’ve put the sack back over his head,” Magnusson said, “but we saw six witches through the link before they did. Your hound is with them. And Hal smelled someone else there too, but didn’t see who it was.”
“What did it smell like?”
Magnusson’s eyes rolled up as he recalled it and put words to it. “Oak and bear fur and … wet feathers. Some kind of bird.”
“That would be a swan,” I said. “It’s one of Aenghus Óg’s animal forms.”
“Who is this Aenghus Óg?”
“Long story,” I said. “The short version is this: He’s a god, and he’ll have some demons with him on top of the witches. I’ll tell you more on the drive out there. Bottom line is we’re in for one hell of a scrap. But we might be able to bring along someone they’re not expecting.”
“Who?”
I turned my head to find the redheaded siren pulling a pint of Guinness for an older gentleman down the bar. “Granuaile!” I called as I pulled out my wallet to pay the bill. “I will accept you as my apprentice if you will have me as your master. Do you still wish to become an initiate?”
“Very much!” She nodded and grinned at me as she placed the pint in front of the customer.
“Then tell your manager you quit, effective immediately,” I said. “I will be your employer from now on. We need to leave now, though, so make it quick.”
Her eyes flicked to the werewolves standing around behind me, crowded into the
foyer of the pub.
“Something has happened, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, it has, and we need your friend right away,” I said, tapping the side of my head to make it clear I was speaking of Laksha. “This is both her chance and yours, but we have to go now.”
“Okay,” she said, beaming as she jogged back to the kitchen entrance to slap open the swinging door. “Hey, Liam! I quit!” Then she vaulted herself onto the bar, swung her legs around, and hopped off between a couple of stools.
“Attagirl,” an elderly gentleman said, raising his pint in salute.
We left the place en masse before Liam, whoever he was, could properly register that he had just lost a damn fine bartender.
The lot of us piled into various souped-up werewolf cars parked across from the light rail station, and then we drove south on Mill to University. We took a right, and from there took a left on Roosevelt, winding up in front of the widow’s house.
I promptly set them all, except Granuaile and Gunnar, to trimming the widow’s grapefruit tree and weeding her flower bed. Since the Tempe police were still staking out my house and I had a pack of werewolves on the verge of going all hairy, it seemed like the best way to keep my promise to the widow and keep the Pack walking around on two legs.
While the widow was happily occupied admiring impossibly fit men and women grooming her landscape, I retired to the backyard with Gunnar and Granuaile.
“Please have Laksha remove the cloak on this now,” I said to Granuaile as I placed Fragarach in her hands and dispelled the binding that kept it close to me. “And you,” I said to Gunnar, “make sure she doesn’t take off with my sword.”
Granuaile’s eyes bugged. “You think Laksha would do that?”
“No,” I said. “But I’ve been wrong before, and I’m just paranoid, okay?”
The alpha male scowled at me. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to get something out of my house,” I said. “I’ll probably be back in less than ten minutes. If I’m not, send someone to check.”