by Kevin Hearne
I interrupted before he could go any further. “Granuaile, call Hal right now please and ask about the possibility of suing this man for continuing treatment after I have refused it.”
“Now, hold on, that’s just—”
“The American way,” I finished for him. “It’s no fun having lawyers on retainer unless you can use them on people. So what’s it gonna be, Doc? Do you want to call my lawyers and get paid, or should I call my lawyers and sue you?”
Abruptly, I was too much trouble to deal with. He clenched his fists and exhaled noisily, then turned to the nurses. “The patient has refused our care. Get him ready to check out.” He flicked his gaze to Granuaile and said, “Miss, if you will follow me and give me that payment information, we’ll settle the paperwork.”
“Certainly,” she said, and this time when she pulled away I let her go. The nurses loomed over me and began tearing off those monitor things and removing the IV. They didn’t speak to me. I didn’t rate bedside manners, because I’d gotten pissy with the doctor.
“Where are my clothes?” I said. After I asked the question, it occurred to me that perhaps I didn’t have any. I doubted they’d delivered me to the hospital soaked in blood, or else I would have had the police to deal with on top of the doctor. Still, the nurse on my right gestured to a small nightstand in the corner with a heinous plastic lamp on top of it. As soon as I was free of their tentacular monitoring apparatus, I sat up and swung my legs over the bedside. There I paused; I was still light-headed and weak from blood loss. No doubt they had pumped some replacement fluid in, but it wasn’t enough. No matter; I’d heal well enough once I could get outside and away from this clinical gray box of death.
I pushed myself forward and rose cautiously to my feet. A draft from the aft signaled that my dressing gown was open, but I didn’t care. The nurses could take shots with their camera phones and upload them to their Flickr stream for all I cared, just so long as my face wasn’t in it.
A wave of dizziness rolled over me when I took a step, but it was one of those gentle rocking swells and not a thirty-foot-tall fist of Poseidon. I could do this. I shuffled over carefully and leaned against the nightstand for support as I opened the drawer. Then I nearly fell over when Granuaile spoke from behind me.
“Nom nom nom!” she said.
I looked around for the cookies she must be referring to and then realized, belatedly, that the room was bereft of delicious baked goods. The only thing on display was my backside, and apparently she thought it looked tasty. I blushed and retrieved the folded set of clothes, then turned around so that the hospital gown could afford me a shred of modesty. The nurses exited silently and I asked Granuaile if the doctor was satisfied.
“He’s pissed and Hal wants you to call him, but, yeah, we’re clear to go. You need some help getting dressed?”
She knew I’d say no. Her mouth was quirked up to one side and she was quite clearly teasing me.
“I’ll manage, thanks,” I said. I held up the jeans. “Did you put these in here?”
“Yep. You’re welcome.”
“Thanks.” I pulled out a mostly white shirt with uncertain ambitions about achieving a pale green. It looked a bit more designer than I was used to. “Where’d you get this?”
“Flagstaff actually has some decent shops,” she said. “I noticed you liked henley shirts, so I found you one in ‘creamy dill.’ ”
“What? Are you making that up? Sounds like a salad dressing. A vaguely pornographic one.”
“It’s the fab new color, Atticus. All the Irish Druids will be wearing it today.” She grinned at me impishly.
I tossed my head significantly at the door and said, “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”
She spun on her heel, hands on hips, and sashayed slowly out of the room, allowing me to check her out too. I couldn’t figure out what she was up to. Didn’t we talk last night in Granny’s Closet about the need to stop flirting? Was she defying me? Or was this not flirting at all but an attempt to lighten my rather grim mood? I pushed the matter out of my mind, because I had to get to Oberon.
I leaned against the bed for support as I tugged on the pair of jeans, then pulled on my creamy-dill shirt with a small shudder. There was a pair of sandals for my feet. Once I slipped into these, I made my shaky way to the door, where Granuaile was waiting, beaming her best smile at the frowning nurses. I draped an arm around her shoulders.
“I’m not quite steady yet. Help me get out of here?”
“Sure, sensei.”
I was proud of myself. I only drifted to the left and stumbled twice on the way out. And I didn’t run my fingers through her hair even once.
Outside, a couple of trees and a decorative expanse of sod surrounded a sign that said FLAGSTAFF MEDICAL CENTER. The grass felt so good underneath my feet, cool and welcoming, and the touch of Gaia’s strength was soft and warm as it replenished me.
“Ahh.” A smile of relief spread across my face. “Granuaile, you have no idea how awful it is to be so cut off from the earth once you’re bound to it.”
“That was less than a day, Atticus. Surely you’ve gone longer than that.”
“Oh, yes. Prison sucked more than a little bit.”
“What? How did anyone ever manage to imprison you?”
“They caught me in a hospital like this, drained of magic. Aenghus Óg sent a succubus after me in Italy, and she nearly got me, because, you know, damn, she was fine. Long story short, I had to hack her up with Fragarach in a crowded plaza, and Italians, gods bless ’em, tend to object when people slice up hot women. I was already running low on the cobblestones, not enough juice left to cast camouflage, and then I had a mob after me and they beat me up pretty good. The polizia saved me from getting killed and took me to the hospital to heal up before they beat a confession out of me. They marched me from my hospital bed to their car and straight into a concrete cell.”
“Where was Fragarach during this time?”
“I let the polizia take it from me.”
“No way!”
“It was a calculated risk. They weren’t under the control of Aenghus Óg, like Fagles was, and the ironic thing about being locked away from the earth is that the Fae couldn’t find me. They had no idea where I was.”
“What about your necklace?”
“That was more troublesome. They did their best to take it, but it’s bound to me and not dependent on power to stay there. They cut the chain to try to remove it that way, but that didn’t work either; the amulet and the charms all remained around my neck. So I was a very suspicious lad. After about a week they took me out to this dusty courtyard to get some exercise, and once I got my shoes off that was all I needed. I filled up my bear charm and camouflaged myself, went ninja and stole back Fragarach from their evidence room, then walked out. Haven’t been back to Italy since.”
A mischievous grin played at the corners of Granuaile’s mouth. “What was your name at that time?”
“I am wanted there under the name of Luigi Fittipaldi. Very dangerous man but assumed to be much older now. This was back in the early seventies.”
“Did you wear those wingtip collars and everything?”
“Well, you know, I always try to blend in.…”
She laughed. “That’s fabulous. All recharged?”
“Yeah,” I said, and followed her to where the new SUV was parked. “Thank you, by the way, for watching over Oberon and me. I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”
“You’re welcome, sensei. We going straight to the vet’s?”
“No, we have a couple of stops to make first.”
We drove to the Winter Sun Trading Company on San Francisco Street to pick up some necessary herbs, and once I’d blended them and bound them properly, we scooted south of the railroad tracks to Macy’s European coffeehouse on Beaver Street to pick up some hot water for tea and one of their famous San Francisco cappuccinos. I made a large cup of modified Immortali-Tea for Oberon — altered to accelerate heal
ing — and, after one more quick stop at a grocery store, we were ready to visit the vet.
Said vet appraised me accusingly, clearly thinking I must be at least partially responsible for Oberon’s condition. Her name was Dr. April Flores, and I wished we could have met under better circumstances. She was very sharp and I would have enjoyed talking to her about more pleasant things than wounded doggies.
“Your dog is lucky to be alive,” she said. “I haven’t seen trauma like this before. What was he doing attacking a bear anyway?”
I glanced at Granuaile and she shrugged apologetically. It was the best cover story she could come up with, but I thought it was at least somewhat plausible. Except that neither of us looked like we’d been attacked by a bear, so Oberon could hardly have been indulging a protective instinct. And encounters with bears in northern Arizona, while not unheard of, were rather infrequent. Dr. Flores was having trouble swallowing the story, and I didn’t blame her. But it was more believable than the truth.
“Dogs will be dogs,” I said, a meaningless phrase that nevertheless allowed me to avoid lying. I’m not normally averse to lying, but since Dr. Flores was a nice person who clearly loved animals, I was trying to avoid accumulating any more guilt ferrets.
Dr. Flores frowned, fully aware that I hadn’t answered her, but led us to a room in her clinic. “He won’t be able to move for some time. I have the bones set, but those will take a while to heal, especially his shoulder. He also has a punctured lung and a bruised spleen.”
She opened the door and I saw Oberon lying on a table on his left side. His exposed right side was shaved and bandaged; he looked awful. But he saw me and his tail began thumping against the table.
“Hi, buddy. Good to see you.” I entered the room and squatted down so I was eye level with him, putting a paper sack and the tea on the floor underneath his head, just beyond the edge of the table. His eyes followed my hands as they disappeared from his view and then came back up to scratch his head gently. Granuaile and the vet began to murmur behind me about recovery time, but I blocked them out and gave all my attention to Oberon.
Maybe a little something for you.
Former animal, now deceased.
You will have to judge for yourself.
I need to have you drink some tea first.
Maybe smellier than usual.
I snorted and then remembered I wasn’t alone in the room. I looked back at Granuaile and Dr. Flores. “May I have a few minutes with him, please?” I asked.
“Don’t move him,” the veterinarian said. Her eyes dropped down to the bag and added, “And no food.”
“Right,” I said, smiling in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. Granuaile smirked as she exited, knowing full well that I planned to ignore those instructions. Once they were gone, I searched for and found a bowl to pour the tea in.
I need you to drink this, Oberon, I said as I filled the bowl. All of it. It’s important. You’ll get better quicker. How do you feel?
I’m sorry, Oberon, but you have to drink it all.
I have andouille sausage in the bag for you when you’re finished.
Oberon began to lap up the tea with more gusto.
Good. I’m so sorry you got hurt, Oberon. That’s not what I wanted.
That started a tear rolling down my cheek. And I didn’t, because of you. You saved my life. Thank you.
Oh, most definitely. You were at negative sixteen, I believe? Well, now I owe you sixteen sausages.
What kind do you want, buddy? You name it, I’ll go get it. Keep drinking.
The ones you made up a song about?
Oh. I think it went like this:
A Scotsman often is a bore
But he sure can cook a boar
This is now my favorite store
I can’t wait to eat some more
Boar sausages!
Oberon finished the tea and I put the bowl down on the floor. How do you feel now? I asked him.
he replied.
I mean physically, Oberon.
That sounds about right. I couldn’t give you much in the way of pain relief, because I don’t know what the vet is going to be doing. But you’re going to be healing now much faster than the vet will expect. Now that your bones are set, you’ll be better in a few days rather than a few weeks, and that pain is going to be all gone.
Yes, he is. Thanks to you, I was able to unbind him and then the ghouls ate what was left. But, look, Leif is no longer our friend. He set that vampire on me and put both you and Granuaile in danger.
Yep. He betrayed us and went to the dark side. So if you smell him or any other vampire coming, you let me know, okay?
I picked up the bag and pulled out an andouille sausage for him, and he whined softly.
You have to take it easy right now, I explained as I fed it to him. The doctor probably has you pumped full of pharmaceuticals and you really shouldn’t have anything.
Can’t help it. You’re the best hound ever.
Oberon’s tail thumped a few times and his mouth partially opened, seeming to smile at me.
Chapter 22
I didn’t want to leave Oberon, but there was nothing more I could do for him for a few days; he simply needed time to heal. In the interim, there was plenty for me to do in Kayenta, and I’d promised I’d be back today. The last thing I needed was to give Coyote an excuse to mess with me because I wasn’t holding up my end of the deal.
Before we got out of range of the cell phone towers in Flagstaff, I put in a call to Magnusson and Hauk as we drove north on Highway 89. Hal didn’t want to believe that Leif had set Zdenik on me. His growly voice crackled on the phone, but his skepticism came through clearly.
“That doesn’t sound consistent with his character,” he said.
“He doesn’t have the same character anymore, Hal. Not since he came back from Asgard. Or maybe he’s been playing us all for fools the whole time. That’s possible too.”
“So now he thinks he can retake the state for his own again?”
“That’s what he told Granuaile. But he charmed her first to make sure she’d tell me.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Be
lieve it. Has he been in to the offices?”
“No, he’s been away on leave since he left for Asgard.”
“Well, I tenderly suggest you turn that into permanent leave, and when it comes to my records, he’s no longer my attorney, okay? I don’t want him to have access to my files at all, and I’m telling you right now that if I see him again he’s going to die for real. You can tell him I said so. I’m sorry I ever put him back together in the first place!”
“You know, I have excellent hearing, Atticus.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you, Hal. I’m just angry.”
“You’re not hunting him now, are you?”
“No, I have other pressing business, but Leif needs to stay out of my way forever.”
“All right, send me a signed letter firing him to make it legal in case he makes a fuss, but I’ll close your files now. Thanks for letting me know; I’ll alert the Pack to watch out for him.”
Granuaile drove in silence for a few minutes after I hung up, letting me have a good sulk as I stared out the passenger side window, but eventually she spoke up.
“I’ve never seen you like this, so you’re going to have to coach me a bit,” she said. “Do you want me to let you brood in silence, or would it help for you to talk about it?”
“Huh. You know, I haven’t had anyone to talk to in so long, it didn’t occur to me. Sorry.”
“It’s kind of scary to think of what you consider to be a long time. How long are we talking about?”
“I’ve been drifting around for centuries since my wife died.”
Granuaile took her eyes off the road briefly to study my face. “I was wondering about that. I thought you must have tied the knot at some point.”
“I’ve tied the knot many times, in one way or another,” I explained. “Aenghus Óg chased me away from many of my relationships — I came to believe that it was his punishment for me; he’d let me stay somewhere long enough to love someone and then he’d bring the pain. Maybe my falling in love was a way for him to find me, since that particular emotion was his demesne. Just when I thought I’d lost him for a while, he’d find me again, and then my choice was to stay, fight, and possibly lose everything, or run and abandon the people I’d come to love. I always ran, always lived in the present, because my future was never guaranteed. That made me a terrible husband and a worse father. But one marriage lasted a very long time, and Aenghus Óg wasn’t the one to end it. I was married for more than two hundred years to a woman in Africa named Tahirah. We had many beautiful children, and I got to see them grow up and have children of their own. Only grandchildren I’ve ever seen.”