Its primary talent was scaring the hell out of social conservatives. It was an old school bus painted in Day-Glo colors—really bright fluorescents—and given the name of Furthur. «
› So Kesey was some kind of warlock? ‹
» No, just a gifted writer. But I suppose his magic bus started the cultural revolution of the sixties, so that’s pretty powerful magic. The Pranksters would give away acid for free to whoever wanted it in an effort to shake people out of their dreary lives of conformity. Acid was legal then. «
› Wait, you never told me what acid was. ‹
» It’s the street name for LSD. «
› I thought the street name for that was Mormon. ‹
» No, that’s LDS. LSD is a drug, and they called it acid because the full name was lysergic acid diethylamide. «
› That sounds like it comes with lots of side effects. ‹
» Fewer than most prescriptions nowadays, « I said, applying a sudsy sponge to Oberon’s back. » But back to the Pranksters. They dressed in Day-Glo colors too, tie-dyes and funky hats, and all had really cool nicknames like Mountain Girl, Gretchen Fetchin, and Wavy Gravy. «
› Wavy Gravy? Seriously? ‹
» Every word is true or I am the son of a goat. « I had him now.
› Wow! That’s the coolest name I have ever heard in my life! What did Wavy Gravy do? ‹
So I told Oberon all about Wavy Gravy and the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Tests, the origin of the Grateful Dead, the entire hippie scene, and the moral imperative to Stick It to the Man. I made sure he understood that Mr. Semerdjian was the Man and we had been sticking it to him really good so far. He came out of the bath all clean and ready to put on a tie-dye shirt with a peace sign on it.
As Oberon paraded around our living room spreading peace and gravy (Gravy is Love, he explained), my subconscious chose that moment to allow a bubble of memory to boil up to the surface: Did Mr. Semerdjian really say he had a rocket-propelled grenade in his garage?
I didn’t think those were available at gun shows, so I put it on my list of things to investigate, then hit the pillow, grateful to have survived another day.
Chapter 7
I made sure to make a proper breakfast in the morning, since I would be off fighting demons: a fluffy omelet stuffed with feta cheese, diced tomatoes, and spinach (sprinkled with Tabasco), complemented by toast spread with orange marmalade, and a hot mug of shade-grown Fair Trade organic coffee.
Having slept on it, I decided that the only thing to do about the Bacchants was to make somebody else get rid of them. It would cost me—perhaps dearly—but I’d live through it and so would Granuaile. I’d considered using wooden weapons, or perhaps bronze or glass ones, but, regardless of weaponry, I’d still have twelve or so insanely strong women to defeat and no defense against catching their madness.
It was time to work the phones. First I called Gunnar Magnusson, alpha of the Tempe Pack and head of Magnusson and Hauk, the law firm that represented me. Werewolves wouldn’t be affected by the Bacchants’ magic. He received me coldly and rebuffed me in short order.
» My pack will not be getting involved in your territorial pissing match, « he said. » If you have legal matters to attend to, then by all means call upon Hal or Leif. But do not think of my pack as your personal squad of supernatural mercenaries to call on every time you get into trouble. «
Clearly he’d been stewing over the aftermath of our battle with Aenghus Óg and Malina’s coven. Two pack members had died that night in an effort to rescue Hal and Oberon. There was no use arguing with him in such a mood, so I simply said, » I beg your pardon. May harmony find you. «
It seemed I had plenty of fences to mend with my lawyers. It would be futile to call Leif; for one thing he was hiding from the sun at this time of day, and for another he’d want me to go after Thor in exchange for his help with the Bacchants.
Though I
› So Kesey was some kind of warlock? ‹
» No, just a gifted writer. But I suppose his magic bus started the cultural revolution of the sixties, so that’s pretty powerful magic. The Pranksters would give away acid for free to whoever wanted it in an effort to shake people out of their dreary lives of conformity. Acid was legal then. «
› Wait, you never told me what acid was. ‹
» It’s the street name for LSD. «
› I thought the street name for that was Mormon. ‹
» No, that’s LDS. LSD is a drug, and they called it acid because the full name was lysergic acid diethylamide. «
› That sounds like it comes with lots of side effects. ‹
» Fewer than most prescriptions nowadays, « I said, applying a sudsy sponge to Oberon’s back. » But back to the Pranksters. They dressed in Day-Glo colors too, tie-dyes and funky hats, and all had really cool nicknames like Mountain Girl, Gretchen Fetchin, and Wavy Gravy. «
› Wavy Gravy? Seriously? ‹
» Every word is true or I am the son of a goat. « I had him now.
› Wow! That’s the coolest name I have ever heard in my life! What did Wavy Gravy do? ‹
So I told Oberon all about Wavy Gravy and the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Tests, the origin of the Grateful Dead, the entire hippie scene, and the moral imperative to Stick It to the Man. I made sure he understood that Mr. Semerdjian was the Man and we had been sticking it to him really good so far. He came out of the bath all clean and ready to put on a tie-dye shirt with a peace sign on it.
As Oberon paraded around our living room spreading peace and gravy (Gravy is Love, he explained), my subconscious chose that moment to allow a bubble of memory to boil up to the surface: Did Mr. Semerdjian really say he had a rocket-propelled grenade in his garage?
I didn’t think those were available at gun shows, so I put it on my list of things to investigate, then hit the pillow, grateful to have survived another day.
Chapter 7
I made sure to make a proper breakfast in the morning, since I would be off fighting demons: a fluffy omelet stuffed with feta cheese, diced tomatoes, and spinach (sprinkled with Tabasco), complemented by toast spread with orange marmalade, and a hot mug of shade-grown Fair Trade organic coffee.
Having slept on it, I decided that the only thing to do about the Bacchants was to make somebody else get rid of them. It would cost me—perhaps dearly—but I’d live through it and so would Granuaile. I’d considered using wooden weapons, or perhaps bronze or glass ones, but, regardless of weaponry, I’d still have twelve or so insanely strong women to defeat and no defense against catching their madness.
It was time to work the phones. First I called Gunnar Magnusson, alpha of the Tempe Pack and head of Magnusson and Hauk, the law firm that represented me. Werewolves wouldn’t be affected by the Bacchants’ magic. He received me coldly and rebuffed me in short order.
» My pack will not be getting involved in your territorial pissing match, « he said. » If you have legal matters to attend to, then by all means call upon Hal or Leif. But do not think of my pack as your personal squad of supernatural mercenaries to call on every time you get into trouble. «
Clearly he’d been stewing over the aftermath of our battle with Aenghus Óg and Malina’s coven. Two pack members had died that night in an effort to rescue Hal and Oberon. There was no use arguing with him in such a mood, so I simply said, » I beg your pardon. May harmony find you. «
It seemed I had plenty of fences to mend with my lawyers. It would be futile to call Leif; for one thing he was hiding from the sun at this time of day, and for another he’d want me to go after Thor in exchange for his help with the Bacchants.
Though I
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