protection of cold iron, Oberon had not stopped, and now he had the man flat on his back, screaming. I tried to call him off, but it was no use with Flidais binding him to her will; I could not even feel his mental presence as I normally could.
» Flidais! Release my hound now! « I snapped, and the man’s screams stopped. But it was already too late. Without ceremony, without any dramatic growls or shivering violins, my hound had torn out the poor man’s throat.
Oberon’s thoughts returned and a flood of questions filled my mind. › Atticus? What happened? I taste blood. Who is this man? Where am I? I thought we were supposed to be hunting sheep. I didn’t do this, did I? ‹
Step away from him and I’ll explain in a moment , I said. When one has seen as much death as Flidais and I have, there are no expressions of disbelief at a person’s sudden end. There is no gibbering, no wailing, no tearing of hair. There is only a cool assessment of the consequences. But if the consequences are dire, then a display of emotion is allowed.
» That was not necessary! « I shouted, but carefully kept my eyes on the corpse. » We could have disarmed him. His death will cause me and my hound much trouble. «
» I do not see how, « Flidais replied. » We can simply dispose of the body. «
» That is not so simple as it used to be. They will find it eventually, and when they do, they will find canine DNA in the wounds. «
» You speak of the mortals? « the huntress asked.
What does one do when one needs to pray to the gods for patience but a god is causing the need for patience? » Yes, the mortals! « I spat.
» What is this DNA you speak of? «
I ground my teeth and heard the short yips of Coyote on the thin desert air. He was laughing at me.
» Never mind. «
» I think it well he is dead, Druid. He shot me and tried to shoot you. And he also surprised me, which should not have been possible. «
I had to admit that piqued my curiosity. I stepped closer to the body and warned Oberon off.
› Atticus? ‹ he practically whined. › Are you angry with me? ‹
No, Oberon , I said. You didn’t do this. Flidais did. She used your teeth as a weapon, just as she would use a knife or her bow .
He whined in earnest. › I feel terrible. Sick. Auggh! ‹ He coughed and hacked, vomiting onto the dry, rocky soil.
I crouched down to take a closer look at the ranger. He was a young Latino with a wispy mustache and a pair of thick lips. His aura was already gone, his soul traveling elsewhere, but when I used one of my charms to check out the magical spectrum, I saw traces of Druidry in a diamond stud in his left ear. That set off alarms.
I rose and gestured at the man. » Flidais, his earring is magical. Can you determine its purpose, or perhaps its origin? « Its origin was clear to me, but the knots in these particular bindings were unfamiliar. My query was a sort of test: If Flidais confirmed their Druidic origin and even recognized their purpose, she was not playing double. If she tried to tell me it was Voudoun, however, or something else completely different, then she was on some other side than mine. Flidais’s boots crunched toward me, her trophy ram and wounded arm forgotten. She squatted next to the ranger’s head and examined the earring. » Ah, yes, I recognize these bindings. It’s not the sort of thing the lesser Fae can do. This man was under the control of the Tuatha Dé. «
» That is enough for me, « I said, satisfied she was telling the truth. » I’m sure it was Aenghus Óg himself. He gave the man a cloaking spell and then broke it abruptly as he was about to speak, ensuring our surprise and the man’s death. It is the sort of puppetry Aenghus enjoys. « I did not mention that Flidais seemed to enjoy it too. I felt like joining Oberon in a nice, cathartic vomit, utterly repulsed by these beings who robbed creatures of their own free will.
I had looked up Aenghus Óg on the Internet once to see if the
» Flidais! Release my hound now! « I snapped, and the man’s screams stopped. But it was already too late. Without ceremony, without any dramatic growls or shivering violins, my hound had torn out the poor man’s throat.
Oberon’s thoughts returned and a flood of questions filled my mind. › Atticus? What happened? I taste blood. Who is this man? Where am I? I thought we were supposed to be hunting sheep. I didn’t do this, did I? ‹
Step away from him and I’ll explain in a moment , I said. When one has seen as much death as Flidais and I have, there are no expressions of disbelief at a person’s sudden end. There is no gibbering, no wailing, no tearing of hair. There is only a cool assessment of the consequences. But if the consequences are dire, then a display of emotion is allowed.
» That was not necessary! « I shouted, but carefully kept my eyes on the corpse. » We could have disarmed him. His death will cause me and my hound much trouble. «
» I do not see how, « Flidais replied. » We can simply dispose of the body. «
» That is not so simple as it used to be. They will find it eventually, and when they do, they will find canine DNA in the wounds. «
» You speak of the mortals? « the huntress asked.
What does one do when one needs to pray to the gods for patience but a god is causing the need for patience? » Yes, the mortals! « I spat.
» What is this DNA you speak of? «
I ground my teeth and heard the short yips of Coyote on the thin desert air. He was laughing at me.
» Never mind. «
» I think it well he is dead, Druid. He shot me and tried to shoot you. And he also surprised me, which should not have been possible. «
I had to admit that piqued my curiosity. I stepped closer to the body and warned Oberon off.
› Atticus? ‹ he practically whined. › Are you angry with me? ‹
No, Oberon , I said. You didn’t do this. Flidais did. She used your teeth as a weapon, just as she would use a knife or her bow .
He whined in earnest. › I feel terrible. Sick. Auggh! ‹ He coughed and hacked, vomiting onto the dry, rocky soil.
I crouched down to take a closer look at the ranger. He was a young Latino with a wispy mustache and a pair of thick lips. His aura was already gone, his soul traveling elsewhere, but when I used one of my charms to check out the magical spectrum, I saw traces of Druidry in a diamond stud in his left ear. That set off alarms.
I rose and gestured at the man. » Flidais, his earring is magical. Can you determine its purpose, or perhaps its origin? « Its origin was clear to me, but the knots in these particular bindings were unfamiliar. My query was a sort of test: If Flidais confirmed their Druidic origin and even recognized their purpose, she was not playing double. If she tried to tell me it was Voudoun, however, or something else completely different, then she was on some other side than mine. Flidais’s boots crunched toward me, her trophy ram and wounded arm forgotten. She squatted next to the ranger’s head and examined the earring. » Ah, yes, I recognize these bindings. It’s not the sort of thing the lesser Fae can do. This man was under the control of the Tuatha Dé. «
» That is enough for me, « I said, satisfied she was telling the truth. » I’m sure it was Aenghus Óg himself. He gave the man a cloaking spell and then broke it abruptly as he was about to speak, ensuring our surprise and the man’s death. It is the sort of puppetry Aenghus enjoys. « I did not mention that Flidais seemed to enjoy it too. I felt like joining Oberon in a nice, cathartic vomit, utterly repulsed by these beings who robbed creatures of their own free will.
I had looked up Aenghus Óg on the Internet once to see if the
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