Trapped

Gradually it became clear, the knots resolving into a shape. “It looks like it’s a horse,” I said.

“A horse! What kind? An Appaloosa? An Arabian?”

“A fast one.”

“Probably a red one. Chestnut coat, you know. Super gorgeous.”

“Without doubt,” I said, and continued my work as Granuaile’s eyes lost focus and she dreamed of running faster than she ever could as a human.

The next day began her predator stripe. It was a particularly dark one, requiring lots of ink and time. “I’m not sure what this is yet, but it’s going to be a dark coat,” I said, and that kept her guessing for the rest of the day. It wasn’t until the day after that I could discern with any certainty what the creature represented.

“Huh. It’s a black cat,” I said.

“A black cat?” Mild outrage colored her tone.

“A big one. Not a kitty cat. Won’t know if you’re a leopard or a jaguar until you shift.”

“Oh! That’s better, then.”

“I’ll say. It’s pretty badass.”

“What about a panther?”

“Black panthers are really black leopards. They’re not a different species. It’s just a recessive gene for melanism and a bizarre reluctance on the part of human beings to say the words black leopard.”

“Hmm. What an interesting choice.”

“Gaia wants you to be dangerous in the dark, I suppose. Your flying tattoo will probably leave room for guessing as well. It’s tough to differentiate species from these stylized knots.”

“I’m not going to be a mosquito or something like that, am I?”

“No. Druids are usually one of the larger birds. Gaia never puts you very far down the food chain.”

Once her flying stripe was finished, I could tell Granuaile would be a raptor of some kind, but whether hawk or falcon or eagle I did not know. She wasn’t going to be an owl like me.

Granuaile’s aquatic form was probably her weakest; it was a sea lion, and while she would be desperately cute, she wouldn’t have the manual dexterity I had as a sea otter. She’d be a far better swimmer, however.

It took another week and a half to finish her forearm, which would allow her to shift planes, and the circle on the back of her hand, which would give her control over her own healing. On the last day in mid-afternoon, she sat up to watch me complete the circle, her hand in mine, doing her best to hold back any noises that would betray how thrilled she was. I was pretty thrilled too; I’d healed fully by then and looked like my old self, with the exception of two months’ beard growth.

When I inked the final bit and Gaia’s glow faded from my sight and from hers, she looked at me expectantly, beaming with excitement.

“Congratulations, Granuaile MacTiernan,” I said. “You are the first new Druid on this earth in more than a thousand years.” I grinned at her, relieved that it was finally over, and she laughed with wonder and a good measure of her own relief.

I laughed with her and then watched as a strange demolition took place on her expression, as if someone had struck out the supports of the scaffolding holding up her smile. Her lower lip trembled and she sniffled. “I can’t believe it’s finally done,” she said, examining the back of her right hand and wiping away tears with the heel of her left. “Twelve long years.”

“Oh, nonsense. They flew by!” I said.

“Yeah, whatever.” She sniffed one final time and wiped her cheeks free of tears. Her grin returned, but this time it was mischievous. “So this means you’re not my sensei anymore?”

“That’s what it means.”

“Right. Well, I’ve waited long enough.” She grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled me to her mouth. “Come here.”

I went there.

Chapter 21

<Okay, for the record, what you’re doing is nothing like dogs barking, and I object to the whole bow- chicka-bow-wow meme in principle.>

Oberon, please. This is not the time.

<This is the perfect time! It’s the first time you and Granuaile have participated in this bow-chicka-bow- wow behavior.>

It’s not meant to mimic dogs barking! It’s mocking seventies’ funk music heard in pornographic videos, specifically the bass line. May we have some privacy, please?

<What? You want me to go away?>

Well, just don’t stare at us! I didn’t sit and watch and make comments while you were with Fifi, did I, talking about givin’ the dog a bone and such?

<Fine. But human mating habits are stupid.>

Chapter 22

We did stop eventually, but only because Oberon threatened to chew off his leg as the sun set for the third time since we’d begun. <I’m desperately bored of being a watchdog, especially since I have to watch you two be grody together.>

Now, hold on! First, you didn’t have to watch, because I specifically suggested that you not do so, and, second, it wasn’t grody. It was the stuff Al Green sings about.

<You were the one who told me that proverb thingie: “Grody is in the eye of the beholder.”>

No, Oberon, that was beauty.

<Whatever. It works for grody too.>

Nothing could ruin my mood right then, so I laughed and admitted he had a point.

How about a hunt, Oberon? Would that suit you?

My hound put his nose in the air. <That depends. What are we hunting?>

Anything you want. Anywhere you want. Granuaile needs to practice shifting planes and shifting shapes.

<I want to hunt dik-diks.>

All right. Tanzania, here we come!

While Granuaile was now a full Druid, she still needed some coaching and practice on what had been theory until this point. She’d memorized the words and the forms of the knotwork admirably, but because we’d been so … busy lately, she had yet to cast anything.

We thanked Pyrenees for his hospitality and help before we shifted to eastern Africa. Granuaile and I both placed our hands on a tethered tree, and I showed her amongst the myriad trees where to shift in Tír na nÓg.

“You go first. We’ll be right behind you.”

“What if I get lost?”

“You won’t. I’m going to follow wherever you go.”

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and shifted.

<She’s going to be talking to me soon, isn’t she?> Oberon said.

Yep. Very soon.

<Well, before our conversation gets put on speakerphone, I want you to know that you’re my favorite human.>

Aww, thanks, Oberon—