Mendocino, and shape-shifted into a sea otter. This allowed me to retrieve an ornate golden necklace set with several large rubies, which were clutched in the hand of a buried skeleton she had stunningly accurate information on. She seemed mightily pleased to receive it, but even with two millennia of arcane knowledge in my head, I had no idea what it signified. That’s witches for you.
What sealed the deal for me was that the cloak wouldn’t come off without a generous donation of my tears. Those used to be almost impossible for me to summon, I admit, until I watched Field of Dreams. When Kevin Costner asks his dad at the end if he’d like to have a catch, I just completely lose my shit. Any guy who doesn’t is either in mixed company when he sees it or was blessed with an unusually sensitive father. I blubber and sob like a jilted girl every time I watch that scene, or even when I think about it. My dad would never have played catch with me-never mind that he’s been dead for more than two thousand years and baseball hadn’t been invented then. My dad’s idea of bonding was throwing me in the tar pits to teach me a lesson, though I’m not sure what the lesson was, except to stay the hell away from Da. So if I ever think of a reason why the cloak should come off, all I will have to do is think of Kevin Costner and his chance to have a moment of peace with his dad, and the tears will flow like mountain springs.
Bindings banished with a drop of blood pricked from my finger and a bit of spit, I unwrapped the oilskin carefully to reveal a finely tooled brown leather scabbard, above which rose a golden guard and a hilt wrapped in strips of ancient rawhide, the grain long worn away. The blade was not suffused with the watery swirls of cooled steel: It was merely straight and chiseled and deadly in its purpose.
A long leather strap attached to iron rings on the scabbard allowed me to sling the sword across my back, and I did so to serve as both a lure and promise of punishment to those who would take it from me. I drew it thinking I needed to inspect the blade, but in truth it was more to admire it. I knew already that it was pristine: There had been no water damage to the scabbard. The blade sung and sparkled in the sunlight, and I marveled again at the strength of the cloak. Even though I knew it was Fragarach in my hand, its weight and balance and familiar knotwork etchings on the blade greeting me like old friends, the pulse of magic I usually felt was absent. The Fir Bolgs would not believe I had Fragarach in hand until it cut through their armor and bones as if they were rice paper.
“Come to heel, Oberon,” I said aloud, as I sheathed Fragarach and rose. “Warn me of any approach, but do not attack unless I give you express permission.”
‹I’m coming to the shop with you?› he asked, his ears raised in query.
“Aye, you need to remain at my side until this business is finished. Do I need to remind you not to sniff my customers’ asses?”
‹You just did. And very subtly too, thank you very much.›
I chuckled. “I apologize if I have offended Oberon Khan. It is the stress of a death sentence that makes me speak without thinking.”
‹I will overlook it this time,› Oberon replied, his tail wagging in good humor.
“I am also going to cast camouflage on you,” I said, “so that if you remain still-no tail wagging, no panting-no one will see you. Even when you move, you will be difficult to see, but you will be practically invisible when still.”
‹Why do I need to be invisible?›
“Because after last night, people may come hunting you. And because if faeries come hunting me, I want you to take them by surprise.”
‹That’s not very sporting.›
“It is fine to be sporting when we hunt. It is ridiculous to be sporting in war, and often fatal.”
I cast the spell on him that binds one’s skin and hair pigments to the hues of the surroundings, and he shook as if he were wet.
‹Hey, that tickles,› he said.
“Good enough,” I replied. He trotted next to me as I pedaled to work, his nails clicking on the asphalt of the street. Following the noise, all one could see was a sort of heat mirage, just a wavy fluidity to the air.
The widow MacDonagh was already out on her porch with her morning whiskey, and she waved to me as I rode by.
“Will y’be comin’ by this afternoon, Atticus?” she called.
I quickly glanced at her lawn and saw that it was due to be mowed. Her grapefruit tree could use a trim as well.
“A bonny young lass like you need not ask a man twice,” I shouted back, hoping her ancient ears understood me. I gave a thumbs-up to reinforce the message, just in case.
When I got to the store, my only employee was already there. Saturday mornings were always busy and I needed the help. I switched to silent communication with Oberon as I opened the door. Go lie down behind my apothecary counter and keep your ears open.
‹Okay. What am I listening for, exactly?›
The approach of really heavy footsteps, the kind giants would make.
“Morning, Atticus,” a bass voice rumbled in gnarly cheerfulness.
“Good morning, Perry,” I replied. “You sound abnormally happy. People will be on to you if you don’t watch it.”
A tall man of twenty-two years smiled back at me with recently bleached teeth. Perry Thomas had dark hair fastidiously groomed to look carelessly mussed, rectangular glasses with thick black rims, and a silver labret stud nestled like a pearl in the hair of his soul patch. He also had large silver gauges in both ears and a pale complexion that seemed to be the primary accessory for all Goths. He was dressed entirely in black, of course, with a concert T-shirt of the psychobilly group Mad Marge and the Stonecutters, a studded belt, and skinny-leg jeans that blossomed at the bottom into full-blown Doc Martens. Perry failed to notice Oberon padding right between us to take his appointed spot behind the counter.
“Yeah, I’m supposed to be jaded and mournful that the sun is shining, aren’t I? Don’t worry, I’ll get into character once the store opens. Hey, cool sword.”
“Thanks.” I waited for him to ask me more about it, but Perry had apparently exhausted all he had to say on the subject. Young people can be so uncomplicated.
I glanced at the clock behind my counter. Five minutes to opening. “All right, give me a chance to get some tea brewing, then fire up the soundtrack and we’ll get going. I want both registers working today.” I had my apothecary counter and tea station on the east wall, immediately to the left, or south, of the store entrance. Wood shelves behind the counter held jars and little drawers of bagged herbs, many of which came from my backyard garden, and I had a couple of hot plates back there to heat kettles of water. There was a small fridge for milk, a sink, and some teacups always being washed and dried. I had a few packages of cookies and muffins for sale, but the lion’s share of my apothecary business was in medicinal teas and bulk herb sales. I’d built up a regular clientele amongst the local senior citizens, who came in for a proprietary blended tea that eased their arthritis and gave them a boost of energy (I called it Mobili-Tea). They felt about ten years younger for about ten hours afterward, and they blessed me for it, bought newspapers, and had their morning arguments about politics and young people at the five tables I had placed in front of the counter. One register was there, and one was in the “back” of the store, on the west side, to handle customers who just wanted something from the bookstore.
My book inventory was basically an expanded collection of the Religion and New Age shelves in Barnes amp; Noble, but I also had some serious magical texts behind glass on the north wall. Buddhas and incense and various busts of Hindu gods were sprinkled amongst the shelves; I would have put some crucifixes around too if there had been any demand for that sort of thing, but devout Christians tended to avoid my store for some reason. Celtic crosses were popular, though, as were various representations of the Green Man.
Perry raised his eyebrows. “Open the second register? Think we’re going to be that busy?”
I nodded. “I have a feeling it’s going to be an unusual day.” In truth, I simply didn’t want him behind the apothecary counter where Oberon was hiding. “If you get some downtime, see if you can create an end display for the Tarot cards; maybe we can sell some more that way.”
“Putting them out like that will make them easier to shoplift.”
I shrugged. “I’m not worried about it.” I wasn’t. Everything in the store had the same binding spell on it that I had put on Fragarach in my backyard. Nothing could go out the door unless it had first been placed on the counter next to one of the registers. More than one would-be thief had been forcibly pulled back into the store by the items
