not earn tips from her cleavage, like many barmaids do, but rather depended on her green eyes, her pouty lips, and the light dusting of freckles on her cheeks. She had pale, creamy skin and a few fine golden hairs on her arms, which led eventually to fingernails she had painted green to match her eyes.
She was not one of the Fae: I could see through all their glamours, and in any case she never blanched at my iron amulet. Neither was she undead, or she would hardly be working the day shift. She wasn’t a were of any kind, which Hal had mentioned but I had already determined using my own methods. I had thought she might be a witch, but she didn’t have the telltale signs in her aura. If she had been anything sent from hell, I would have smelled the brimstone, but instead she gave off an ineffable scent that was not quite floral, more like a pinot grigio and mixed in with something that reminded me of India, like saffron and poppies. I was left to conclude that she was a goddess of some sort, masking her true nature and slumming here incognito like so many other members of the supernatural community, displaced from points all over the world. The bonny Irish lass facade was even more shameless than mine, for I doubted that she was truly Irish underneath it all: She must be from some foreign pantheon, and I was determined to figure it out without asking her a thing.
She flashed a smile at me as I walked in, and my heart sped up a bit. Did she have a clue as to my true nature, or did she only see the dim college kid disguise?
Her face fell as I walked past the bar toward Hal’s table. “You’re not sitting with me today, Atticus?” she said with a pout, and I almost changed course right there.
‹Down, boy,› Oberon said at my heels with ironic relish. I ignored him.
“Sorry, Granuaile”-that simply could not be her true name; she had to have picked it out on purpose to fit in at an Irish bar-“I have to talk a little treason with my friend,” I said, gesturing toward Hal.
She smiled. “If it’s a conspiracy, I want in on it. I can keep a secret.”
“I’ll bet you can,” I said, and she arched an eyebrow at me. I felt a foolish grin spread across my face.
“Ahem. Time is money, Mr. O’Sullivan,” Hal called, and I snapped my head around, suddenly realizing I had stopped in the middle of the bar and forgotten what I was doing there. Hal’s time was worth $350 an hour.
‹Next time you take me to the dog park and you yell at me to stay away from the French poodles, I’m going to remind you of this,› Oberon said.
Embarrassed, I stalked over to Hal’s table and sat myself across from him. Oberon squeezed underneath the table next to the window and waited for food to rain down from the sky.
Hal frowned. “I smell your dog.”
“He’s under the table, camouflaged,” I said.
Hal’s eyes widened as he processed the sling across my chest and the hilt peeking out over my shoulder.
“Is that the sword I think it is?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied, and took a long pull from the Smithwick’s.
“Was it employed in last night’s mischief?”
“No, but I believe in being prepared. There’s more trouble on the way. A whole lot more.”
“Do I need to tell the Pack?” Hal asked.
Werewolves. Their pack always came first. “Hey, it’s my ass in the meat grinder here, not the Pack’s,” I said. “You don’t need to tell anyone but Leif about this business. In fact, I want to see him as soon as he wakes up tonight. Send him to my house.”
Hal looked as if I had just asked him to lick up vomit. “Will you be paying the firm for his time, or will he?” He was referring to the business arrangement I had with the vampire. Leif and I had a unique understanding: Sometimes I paid cash for his services, and sometimes I paid him in fine liqueur-that is to say, my blood. (I had carefully neglected to mention that to Flidais.) The blood of a 2,100-year-old human, and a Druid no less, was a powerful, intoxicating, and extremely rare vintage for a vampire. I slashed my arm, drained a wineglass full for him, and then healed myself, and that was worth twelve hours’ billing to him. Then I washed out the glass and made sure he hadn’t spilled any, because I was paranoid about my blood getting into the hands of witches. He paid the firm out of his own pocket for such a drink, and he had grown powerful over the years by it. I never saw him use the power, because nothing locally wanted to mess with him, but I think Leif was trying to become strong enough to mess with Thor someday.
“Does it matter?” I said. “The firm gets paid either way.”
Our waitress arrived, and we paused to order three plates of fish and chips-the third was for Oberon, who was doing a good job of remaining invisible. When she left, Hal spread his hands and said, “Okay, tell me everything.” I told him about Flidais but left out the Morrigan; it wasn’t everything, but close enough.
“So a goddess from your pantheon has come and gone,” he said when I had finished, “and you could get a visit from two more Irish gods before this business is through?”
“Right. Aenghus Og and Bres. Plus Fir Bolgs.”
“Plus those. I’ve never seen one. What are they like?”
“To you they’ll look like a biker gang or something similar, but they will smell like shit.”
“Biker gangs can smell like shit sometimes.”
“Well, that just makes the disguise better,” I said. “The point is, you won’t see what they’re really like, because they wear glamour when they walk in the mortal world. In truth, they’re giants with bad oral hygiene and a predilection for wielding spears. They used to be an independent people in the old days, but the Tuatha De Danann use them as thugs now.”
“How much of a threat are they?”
“To my life? I am not particularly worried. I’m more worried about collateral damage than anything else.”
“That will bring the police into it.”
“Which I’m sure is the point of sending them. Fir Bolgs are not renowned for their discretion.”
Our fish and chips arrived and I sighed happily. It is life’s small, simple pleasures that make it worth living longer than a century or two. I dropped a piece of cod down to Oberon and covered up his noisy chomping sounds with some noises of my own.
“So how can I keep Oberon from going to Animal Control?” I asked around a mouthful of chips and beer.
Hal shrugged. “The simplest way is to do what you’re doing and lie,” he replied. “Keep him hidden, and tell anyone who asks that he escaped and ran away. In a month or even less, they’ll be so swamped with other cases that they won’t be able to keep tabs on whether he’s with you or not. Then you tell all your neighbors you’ve given up, you’re going to get a new dog, and voila, Oberon reappears. Oh, and I wouldn’t go hunting in the Papago Hills for a year or so.”
Oberon whined at that, and I hushed him by dropping another piece of cod on the floor.
“This is all supposing the police actually track him to your place,” Hal said. “They haven’t shown up yet, have they?”
I shook my head. “Not yet. But since I think someone is leading them around, I have no doubt they will show up soon. Now tell me what to do if I don’t want to lie.”
Hal stopped chewing and regarded me steadily for a few seconds. “You don’t want to lie?” he said, completely off his guard.
“Of course I do! I just want to know what else I can do that I haven’t thought of already. That’s why I pay you, Hal. I mean, shit, come on.”
Hal smiled. “You really sound like one of these modern kids. I have no idea how you do it.”
“Blending in is the best survival skill I have. It’s just listening carefully and parroting, really. So tell me what to do if I’m forced to play it honest.”
“Honest as in the police can see through your camouflage spell and know that Oberon is right in front of them?”
“Sure. Pretend I’m an ordinary guy with no magic at my disposal. Then how do I protect Oberon?”
The werewolf took a long drink of Smithwick’s and belched discreetly as he thought about it. Then he placed his hands flat on the table and said, “Well, the only way they would be able to build a case without witnesses is to use DNA matching. Oberon has no rights, but as his owner you can demand they get a warrant before they do the whole unreasonable-search-and-seizure thing. If they come with a warrant, though, you pretty much have to let them do what they want. And judging from what you’ve told me, if they get a DNA sample from him, the case will be pretty solid.”
