I know, but it’s going to get that Semerdjian guy in trouble.
‹Oh. Well, that’s okay, then. I don’t like him.›
Officer Benton glowered at me for a moment, and then at Leif, but if he was expecting us to confess, he was going to be disappointed.
“Sorry for disturbing you,” he finally growled, and then thought to amend his tone. “Have a nice night.” He turned his back on us and stalked across the street to Mr. Semerdjian’s house, muttering to two of the officers that they could go, he’d write it up. They made good-bye noises at him and climbed back into their cars, turning off their lights and motoring away as Officer Benton pounded on Semerdjian’s door.
“Should we worry about him remembering anything?” I whispered to Leif.
“No, he is still completely in my thrall,” he replied in the same low tone. “How were you planning to get rid of the Fir Bolgs?”
“I actually hadn’t planned that far yet.”
“You know, for another glass of that fine vintage you have, I can take care of it. Just help me haul them over to Mitchell Park.”
I took time to consider. Burying the bodies of nine giants would not be easy, even if they were already in pieces. Calling on Radomila’s coven to take care of it was a possibility, but I really didn’t want to use up their favor on something like this.
“How would you take care of it?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I know some ghouls. I make a couple calls, the guys come over for dinner, problem solved.”
“They can put away nine whole giants? There’s that many ghouls in town?”
“Probably not,” Leif admitted. “But whatever they do not eat tonight, they’ll take the rest to go.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “You mean like a doggie bag?”
The vampire nodded with a thin trace of a smile. “They have a refrigerated truck, Atticus. These are practical guys. I employ them often, and so does Magnusson on occasion. It is a satisfactory arrangement for everyone.”
“So I would owe you three glasses,” I said.
“That is correct. And I want them sooner rather than later, since you are apparently marked for death.”
“Hmm,” I said, to buy myself some time. Officer Benton was writing out a citation for a bewildered Mr. Semerdjian across the street. False calls to 911 are a no-no.
“Can I pay you one tonight for your firm, and the other two tomorrow night?” I asked.
“Why not simply give them all to me tonight?” Leif replied. “You heal rapidly.”
“Well, that’s what I’m doing right now,” I said. “I have some torn abdominal muscles, a deeply bruised left shoulder, and a couple of vertebrae are out of place.”
“Should you not be screaming in pain, then?” Leif regarded me skeptically.
“Yes, but I’ve blocked my pain receptors. And I’m going to need my strength if I want to be good as new by morning.”
“What are the odds of you surviving until morning?”
“I think they’re excellent. I was warned about the arrival of Bres and the Fir Bolgs, and both have now been dispatched.”
“Bres is dead? The former king of the Tuatha De Danann?” Manannan Mac Lir take me for a fool, I shouldn’t have told him that! It was too late to backpedal, though. If I lied he’d know it.
“Aye, he lost his head up the street moments before I arrived.”
“And you did it?”
“Guilty.”
“Then I want all three glasses tonight, Atticus, and to hell with your healing. Brighid is going to kill you, and this will be my last drink.”
I sighed heavily in defeat. I was not about to explain the details of my arrangement with the Morrigan to him. “We wait for Officer Benton to leave,” I said, “then you make your calls and we haul the bodies over to the park. Only after I’m in the clear and my front yard can pass inspection without camouflage will you get your rare vintage.”
“Agreed,” the vampire said. “I am full right now anyway. I need to work some of this off.” He dug a cell phone out of his-or, I should say, my-breast pocket and used a speed-dial number to call someone named Antoine. “I have dinner for the whole crew at Mitchell Park in Tempe right now. Bring the truck… Yes, there is enough for everybody, trust me. See you there.”
Whoa. He had ghouls on speed dial. My lawyer kicks so much ass.
Chapter 12
Ugggh. Yuck. Gack.
I woke in my backyard, stiff from a night spent on the ground and itchy from the grass. Oberon was nestled around my legs, his head resting on my shin. I tried to gently extricate myself so he could continue sleeping if he wished.
The night outside had been necessary to speed my healing, especially after surrendering three wineglasses of blood for Leif. I had needed the contact with the ground and the power of the earth. Worth a bit of itching? Definitely.
I sat up and checked my abdomen: Some stiffness there, no real pain, and the skin had already scabbed over and fallen off, showing me a shiny new pink epidermis. The shoulder was good as new, and my back, while still a bit sore, at least felt like it was straight again. I grinned. After 2,100 years, I still thought magic was pretty damn cool.
Oberon picked up his head as I got to my feet, and he took that as his cue to stand and stretch.
‹Morning, Atticus.›
“Morning. You want a belly rub? Better take it while I’m offering.”
‹Okay!› He promptly flopped down next to me, lifting his front paws to give me better access. I squatted down and rubbed him vigorously for a few minutes while his tail thumped happily against my leg.
“So what would you like for breakfast today?”
‹Sausage.›
“You always say that.”
‹That’s because it’s always tasty.›
“I’m out of sausage. How about some pork chops?”
‹I don’t know. Did Genghis Khan eat pork chops?›
“Well, I doubt he ate chops, because that’s a fairly modern way to cut it. He probably ate slices off a whole ham or something that they had roasted in the ground all day.”
‹Can I have some of that, then?›
“I don’t have a whole pig to roast, nor do I have the time to do it properly. Can’t you settle for some chops and just pretend?”
‹All right. But after that can we conquer Siberia or something?›
“Not today, Oberon,” I chuckled. “I have a contract to fulfill with the witches. And someone is bound to come by and threaten me today, or try to kill me. And we have to make sure the widow is okay. We left her house rather abruptly last night.” I rose from my haunches and brushed the grass off my shorts. “Come on, let’s go inside and make breakfast.”
‹All right, but I think we should start recruiting a horde now and have them muster on the Mongolian steppes. We can join them in the spring and then ride to glory.›
“Where are we going to recruit a horde?” I asked him as we stepped inside. Fragarach was lying where I left it on the kitchen table.
‹I don’t know. You’re the bloody Druid here, not me. But I think you should start with getting me a sufficient number of French poodles, and you can find those in the classified section of the newspaper. Hold on, I’ll go get
