“I’m good for it. Gotta get the door fixed too. And Oberon will need looking after.”
“Ah, I thought I smelled him,” Hal said.
I nodded. “He’s in the shop. Camouflaged like the sword. I’ll tell him to jump in your Beemer.”
“Okay, I’ll go open the door and leave it open. But tell him to be careful on the leather seats.”
“Sybarite,” I said.
“Ascetic,” he retorted, and he got up to go open his car door.
I heard sirens wailing in an urban imitation of the bean sidhe, and as I poured everything I could into accelerating my healing, I reached out to Oberon.
Okay, Oberon, I’m healing up fine, but they’re going to come take me to the hospital for a while and I need you to go with Hal for now. I should be back tomorrow.
‹Why do you need to go at all?›
There’s some fluid in my lungs and I can’t get that out without some help. Hal has opened the door of his car for you. Try to get out of the store as quietly as you can and watch out for blood on the ground, because your paw prints will give you away. There’s a dead body right outside the door, so be careful.
‹There are a lot of people milling around by the door.›
There’s going to be more of them soon. The longer you wait, the more there will be. I’m outside on the ground to the right.
‹Wait.›
What’s wrong?
‹Is that tiny little toy car Hal’s?›
It’s a very expensive toy. You’re supposed to be careful with the leather seats.
‹So I’m supposed to ninja past these cops, tread across the broken glass-you remember the broken glass, right?-avoid the buckets o’ blood outside the door, and jump silently into that puny car without saying hello to the upholstery?›
An excellent summation. Make it quick.
‹Not so fast. Promise you’ll get me a date with a French poodle?›
Seriously? You’re holding out on me right now? I’ve been shot and I’m coughing up blood and you’re negotiating for some tail?
‹Oh, all right. But I totally deserve one and you know it. I’ve been a good widdle doggie.›
It was at this moment that Perry, who had slunk out of the shop more than an hour ago under the glowing red eyes of the Morrigan, chose to return from lunch.
“Holy shit, boss!” he said. “Did that big fucking bird do all of this?”
Chapter 17
I beckoned Perry over. “I’ll explain what happened later,” I said as he squatted next to me in the grass. “The bird was just the beginning. But listen-” I paused to cough up some more blood.
“Damn, Atticus, I knew that bird was bad news. I’m sorry, man, I should have stayed to help you out.”
“Don’t worry about it. You can help me now. You’re on the clock until you get a glass contractor out here to fix up the door. Once that’s done, lock up and head home. Open up tomorrow for me and make a cup of Humili- Tea-there’s some sachets already made-you know the one I’m talking about, the one that sorority girls ask for when they want to end a relationship?” Perry nodded and grinned wryly. “Good. Make it for a customer named Emily. Don’t tell her anything about what you saw here or where I’m at or anything, is that clear? If she asks you what the weather’s like outside, you shrug your shoulders and say you don’t know, all right?”
“Got it, boss.”
“That goes for everybody who asks anything. Tell them I’ll be back in a few days. If you don’t know how to make a certain kind of tea for someone, then don’t even try. Just apologize and tell them I’ll be back soon.”
“Is that true?”
I tried to laugh but coughed instead. “What, that I’ll be back? I certainly hope so.”
“You’re not going to be in the hospital for weeks? Because that looks like a bullet hole in your shirt.”
“As the Black Knight famously said, that’s just a flesh wound.”
“The Black Knight always triumphs!” Perry beamed. Monty Python is like catnip for nerds. Once you get them started quoting it, they are constitutionally incapable of feeling depressed.
“That’s right. It would greatly ease my mind if you took care of things, Perry. And if a guy named Hal tells you to do anything, you do it as if it came from my mouth, okay? He’s my attorney. Speaking of whom, here he is.”
Hal returned from the inside of the store, and he had Fragarach clutched invisibly in his left hand. He knelt down on the other side of me, seeming to use his left hand for support, but in truth laying the sword down in the grass against my side. As he did this, he held out his right hand to Perry to distract him. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Hal Hauk,” he said.
“Perry Thomas,” he said, taking Hal’s hand and shaking it. “I work for Atticus.”
“Excellent. Let’s get you inside, then, past all the police. I’ll be right back, Atticus,” he said to me. They rose and left me there, and I took the opportunity to check on Oberon.
Where are you now?
‹Where do you expect? I’m totally a ninja wolfhound. This car is ridiculous, though. He has a revolting citrus air freshener in here. Do you know when his birthday is? We should get him one that smells like steak or Italian sausage.›
I’m not sure they make them in those scents, Oberon.
‹Why not? You’d think they’d sell like Milk-Bones, especially to a werewolf who’s trying to compensate for something with a slick sports car.›
Ow! Don’t make me laugh right now!
After giving Oberon a mental scratch on the head, I went to work on Fragarach. I dispelled the camouflage as the ambulance arrived, because I didn’t want anyone to accidentally touch it and freak out, then placed a binding on the scabbard that would prevent it from moving farther than five feet from me. I had wanted to do this in the shop in case Fagles ever got his hands on it, but the binding takes longer to cast than camouflage and requires more power, and I didn’t have access to much of either earlier.
Jimenez came out to meet the paramedics and pointed them in my direction. Hal also came out and asked them to take me to Scottsdale Memorial Hospital, where my personal doctor could operate on me.
I didn’t really have a personal doctor, but the Pack did. Dr. Snorri Jodursson was part of the Pack himself, and he was the go-to guy for the paranormal community in the Phoenix area. He didn’t raise an eyebrow at unusually fast healing, for example, and he was rumored to be an excellent bonesetter and a quick surgeon. He was also willing to do things off the books; he had a whole surgical team who would work off record for obscene amounts of cash. I’d met him a couple of times when I ran with the Pack-he was probably sixth or seventh in their hierarchy-but I’d never had cause to use his professional services until now.
The reason people like me need people like Snorri is because of reactions like the paramedics had when they examined me.
“I thought you were supposed to have been shot,” one of them said.
“I was. Fluid in my lungs,” I gurgled. “I’m stable, but I need to see my doctor.”
“Well, where’s the bullet hole?”
Whoops. In my haste to prevent infection, I probably grew that skin over a bit too fast. It was still angry red, I’m sure, but not an open wound anymore. I’d put all my effort into closing up the skin and the lung, so the muscle tissue on either side was still pretty torn and would take some time to mend-and the skin and lung tissue needed time to strengthen too.
“Um, it was a rubber bullet. Hit me there and caused internal bleeding,” I said.
“Detectives don’t use rubber bullets. And even if they did and it caused some internal bleeding, you shouldn’t have fluid in your lung from that.”
“Tell you what, sport. Put me on a stretcher and get me to my doctor and let him worry about it.” I was ready to go. I had done all I could here, including a recharge of my bear charm. Now I needed a surgeon and some
