“Wait, wasn’t Iceland a British colony?”
“No, it was a Nordic colony. Listen, Mrs. MacDonagh, I apologize, but I have some strange friends. None of them are British, though, and they won’t hurt you.”
“I think ye owe me an explanation, Atticus.”
As a rule I don’t tell the truth about the world, because shattered illusions are no fun to clean up. But if the widow had a strong enough constitution to shoo werewolves off her lawn, I figured she could handle it. We sat down in her rockers as the remainder of the Pack hurriedly cleaned up the trimmings and drifted one by one to the backyard, and I gave her the short version: There are more things under heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy-including Druids like me and werewolves like the Tempe Pack.
“Yer a real Druid? Aren’t y’supposed to be dead?”
“Lots of people sure think so.”
“All of it’s real, then? There’s no make-believe?”
“There’s plenty of make-believe in the details. This vampire I know actually likes garlic quite a bit. And werewolves, as you just saw, can change anytime, though they do try to confine it to the full moons when they have to change, because it’s a pretty painful transformation.”
“So God really exists?”
“All the gods exist, or at least did exist at one time.”
“But I mean Jesus and Mary and all that lot.”
“Sure, they existed. Still do. Nice people.”
“And Lucifer?”
“I’ve never personally met him, but I have no doubt he’s around somewhere. Allah is doing his thing too, and so are Buddha and Shiva and the Morrigan and so on. The point is, Mrs. MacDonagh, that the universe is exactly the size that your soul can encompass. Some people live in extremely small worlds, and some live in a world of infinite possibility. You have just received some sensory input that suggests it’s bigger than you previously thought. What are you going to do with that information? Will you deny it or embrace it?”
She grinned fondly. “Ah, me dear boy, how can I deny anything y’say? If ye haven’t killed me yet for seein’ more than I ought ter, I figger ye mus’ like me and ye wouldn’t steer an old widow wrong. And besides that, I saw those bloody werewolves with me own eyes.”
I smiled at her and patted her hand, small and wrinkled and spotted with age. “I do like you, Mrs. MacDonagh, quite a bit. I trust you and know that you’re the really good sort of friend who would help me move a body, as your Sean would say. I know you must have a bushel of questions for me, but right now there’s a crisis to deal with. Oberon’s been kidnapped along with one of the werewolves, and that’s why we’re all so upset. We’ll talk more tomorrow, and I promise to answer all your questions if I survive the night,” I said.
The widow’s eyebrows raised. “Ye’ve got all these nasty pooches to run around with and ye still might die?”
“I’m going to go fight with a god, some demons, and a coven of witches who all want to kill me,” I said, “so it’s a distinct possibility.”
“Are y’goin’ t’kill ’em back?”
“I’d certainly like to.”
“Attaboy,” the widow chuckled. “Off y’go, then. Kill every last one o’ the bastards and call me in the mornin’.”
“An excellent suggestion,” said Gunnar Magnusson, coming around the corner and stepping onto the porch with Fragarach in his hand. His pack followed him-both in human form and wolf-along with Granuaile. Just by the way she carried herself, I could see she was still controlled by Laksha.
Radomila’s cloak had most definitely been sloughed off. Fragarach practically hummed with ancient Irish juju, and as I grasped the proffered hilt and felt the magic pulse through my forearm, I was reminded of its deadly purpose and of the deadly purpose I also had now.
“Right,” I said, pulling the sword out and admiring its blade. “I’ve waited long enough. If Aenghus Og wants this sword, then he can have it-for just as long as it takes me to eviscerate him.”
Chapter 22
The Haunted Canyon trail Emily spoke of is in the Superstition wilderness, which spans the infamous range of mountains where over one hundred stupid people have died trying to find gold. Some of the most treacherous country anywhere, it’s a rocky, thorny nightmare, spotted here and there with pleasant chaparral meadows.
We drove east on U.S. 60 out past Superior and took a left on Pinto Valley Road. That led us right to a copper mine, but a public access road through that property allowed us to get to the trailhead. This was the eastern edge of the Superstitions, little traveled and fairly remote. Most people went to the Peralta trailhead, where the hiking was a bit easier and the scenery more in keeping with their preconceived notions of what Arizona was supposed to be like-majestic saguaros, ocotillo, horned toads, and Gila monsters.
The eastern side of the Superstitions was less lush high desert and more chaparral, with little cactus beyond some prickly pear and several species of agave. Still, it did not lack for spiny obstacles: There was scrub oak, manzanita, and catclaw, chokeberry bushes and whitethorn. But there were also cottonwood trees and sycamores, able to survive on the seasonal rains and flash-flooded washes winding through the canyon.
Our caravan of cars arrived at the trailhead, and Gunnar had apparently told the Pack they could let their wolves out as soon as they got there. The lot of them leapt out of their sports models and half-tore off their clothes in their eagerness to let the rage inside them loose. Gunnar Magnusson changed as well, for we had spoken of our plans thoroughly on the ride over. Only Granuaile and I were left standing on two legs, but Laksha was in control and showed little curiosity at the spectacle of twenty werewolves changing in front of us. I beckoned her over to me.
“Let Granuaile see this, will you?” I said. “I need to speak with her anyway before we go.”
“Very well,” Laksha said, and then her head lolled to one side for a moment as she went to wake Granuaile. The head snapped back up and Granuaile smiled at me for a nanosecond before she registered the contorting, howling animals around us and said, “What the hell?”
“Shhh,” I said. “You’re safe, but I wanted you to see this. This is the Tempe Pack, and you’ve probably served most of them at one time or another at Rula Bula.”
“Where are we and what are we doing here?”
I explained the situation briefly, and she was relieved to hear that Laksha would soon have her chance at Radomila.
“I’m going to put a couple of bindings on you now before we go,” I said, “because we’re going to run through this country, not take a leisurely hike. I’ve been on this trail before; it climbs more than a thousand feet in the first couple of miles. So I’m going to bind you to me so that you can draw on my energy, which I pull from the earth-that means basically you can run all night without getting tired. That’s the first thing you’ll be able to do once you get your tattoos.
“And the other thing I’m going to do for you is give you night vision, because the sun is setting. We’re going to run behind the wolves, because you really don’t want to be running in front of them when they’re this angry. After a couple of miles I’m going to have Laksha come back and do her thing, but I want you to have this experience.”
Granuaile was a bit overwhelmed, and she confined herself to a nod and a meek little “Okay.”
It was at this point that my cell phone rang.
“Wow, you get service out here?” Granuaile said.
“We’re only six miles from the freeway.” I didn’t recognize the number, but I couldn’t afford to ignore it.
“Mr. O’Sullivan,” said a familiar Polish accent, “I have some important information for you.”
“It’s sure to be a lie, Malina,” I replied, “because that’s all I’ve heard from you up to now.”
“I never knowingly lied to you,” Malina said. “I believed everything I said to be true. It was only this afternoon that I found out that Radomila and Emily have made me seem to be a liar, that they have been plotting with Aenghus Og and deliberately deceiving me and others. I have been lied to and manipulated just like you. I
