voice, like, “That really was a Hattori Hanzo sword,” right before he dies. Alas, it was not to be.
Aenghus had been something of a swordsman in his earlier days; he’d helped the Fianna out of a tight spot or two-he had serious battlefield cred, unlike Bres. He parried my first flurry of blows, cursing all the while and promising to mutilate my body and then dig up the bones of all my descendants and turn them into glue, blah blah blah. He tried to back up, disengage, and give himself some space to begin a counterattack. That was precisely what I could not afford, so I pressed the attack and realized we were both fighting in the old Irish patterns-which was perhaps all he knew. But it certainly wasn’t all I knew. I hadn’t spent centuries in Asia and the last ten years sparring with a vampire to fall into old ruts like that. I switched my attack pattern to a Chinese series of forms that incorporated some deceptive wrist movements, and that brought me some success: He crossed his sword above him to parry a blow from above, only to find that it was coming from the side instead. The blade bit deep into his left arm above the elbow, and I snapped it out when I felt it hit bone. He yowled his pain and I think he tried to say something, but it was so mangled with spittle and inchoate rage that I didn’t process a word. His left arm was useless now, hanging there like a mesquite branch damaged in a monsoon, and his balance would be skewed. I could gamble a wee bit-people with poor balance rarely win sword fights.
I backed off and let him bleed, allowing him to weaken with every passing second. He’d use some power to stop the bleeding, and that was fine with me; he’d still be weakened, and there was no way he could knit the muscle tissue in time. It was his turn to attack. I knew he’d do it; at this point we hated each other as much as it was possible for two Irishmen to do-and that’s quite a bit.
“You’ve hounded me for centuries,” I growled. “And you might have hounded me for many more, but your petty jealousy of Brighid has brought you to this end.”
“Your end, you mean!” Aenghus roared, completely unhinged by my reducing all his elaborate schemes to a case of sibling rivalry. He lunged at me with a long diagonal hack, with all his strength behind it. But I knew how he fought now-the same old way. I saw it coming, and I knew I was faster, and stronger too. I parried his blade by sweeping mine in a rainbow move to my right, so that his sword was underneath mine when I brought it down and his sword arm was crossed in front of him. I stepped forward quickly and whipped Fragarach through his neck before he could regain his balance and try a backhand. His head tumbled backward, eyes wide in surprise, and wound up bouncing off his back as he fell to the ground.
“No, I meant your end,” I said.
Death laughed again and goaded his horse toward us. I stood aside as the rider reached down and scooped Aenghus Og’s head from the ground, then began to tack his horse back around to the fire pit, laughing maniacally all the while.
The love god’s mouth did not move, but still I heard him protest, No! The Morrigan is supposed to take me! Not you! Morrigan! Take me to Tir na nOg! Morrigaaaaan!
The pale horse of Death leapt with its rider and cargo into the fire pit and descended back to hell, and I was finally free of Aenghus Og.
Chapter 25
‹All right, that’s over. Now get me off this chain and buy me a steak,› Oberon said.
You got it, buddy. Let me get the werewolf free first so the Pack doesn’t think I’m insulting them. You understand the need for diplomacy here, right?
‹Yeah, but, jeez, they have such fragile egos. You wouldn’t think they’d be so sensitive.›
The werewolves gave me some appreciative yips as I approached Hal and took the black bag off his head. His eyes were yellow and his wolf wanted out, but the silver wrapped around him was preventing it. His chest was heaving, and he was just barely able to hold on to his language faculties.
“Thanks… Atticus,” he managed. “Saw through pack link… you know red-haired woman… who warned about silver traps.”
“Yes, I do. That was Flidais.” I frowned as I bent to examine his chains. They were locked with a padlock, and I wasn’t a locksmith. Trying to dissolve the chains magically would take too much time. Someone had to have the key. “Why do you ask?”
“She was the one… who kidnapped us!”
“What? I thought that was Emily.”
“No.” He shook his head. “No. She drove car. Flidais talked us into… backseat.”
I looked over at Oberon. “Why didn’t you mention this before?” I asked aloud so all could hear.
‹I was going to, but you haven’t exactly let me talk very much. Hush, Oberon, quiet, Oberon, not now, Oberon-›
“Fair enough,” I said. “Hal, I need a key. Any idea who has it?”
He jerked his chin in the direction of Radomila’s remains. “Dead witch.”
“Yuck. That’s going to be messy.” I walked over to the other side of the cabin where the cage was and grimaced at Laksha’s handiwork. Radomila had been wearing a fine leather jacket, and once I dragged her corpse to the edge of the cage where I could reach her pockets, I found several keys in her right one. There was a lock on the cage she was in, and I unlocked that first to go inside and retrieve the necklace for Laksha. It was a bloody mess- the phrase “o’ersized with coagulate gore” came to mind-but since she had caused it, I figured she couldn’t complain.
I went over to Hal next, who was panting heavily in anticipation. “Are you going to go wolf as soon as I unlock this?”
He nodded, too wound up to answer.
“All right. Tell the Pack this for me: If they see Flidais, leave her alone. She has promised to come back and help with your wounded. What I need you to do is go after Emily and bring me her head.”
That got his attention. “Her… head?”
“Yes, I need it. Do what you want with the rest. But don’t tear after her until we make sure those traps are disabled. Either Flidais can tell us or Laksha might be able to, when she gets here.”
“There is no need, Druid,” said the Morrigan, who had flown down and taken her human form beside me. She was naked again-must be feeling randy after watching an ancient rival get decapitated. “The traps expired when that witch did,” she said, gesturing at Radomila’s leftovers. “They were not permanent enchantments.”
“Thank you, Morrigan,” I said, and turned to Hal and began unlocking him. “There you go. Hunt well. I’ll wait here and take care of your wounded as best I can.”
The chains smoked a bit where they had come into contact with Hal’s flesh, peeling some of the skin away with them. He hissed and snarled and changed form as soon as the silver chains were off him, ripping right through his nice three-thousand-dollar suit, for which I had no doubt I would be billed. The Pack surrounded him and welcomed him back, then he took his place next to Gunnar as they ran to the spot where Emily had left the meadow, to begin their hunt.
“Did you ever find that bloodsucking demon, Morrigan?” I asked as I unlocked Oberon. He gave me some sloppy kisses and I hugged him.
“Found and destroyed,” she said. “Did you notice that my casting came true?”
“Aye, I noticed that,” I replied, smiling. “Though it applied to Aenghus Og, as I’d rather hoped. May I ask you something?”
“Certainly.”
“Did you tell Aenghus Og of our arrangement? That you would never take me?”
She slunk up next to me and overwhelmed my libido with that peculiar magic of hers, which my amulet could mute but not negate. She ran a fingernail down my bare chest and I forgot to breathe.
“Oh, but I am going to take you, Druid,” she said, “many times, when you have recovered your strength.” She snaked her tongue into my remaining ear.
‹Aw, jeez, here we go again.› Oberon mentally rolled his eyes.
“That’s not what I meant,” I managed to say, pulling away. I determinedly began to think of baseball. Randy Johnson pitching. Great player, but not sexy. No sex. Stay focused. “Did you tell him you would never come for me?”
