“Hey, when are ya gonna be back?” Coyote asked.
“Before dark, don’t worry,” I said.
On the way in to town, I informed Granuaile and Oberon that I quite nearly died and that only Coyote’s intervention had prevented me from being completely eaten by the skinwalker and Garm. He’d saved me twice and died for me twice.
“I owe him big now,” I said. “Damn it.”
“Well, that explains why it was quiet in the hogan last night,” Granuaile said. “One skinwalker stabbed through the shoulder and another one shot twice. They’ll be laid up for a while.”
I gently begged to differ. “Not much longer, I expect. They’ll have accelerated healing as well, and if they still have the Famine spell laid on them, they’ll be desperate to reach me. I’m hoping that’s not the case, though. How goes the Blessing Way?”
“It’s almost finished. The hogan will be completely safe after tonight.”
We reached the outskirts of Kayenta and Oberon wagged his tail, seeing the buildings.
“I imagine someone’s working at it,” I said. Granuaile darted her eyes quickly at me but then realized I must be talking to Oberon. She was getting used to my occasional non sequiturs.
“Where to, sensei?” she said.
“Head for the big box store. I can pick up some clothes and a neck brace there. Or, rather, you can. Don’t think they’ll let me in looking like this. It’d be nice to have a pair of sandals too.”
“Got it.” I gave her my sizes and she left Oberon and me sitting in the parking lot.
Oberon asked.
Breakfast. There’s a place on the highway called the Blue Coffee Pot.
Oberon asked. His tail wagged in excitement, thumping against the backseat.
I hope so. We’ll get you camouflaged and you can squeeze in somewhere.
You could use a bath, I told him.
I can probably think of something, I replied. What sort of story are you in the mood for?
That’s no fun. The ninjas are almost always invisible, and if they’re not then they’re wearing black pajamas and they don’t want to talk about anything. How about a story with samurai instead? I can tell you about one of them.
Yep. I spent a couple years in feudal Japan until Aenghus Og chased me out of there.
Most definitely.
You do? Report what?
Ah, yes. Report, Snugglepumpkin.
Oberon. What did you find out about the building site?
Yes, they need to ship out their products somehow.
No, the kind of transformers she’s talking about transmit electricity. They are, sadly, inanimate structures.
Yes, you did very well. You’re at negative twelve now.
Gravy, indeed. It was comforting to know that Coyote planned to follow through on his plan-or at least he was thorough enough in his trickery to make sure that Sophie and her crew believed they were going to build all that.
Granuaile returned with a bag full of clothes and a neck brace for me. I put the latter on first, and it eased some of the strain immediately. That would allow the muscle to grow back a bit faster.
“I didn’t know what kind of shirt would be best, but I figured we shouldn’t do anything like a regular T-shirt, which you’d have to squeeze over your head and put pressure on your neck. So I got this button-up one,” she said, holding up a chocolate-brown shirt with a light tan vertical pinstripe design, “and then I also got these tank tops, because I figured those would be easy to pull on.” She held a package of mixed black and gray undershirts. I considered both and then chose the undershirts, thinking the collar on the button-up would look a bit unwieldy and hang uncomfortably around the brace. I could stand to be cold for a while.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the package and the rest of the clothes from her. “Turn around and stand guard, will you?”
“You’re going to change right here in the parking lot?”
I cast camouflage on myself. “Sure. Scandal-free public nudity.”
“Damn.” She shook her head as I melted from view. “I can’t wait until I can do that too.”
“Only eleven years and nine months to go,” I teased her as she turned around. I gladly shucked off my wet, muddy jeans and put on the new pair. I noticed she hadn’t bought me any underwear; Granuaile either didn’t think of it or she did think of it and decided that I should go commando.
I tore open the package of undershirts and gingerly pulled a black one over my head before tucking it into my jeans. Though I was now dressed in a similar fashion to Coyote, I figured he could keep the cowboy hat and I’d rock the tattoos. Usually I don’t wear shirts that show them off, because they tend to draw attention and sometimes questions. “Where’d you get those done?” was an awkward one, because the truthful answer was, in Ireland around 50 B.C.E.
I slipped my feet into the sandals, then turned in a slow circle to check my surroundings, since my neck was now immobilized. No one was looking, so I dispelled the camouflage and pronounced myself ready to go.
Granuaile gave me a good once-over and her gaze felt less than innocent, but all she said was, “Much better,” before walking around to the driver’s side.
The Blue Coffee Pot was bustling for a Monday morning; we had to wait for a table. I asked the hostess if it was always like this, and she shook her head. “Coal mine’s closed, so a lot of the workers are enjoying a day off.”
“The mine’s closed?” I said, letting a bit of incredulity flavor my tone. “Why?”
“It’s in the paper,” she said, nodding her head over to a rack filled with the Arizona Daily Sun, Flagstaff’s newspaper. I bought one and grinned over the headline. BLACK MESA COAL MINE SABOTAGED, it read. The article claimed the shutdown was only temporary, until new equipment could be brought in, a few days at the earliest and two weeks at the latest, and there would be a raft of new security measures put in place to prevent something like this from happening again. The security measures wouldn’t bother me; I’d simply have to make sure I went during full daylight and allowed myself plenty of time to get back out. And maybe I’d take my sword, just in case.
It was interesting, I thought, that it had taken a couple of days to make it into the paper. That bespoke some serious suppression on their end at first, but now they were looking for someone to blame.
On page seven there was an extended article about my mysterious death in Tuba City. That headline read: BIZARRE TUBA CITY MURDER BAFFLES POLICE. Before I could get too far into the article, a table opened up and we were ushered over to a small two-top by the window. Once I saw where it was, I said, “Be right there, I forgot something in the car,” then I went to get Oberon. I camouflaged him and explained that the space was going to be pretty tight.
Nah. People find small dogs approachable, and I don’t necessarily want to be approached. When they see you coming, they’re more likely to cross the street. It’s like I have Sasquatch on a leash.
You’re welcome. That would be a great band name, actually.
I opened the door for Oberon and let him walk in. Watch out for people. Table’s to the right, next to the window.
Granuaile startled a bit when she felt Oberon brushing past her legs to wrap himself around the center of the table but otherwise gave no sign that she had a huge Irish wolfhound lying on her toes. I carefully sat down, tucked my legs underneath the chair, and then scooched forward.
We ordered coffee, eggs, and a whole lot of meat sides. While we waited for our food, I returned to the paper and read aloud the article about my death. TUBA CITY — Authorities are flummoxed by a strange murder scene in a small patch of desert in Tuba City, where the remnants of a man were found on Thursday. The body of Atticus O’Sullivan, age 31-
“Thirty-one?” Granuaile interrupted.
“Well, that has to be based on the driver’s license they found. I was twenty-one, according to the license, when it was feloniously issued to me.”
“Ah, okay,” Granuaile said, nodding in understanding. “Continue.” The body of Atticus O’Sullivan, age 31, was found mutilated and dismembered near a water tower. Examination of the area suggests that eight to ten different
