‹The Code. Has anyone taken the time to explain to them that treats are, by definition, a savory snack of succulence, appropriate at any time and for any occasion, with the possible exception of funerals?›
No. You just made all of that up.
‹Precisely! I’m such a creative hound that I deserve a treat.›
Clearly. I stopped in the kitchen to grab a handful of treats for Oberon out of the slightly scorched pantry cabinet. After you finish these, I want you to stand sentinel on the front porch and let me know if anyone drives up, please.
‹Okay! Man, these are gravy. Werewolves don’t know what they’re missing.›
I collected Moralltach from the garage, a couple of other practice swords, and a roll of oilskin (the real stuff, not the synthetic fabric they call oilskin these days, because I’m a natural fiber kind of guy). Since I didn’t have a bat cave, I’d have to hide everything by using magic. I got out some scissors and started cutting lengths of oilskin, then told Hal to wrap the swords in them so that every inch was covered.
“Do you have some duct tape or something to keep it all together?”
I stopped slicing through oilskin and looked up at my lawyer. “Hal? I’m a Druid. Like, for reals.”
Hal flushed and muttered an apology. “Right. You can bind it yourself, can’t you?”
“Yes, I can. Are you ready with that one?”
“Right. Yes.”
“Hold the edges down, then,” I said, and waited for Hal to do it. “Dun,” I said in Irish. The fibers from the edges threaded themselves into the weave of the full canvas, creating a sort of Mobius strip where the fabric had no beginning or end, save where I could see it. To Hal’s eye it looked as if the edge had just disappeared and smoothed out, an unbroken piece of fabric.
Hal shook his head. “Too bad you don’t celebrate Christmas. Your presents would look awesome.”
We repeated the process three more times, and then I gathered all the swords and moved out to the backyard. Hal followed, his nostrils flaring at all the herbs I had growing back there. “You’re not growing anything that looks remotely like marijuana, are you?”
I snorted. “Only an idiot would think so.”
“Cops can be idiots sometimes.”
“There’s nothing precious here. They can confiscate it all if they feel they have to protect the public from my herb garden.”
“Right. So where are we hiding them?” Hal was looking down at likely spots for burial, and that was the wrong direction.
“See my neighbor’s palo verde tree overhanging my yard? We’re going to hide them up there.”
“Oooo-kay. How?” The trunk was on the other side of a very tall wooden fence, and the fence wasn’t the sort I could climb easily to access the branches high above.
“You use your giant hairy werewolf muscles to throw me up into the branches and then toss me the swords. I’ll bind them to the tree branches first so they won’t move, then camouflage them.”
“Those branches look pretty spindly. Sure they’ll bear your weight?”
“Absolutely. This tree loves me. Its roots go underneath the fence, and we talk sometimes about particulates and nitrogen and the horror of borer beetles.”
Hal looked at me uncertainly.
“Plus, I can temporarily strengthen the wood.”
“Ah, okay, then. I’ll just put my jacket over here…”
It was finished in less than five minutes, and Hal didn’t even break a sweat chucking me up into the canopy. He usually dressed to conceal his muscular frame, because in courtrooms muscles are associated with defendants rather than lawyers. Still, he was an imposing physical presence, a “manly man” with a cleft chin and a broad smile. He wore a pair of spectacles as an affectation, for he wasn’t visually impaired. He thought they made him look more gentle and intelligent to juries. “That’s a pretty good spell,” Hal said, squinting up at the branches where I had camouflaged the swords. “I know they’re there, but I can’t see them.”
“They’ll stay camouflaged as long as I have access to a bit of power. The bindings will stay until I release them.”
“Excellent. So what do we do with the rest of your instruments of death?”
“How much time do you think we have?”
Hal shrugged. “Maybe two hours, maybe two minutes.”
‹Atticus, three cars are coming down the street full of guys dressed like the Man.›
Thanks, Oberon; come on into the backyard.
“More like two seconds,” I told Hal. “They’re out front right now.”
“Guess we’ll have to wing it.”
“Sure.” I shrugged. “It’ll probably be fun.”
“Put a shirt on, will you? They’re looking for someone who killed a lot of people last night, and it looks like you might have done it.”
“Oh, yeah.” I looked down at my torso, still messed up from the Morrigan. I’d be able to heal it pretty quickly if people would leave me in peace, but that was in short supply today.
“And don’t answer a single question without me right there to harass them every step of the way.”
“Got it.”
As we returned inside, Hal to answer the door and I to put on a shirt, I gave Oberon his instructions. You’d better just hang out in back while we deal with this, I told him. Pretend you’re ultra-docile and stupid. If anyone addresses you, wag your tail weakly but don’t move.
‹Do I have to let the Man pet me?›
Well, you can shy away from his touch, but definitely don’t bark or growl or bite anybody.
Struck by inspiration as I rifled through my shirt drawer, I picked out an old anime shirt with lots of pointy noses, large eyes, and giant swords on it. Put it on, and instant nerd!
Lots of men with suits were in my living room when I emerged from my bedroom. None of them had ever seen me before or knew what I was like, so I could play a part and get away with it.
“Dude! What the hell? Who are you guys?” I said, automatically lowering my IQ to everyone assembled.
“Atticus, these are the police,” Hal said.
“Atticus O’Sullivan?” a tall sandy-haired man in a green shirt and silk tie stepped forward with his ID out. “I’m Detective Kyle Geffert with the Tempe Police. We have a warrant to search your house for any swords you may have, as well as any blunt weapons such as baseball bats.”
His name rang a bell, but I couldn’t remember where I’d heard it before. “Oh, cool,” I said. “I hope you find my sword, because I’ve been looking for it.”
“You lost your sword?”
“I guess so, dude.” I shrugged. “I don’t know where it is.”
“So you admit that you own a sword?”
“Well, yeah, if I could find it. I’m training to become a ninja.” The detective blinked and looked over at Hal to see if I was pulling his leg. Hal was completely stone-faced, even nodding slightly in agreement with my story.
“How long have you been missing your sword?”
“Well, I think I lost it last night.”
“Interesting. I see you have both your ears,” Geffert observed.
I flicked my eyes uncertainly between him and Hal. “Um, thanks? And… so do you?”
“We’ve had reports of a man who’s missing his right ear riding around Tempe with a sword.”
“Really? Whoa. Guess that dude shoulda been more careful with his sword, eh?” I chuckled a few times at my own lame joke but looked down meekly when no one laughed. “Sorry. Nobody ever thinks I’m funny.” Suited men were looking underneath furniture and behind picture frames to see if any swords were concealed there. One of them reported that he’d found a large assortment of edged and blunt weapons in my garage.
“Any swords?” Geffert asked.
“Not yet, just knives.”
“Keep me posted.” He turned back to me and asked, “Mr. O’Sullivan, would you mind telling me where you were last night?”
“You don’t have to answer that,” Hal interjected.
