by Kevin Hearne
“Wait, you’re saying my dad is killing people?”
“The spirit possessing him is responsible, but it’s his body. I can imagine that someone will be wanting to stop him soon, and they might not be very careful about how they do it.”
“Oh, gods—”
“Yes, them too.”
“Okay, I can be there in a few hours.” I’d need to run back to the cabin and throw some things together and then find Atticus, but shifting around the world wouldn’t take any time at all. “Where should I meet you?”
“Meet me at the entrance to the Brihadeeswara Temple. We are eleven and a half hours ahead of you, so it will be fully dark when you get here.”
“See you then. Thanks for calling me.” I thumb the OFF button, ask the hounds to wait, and dart into the leather shop to return the phone to the manager.
Oberon asks,
Yes, I answer him mentally, then make sure to include Orlaith. We have to return to the cabin quickly. Jog with me; no stopping unless I stop.
No more of this town. We will go to a different one.
We turn around and eat up ground quickly, especially since it’s downhill. People on the sidewalk move out of our way.
Oberon says.
No, it was my father. Laksha says he’s in India and he needs my help.
Well—damn. I can’t take both Oberon and Orlaith with me unless I make two trips. I don’t have enough “fully furnished” headspaces for it, and a Druid needs a separate headspace for each being she takes along when hopping between the planes. We can slip our friends into the worlds built by scions of literature, splitting our consciousness into self-contained partitions. Atticus explained it to me like so: The tethers are roads, and Druids are the vehicles that drive on them. Headspaces are like seats for passengers. Thus far I have memorized only the world of Walt Whitman, and that would allow me to take one person—or hound—with me when I shift to Tír na nÓg and thence to India. It would be more practical to have Atticus join us if he could; he has six headspaces. He’s like one of those old-fashioned boatmobiles, where I’m only a two-seat Smart Car. Well, scratch that. I’m more like a two-seat Jaguar F-Type. I’m not sure, Oberon. I’ll have to see if I can find Atticus.
Once we cross the bridge over the Uncompahgre River that leads to Box Canyon Falls, we zip behind some undergrowth and I shuck off my clothes before shifting to a jaguar. I abandon my jeans and sandals but decide to carry my Laser Vaginas T-shirt back in my mouth. Those are rare, after all. We sprint back to the cabin together, the hounds enjoying every moment of it, unconscious of my worries—as they should be.
When we get home, they both head straight for the water bowl and I head for the bedroom to get dressed for a fight. I doubt that physical weapons will be of any use against a spirit, but the sorts of spirits who possess people tend to have ways to manifest physical threats. I throw on another pair of jeans and a nondescript T-shirt, a simple solid black. No customs agents, metal detectors, or anything like that will delay my travel, so I strap on two holsters that carry three throwing knives each and hide another pack of them between the waistband of my jeans and the small of my back.
Oberon and Orlaith, I’m going to find Atticus in Tír na nÓg. Hopefully it won’t take long. Are you okay on food?
Okay, I hear you, I reply. We must adhere to our priorities.
Forcing myself to take the time, I fry up some sausages for the hounds and toast some sprouted-grain bread for myself. While I hope this will be a quick trip, it could easily turn into something more lengthy, and I don’t know when I’ll have a chance to eat again—and, besides, I haven’t had breakfast yet either.
Recognizing that the same uncertainty applies to the hounds, I haul out a bag of kibble and pour it into two gigantic bowls.
“It’s a backup plan,” I reply. “Just in case. You’re free to hunt, of course, and there’s all the water you want in the river. I hope I’ll be back in a few minutes and none of it will be necessary. But you know how weird things can get when you expect Atticus to behave normally.”
“The point is, you won’t starve while I’m gone, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
We all make short work of our breakfast and I give the hounds hugs before I shift away to Tír na nÓg, the primary Irish plane to which the Irish gods have tethered all others, allowing us to travel as we wish. I check at Manannan’s estate first, but Atticus isn’t there. Nor is he at the Time Island; the boat he used is moored at the shore with a rope tied to a stake plunged in the ground. He isn’t at Goibhniu’s shop or at the Fae Court, and that exhausts all the places I know to look for him in Tír na nÓg. No one I ask knows where he and the old man have gone. I don’t have time to waste looking anymore, so I shift back to Colorado and find the hounds playing down by the river.
Oberon! Orlaith!
There are no creatures better at making someone feel welcome than happy hounds. Though I had been gone perhaps only a half hour, their joy at my return was no less than if I had been gone half a year. I wish sometimes that humans could greet each other with such unreserved delight. Leaving out the face-licking, perhaps.
I can’t play with them, however, and though it breaks my heart, I have to leave Oberon behind if I’m going to go to India.
“I couldn’t find Atticus. I need you to stay here and explain where I’ve gone so that he can find me,” I tell him. We enter the cabin, and I grab a pen and paper to scribble down a note.
“Tell him I’m with Laksha; we’re trying to find and help my real father, who’s in trouble, and the details on where to find me are in this note I’m leaving. Don’t forget to tell him about the note, okay?”
“Good hound.”
I smile and answer him privately. You’ve seen too many human movies. Hounds are allowed to miss whomever they want at any point in a relationship without any creep penalties.
I will miss both you and Atticus, I say, picking up my staff, Scáthmhaide, and walking outside with Orlaith trailing behind. I hope to see you soon.
I put my hand on a tethered tree and ask Orlaith to put one paw on me and one on the tree. Orlaith says,
I tell Oberon what she said, and then we shift away to India.
BY KEVIN HEARNE
Hounded
Hexed
Hammered
Tricked
Trapped
Hunted
Shattered
IRON DRUID CHRONICLES NOVELLAS
Two Ravens and One Crow
Grimoire of the Lamb
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KEVIN HEARNE has been known to frolic unreservedly with dogs. He is probably frolicking right now and posing to his dog such timeless rhetorical classics as “Who’s a good boy?” and “Who wants a snack?” He hugs trees, rocks out to old-school heavy metal, and still reads comic books. He lives with his wife and daughter in a wee, snug cottage.
hive.
