Read Trapped (The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Five) Online
Authors: Kevin Hearne
Trapped (The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Five) (13 page)
“Ya think?”
“That didn’t go the way I thought it would.”
“I should hope not, because that would be pretty sick. You’re completely covered in viscera.”
I turned off my speed and strength bindings and said, “I’m camouflaging us. Help me find the surveillance systems. We need to destroy all record of what happened.”
“Right. Except for that pool of goo on the floor.”
“Yes. They can make of that what they will. I just don’t want them to watch the video and conclude I did something magical—or conclude he was a vampire.”
“Okay. We have all we need, right?” She held up a small basket full of the supplies we’d come for.
“Yep.” I cast camouflage on her, and as she faded from view she said she would check the back of the store.
“I’ll check behind the register,” I said, casting camouflage on myself. That drained my bear charm down to dangerous levels. I wouldn’t be able to maintain this for long.
I found a few monitors behind the register, but they were using a feed generated somewhere else.
“Back here, sensei!” Granuaile called. I followed the sound of her voice to the rear of the store, where there was a sign marked E
MPLOYEES
O
NLY
in Greek and English on a locked door. I bound the tumblers into the unlocked position and opened it. Inside were even more monitors and a black console with a tangle of cables snaking in and out of it.
“That’s our baby. Looks like a disc system similar to the one I had at Third Eye way back when.”
Granuaile pressed a few buttons and got several discs to eject. Searching her shopping basket with my fingers, I took out a pair of wire clippers and cut through all the
cables in the back of the console. The monitors turned to snow as I did so.
“We’d better be sure this has no hard-drive backup,” I said. “We should smoosh it.”
“Aw, yeah, rage against the machine! Let’s do this!” I heard Granuaile shuffle backward and pictured her brandishing her staff. I threw the console down hard, rattling the case, but once the iron tip of Granuaile’s staff descended upon it, there was a significant dent.
“Again,” I suggested.
The console acquired two more dents in quick succession.
“Hold off,” I said. “Let me jump on it a few times.”
“Go.”
I did a gleeful mosh—or was it a skank?—upon the top, which did little to it but did manage to make me feel better.
“It’s bolted together fairly well. Let’s just take it with us and dump it into the pond in the park.”
“Good idea,” Granuaile agreed. Sirens could be heard approaching. “I think we should exit quickly.”
“Yes, let’s.”
Using the last dregs of my magic, I camouflaged the security console and the discs Granuaile had removed from it, and then I carried the console out of the store under my arm while Granuaile carried the discs out in her handbasket. The police screeched to a halt in the street and leapt out of their vehicles, square bodies emphasized by swaths of body armor and contrasted with cylindrical weapons of one kind or another. They utterly failed to see us as they surrounded the store; we slipped between them and jogged to Enikkea Park. There I called to Oberon, who found me easily by following the smell of blood. He’d been all alone for some time, since the dog walkers had all gone home once the sun went down. He’d entertained himself by sniffing
around and chasing wee critters. I dissolved all camouflage and tossed the console into a square pond with a fountain in the middle of it. Granuaile snapped all the discs in half and threw them in as well.
“Did I miss something there?” Granuaile said. “You asked him about a vampire named Theophilus and he attacked?”
“Yep, you heard it all.”
“Who’s Theophilus?”
“Leif told me about him before we raided Asgard. He’s supposedly the oldest vampire living. Unliving. Whatever.”
“Do you think that was him?”
“No, not a chance. Theophilus would have been able to overpower me.”
“Then why are you looking for him?”
“I want to ask him if he knows anything about the old Roman pogrom against Druids. If he didn’t have anything to do with it directly, he surely knew who did. Leif thought that Theophilus spent part of every year in Greece; naturally every other vampire in Greece would be well aware of his territory.”
“So you never intended to kill that vampire?”
“Oh, no, I intended to kill him. Just not so publicly, and only after I’d gotten something useful out of him.”
“I’d say you got something useful. He wouldn’t have attacked unless he had something to protect. Theophilus is alive and around here somewhere.”
I nodded. “Good thinking. But it’s an unfortunate development all around; he’s going to know there’s a Druid nearby, because only Druids can do that to vampires. Are you sure you didn’t get tagged by any of the blood?”
“I’m not sure about my back, but I didn’t feel anything,” she said. She turned around and looked over her shoulder at me. “Can you see any?”
She appeared clean. “Nope. That’s excellent, because we still need a carrier for the tattoo ink. I have the ink itself ready to go, but I need you to sally forth and get a couple bottles of ethyl alcohol. Failing that, some strong vodka.” I gave her a wad of euros. “Oberon and I will wait here. Perhaps I’ll take a quick dunk to get the worst of the blood off.”
“Be back as soon as I can, sensei,” she said, and then jogged toward town.
I waded into the pool and began to splash my face and arms. There was no one around to object to a quick bath, so I didn’t try to be subtle about it.
Well, why don’t you? It’s about time you told me a story
.
I think you just answered your own question. You have to make them up
.
Wait, nobody would name their dog that!
Yours
, I conceded.
I promise. I’m sorry for interrupting
.
I can’t wait!
And I wasn’t kidding. If I had a tail to wag, I would have wagged it.
Oberon’s story, a mystery after the style of Sherlock Holmes, was called “The Purloined Poodle.” It featured a canine sleuth named Ishmael (a Weimaraner) and his trusty assistant, Starbuck (a Boston terrier), who foiled a nefarious plot set in motion by Abe Froman, the Sausage King of Chicago.
Oh, Oberon, that was a wonderful mystery!
I said when he finished.
Bravo!
Sir
Oberon. Arthur Conan Doyle got a knighthood for stories like that, so I think I should get one too.>
I doubt the queen will knight you. She’s a bit stuffy about that sort of thing. But I can make you a Druidic knight if you wish
.
Sure!
Sir Oberon the Scruffy!
majestic
, as in noble, awesome, godlike, et cetera.>
Sir Oberon the Modest!
Refreshed and feeling far less icky, I waded out of the fountain and checked to see how well I’d done. My cotton shirt was a lost cause; I’d need an industrial-strength cleanser to salvage it, and it wasn’t worth the trouble. I stripped it off and threw it on the grass, where I unbound the entire thing and let its component molecules mingle with the landscape. There would be no evidence for a forensic pathologist to find.
Granuaile returned shortly thereafter with two bottles of ethyl alcohol in her pack.
“We can get a hotel room if you want, but it’s probably
best to get out of town. Feel like hiking back with night vision?”
She did. “I want to get started as soon as possible,” Granuaile said. “Ever since Laksha told me what you really were, I’ve wanted this. Let’s go.”
Some moments are pregnant with epiphany.
The moment just before you take your first successful bike ride. That bit where the lights go out at your very first concert and people scream because other people who play rock and roll are walking onstage. The doubtful glare at a shiny can seconds before you chug it, choke on it, and realize that you’re a beer snob after all. That moment, sometime after the honeymoon is over, when it dawns on you that the honeymoon really
is
over and marriage will require a bit of work. And then that moment before your first child is born. They are the moments during which we are briefly, acutely, conscious that our lives will be changed forever … in the next moment.
Granuaile was having one of those moments. Her muscles were tense and she was holding her breath, because I held her right heel cupped in my left hand and pointed a sharp thorn at the sole of her foot with my other hand. Said thorn was hardened and sharpened and still attached to a living thornbush, which was of course in contact with the earth and thus with Gaia. The ink was ground lapis lazuli, mined in Colorado, mixed with alcohol.
Both of us were in a trancelike fugue, though only I was in contact with Gaia; Granuaile was being helped
by Olympia, via the marble clutched tightly in her hand. We would pause occasionally to eat and sleep and keep our bodies functioning, but, once established, the connection with Gaia would have to stay open for three months. We’d be extremely vulnerable and less-than-sterling conversationalists.
Oberon understood this. It was to be a long, lonely time for him. And he also understood that, should it be warranted, he would snap us out of it, whether Granuaile was completely bound or not.
I hadn’t told Granuaile what would happen when I first pierced her sole with the thorn and the consciousness of Gaia rushed in. There were no words to prepare someone for that. So I simply jabbed her where Gaia said I should, then held on as she spasmed, screamed, and passed out.
Druids are trained to multitask and maximize their mental capacity. They’re encouraged both to think big thoughts and think several different ones at the same time. But no one’s mind is capable of keeping up with Gaia’s. A single human brain cannot contain the mind of the world. That’s why Granuaile shut down when flooded with the consciousness of Gaia. I had done the same thing. Everyone does. But no one ever forgets the scope of the power there, the breadth of the love or the depth of the pain glimpsed in the second before oblivion saved them from insanity.
With Granuaile unconscious, I could continue to tattoo the sole of her foot, which would have otherwise been quite problematic. The number of nerves there makes it difficult to proceed—reflexes are tough to work around.
There were no designs marked on Granuaile’s foot; the shape of Gaia’s binding came directly from her, which I saw in the magical spectrum as a green overlay on Granuaile’s skin. The pattern looked like a Celtic wreath; it was similar to the loop on the back of my hand, except there was no triskele design in the center of it. This was an inhibitor loop, a sort of filter that would allow Granuaile to feel Gaia’s presence and speak with her while remaining conscious. Until the loop was
completed, she wouldn’t wake up. Ever. It was the one portion of the ritual that absolutely could not be interrupted, so I worked steadily for five straight hours until it was finished. I checked it carefully and then asked Gaia if it looked satisfactory.
//Good// she said. //Give her to me//
Though Granuaile’s foot was still bloody and raw, I set it down flat against the earth of the cave. She gasped and sat up, her eyes wide.
//Welcome child// Gaia cooed, for I heard everything she said through my own tattoos. //A strong Druid you will be//
Granuaile gaped and looked panicked.
“Speak as you would to an elemental,” I told her. “Your emotions and thoughts will make sense to her.”
//Infinite gratitude// Granuaile’s feelings said. //I feel blessed//
//We are all blessed child//
Tears sprang out of Granuaile’s eyes and ran down her cheeks. I knew precisely how she felt, and my vision blurred as my own eyes filled with tears.
“Thank you, Atticus,” she said. “It was worth the wait. I would have waited a hundred years for this.”
“You’re welcome,” I replied, “but you may have thanked me too soon. There’s no more get-out-of-pain-free cards after this. You’ll feel every stab from now on.”
“It’s okay,” she said, lying down again and nodding. “It’s totally okay. I know what it’s for, and it’s worth it.”
“All right,” I said. “Do you want to continue or wait a few minutes?”
“Continue,” she said.
“Let me know when you want a break, then.”
She didn’t need many breaks. She handled it much better than I had, in fact, though I neglected to mention it. The bit around the ankle was dodgy—it’s a sensitive area—but we proceeded smoothly through days and
weeks until we reached mid-thigh. The borders on either side of the entire band allowed her to draw on the earth’s magic; this was a fail-safe in case any part of the tattoo was damaged, but it also meant any part of her right side could draw if she was wearing shoes. The knots on the inside of the band, meanwhile, changed as they rose, allowing her to perform different bindings. The first ones allowed her to bind her sight to the magical spectrum and to cast night vision. Each of these contained riders, like those in contracts, that allowed her to cast bindings on others besides herself.
After that came the knots that allowed her to supplement her own energy with that of the earth, so she could increase her strength and speed as well as run or fight for long periods of time without tiring. These bindings could also be cast on other people.