“I think it does. I think he imagines all sorts of scenarios where he crushes you in Rome and finally frees the undead from the Druidic threat. He must be the hero of all vampires, you see. His ego requires it. And my sources say it has been a couple of days, has it not, since your yewmen have staked any vampires?”
“Yeah. Cash-flow issues. Drasche’s plan worked in that regard.”
“Then the proverbial coast is clear. He will retake Rome and he will be bringing a small army with him to do it. He will wait for you to come get him, and this time he will be ready for yewmen. He will have a plan.”
“All right, Leif,” I said. “Let’s make a deal.”
CHAPTER 22
I have slept the slumber of the peaceful victor. And while a portion of my guilt remains, I believe I’m in a happy place. Even if I did it wrong, at least I finally did something about Beau Thatcher. Now it’s in the past, and maybe I can leave it there and simply enjoy my cup of fulfillment; I’d like to think that I delivered some karma to my stepfather rather than earned any bad karma of my own. It might be worthwhile to discuss it with Laksha; she seems to have a heightened sensitivity to actions and their consequences now.
Still, I cannot deny that I feel good. I’ve crossed off the biggest item on my life’s to-do list, and now I feel like sharing it with someone. But I haven’t heard from Atticus in a while. I text both him and Hal Hauk but receive no answer. If Atticus got into any sort of trouble over the past couple of weeks—and he almost certainly did—he’s probably switched to a new phone and I’ll need to wait for him to text me. And he won’t unless he’s truly worried; he’s sweet about giving me my space. But now that I can be with him without worrying that I’m showing Loki precisely where to find him and Oberon, I’d love to hook up again. The thing is that if I can’t reach him via cell phone and also have no ability to divine him, thanks to cold iron, he can be pretty difficult to find. Perhaps the Sisters of the Three Auroras might have ideas. If I ask them where the crazy magical stuff is happening in the world, they might be able to pin that down, and wherever that is, I’ll probably find Atticus. And if not, maybe it will turn out to be something that requires a Druid’s attention anyway.
There’s another reason to visit Warsaw: I’ve read a few of those poems by Wisława Szymborska now. “Nothing Twice” is fabulous, and so is “Theatre Impressions.” She’s definitely my kind of poet, and I think it’s time to learn Polish. Delivering that news will be welcome to the sisters, I’m sure, and make the trip worthwhile even if they’re not able to help otherwise. I will most likely spend quite a bit of time with the sisters in the near future, if they’re comfortable with it.
I discover, once we’re in Tír na nÓg and searching for spots, that there are no bound trees closer to Malina Sokołowska’s house than the black poplar in Pole Mokotowskie. I might need to fix that if I’m going to visit them more frequently. They have stands of pine trees nearby that would work just fine.
The jog to Radość is pleasant, though. It’s early afternoon in Warsaw when we arrive, and the streets are not terribly crowded between lunch and the rush hour home. The gate to Malina’s property is open, and Ewelina is sitting cross-legged on the ground outside the gate, smoking a cigarette. She flicks it into the hard-packed gravel of the street and rises, grinning, when she sees me. “Hello, Granuaile.” Devil horns. “Rock on.” She pushes the gate open wider and invites Orlaith and me to enter. Dominika immediately bounds out of the house and almost slips on the mossy steps as Ewelina closes the gate behind us.
“Whoops! Granuaile! You’re here! Come with me and talk to Miłosz!” She grabs my arm and yanks me around the side of the house.
“Oh … Okay. What’s the hurry? Is something wrong?”
“I think he’s sad. Will you talk to him for me?”
“Sure.” I smile faintly behind Dominika’s back. While I hope it’s nothing serious, I also doubt it’s anything but her imagination; it’s wonderful to see that Miłosz has someone to worry about him, though. He will be pampered instead of neglected now. He has his nose in a bag of oats when we clear the corner of the house.
Switching over my vision and binding my mind to his, I greet him and ask if he is well. He lifts his head out of the bag and nickers at me in recognition. He answers that he is mostly content.
Is anything wrong?
His reply is that he’d like to go for walks instead of being in this same area all the time—a request that sounds simple enough and certainly understandable but somewhat fraught with risk since Loki wants him back. The mark on his hide hasn’t been burned away, and I don’t think I could bear to hurt him to get rid of it with the Rune of Ashes. Besides, I think the sisters are almost hoping Loki makes a move to get him—but I think they want him to make that move here, where they have all their wards in place.
I tell Miłosz I’ll see what I can do about that and then relay his wishes to Dominika. “He just wants to go for walks.”
“Oh!” She bites her lip. “We won’t be able to protect him as well.”
“What if all of you accompanied him? The entire coven as opposed to simply you? Change up the times and routes so they’re not predictable, but be aware that an attack could come at any time?”
“Yeah. Tell him we’ll figure something out.”
Dominika’s and Miłosz’s worries temporarily relieved, I accept the invitation to baked goods this time and enter Malina’s house. There’s no old-world kitsch inside; it’s spare, modern, and minimalist, with a focus on large oil canvases and small bronze sculptures celebrating femininity.
I’m given tea and cake and chitchat from the witches in attendance. Only half the coven is here. The news that I’d like to tackle Szymborska and the Polish language is well received, and after that I judge it would be a good time to ask for a wee favor couched as an effort to help the coven. I address the leader.
“Listen, Malina, I’d like to find Atticus and ask him about the vampire situation, among other things. But he’s been out of touch and I’m not sure how to locate him at the moment. Might you have any idea how to do that?”
She blinks at me and says, “His cold iron aura shields him from our sight. He’s cloaked every bit as much as you are.”
“Oh, I know. But I thought we could be clever about it and search for where the ruckus is.”
“What do you…? Are you talking about something specific? If so, maybe we could find it. Could you describe the ruckus?”
“No, it’s not specific. I simply think that whatever you find will be vampire-related.”
“We have trouble divining the undead as well.”
“Yes, but I thought that by now they would have recruited a few magical allies. Atticus has been paying some Fae to assassinate them, and they’ve been quite effective. I think the vampires might start paying magic users of their own for protection. So I suppose what I’m saying is, wherever you detect that a large magical signature has flared up recently, that’s where Atticus will be. And if he’s not, well, maybe a large magical signature deserves my attention anyway.”