The weather wasn’t giving me a break on the physical side of things either. It was still hot outside, and Granuaile was still wearing very tight workout clothes. She had begun a series of advanced tai chi forms while I was retrieving Gungnir from the earth.
"Atticus, I should warn you that you’re in terrible peril."
Come on, not yet. She just started.
"No, it’s true. We’re out of snacks. I now have no incentive to rescue you from your animal desires."
What? How can we be out of snacks?
"A perceptive question! Granuaile noticed the shortage a few days ago. “We’re running low on snacks,” she said. I heard her quite clearly. But then she did nothing to fix the problem. I can only conclude that she wanted the snacks all gone. And from that we can deduce that she doesn’t want me to save you anymore. Holy revelation, Druidman! She’s on to us!"
I didn’t want to believe him, but I also have a suspicious nature. I turned my head and saw that Granuaile’s forms were perfect. She was mesmerizing. And, soon enough, she caught me watching.
Gods below, I think you’re right! Quick! To the Geekmobile!
"Let’s go!"
We had recently traded in Granuaile’s hybrid SUV and bought a new one with a bright-green paint job that the manufacturer called “Lime Squeeze.” It looked like Mountain Dew, the drink of choice for nerds, geeks, and dorks everywhere, so it had earned the name of Geekmobile.
I tossed Gungnir into the back and opened the back door for Oberon so he could hop inside.
“Hey, where are you going?” Granuaile asked.
“We need supplies,” I said. “Running down to Chinle.” And also to Canyon de Chelly, where I could shift quickly to the cabin near Ouray and drop off Odin’s spear. Oberon and I might go hunting while we were there.
“I want to go!”
“No, continue your training. Target practice with the throwing knives, and don’t forget to work with the staff. We’ll get into some new martial-arts stuff tomorrow, I promise. And I want to hear how you’re progressing in your Old Irish.” I closed the cab door and started the engine before she could talk her way inside. We kicked up some dust in my haste to escape.
"How many more years do you have to train her? Like five hundred?"
Only six.
"Doesn’t matter. You’re going to need to come up with another plan. Not that I object to snacks."
I know. I’m running out of ideas, though.
"You could draw a mustache on her with a Sharpie while she sleeps."
She has a mirror, Oberon.
"All right. Take her to get her hair cut and secretly pay off the stylist to give her a mullet."
That would probably work, except that she would murder the stylist. It would never work. There was more to Granuaile than her hair.
"Oh, yeah. Well, that’s all I’ve got. At some point you two will go all Discovery Channel on each other, and then you’ll feel so guilty you’ll wear hair shirts and sleep in iron maidens. You’re doomed."
His words reminded me of my promise to fight on the side of the Norse in Ragnarok, when and if it came. We’re all doomed, I said. But for now I think I’ll count my blessings.
"Oh, let me help! Blessing number one: me!"
He stuck his head between the front seats and deftly licked my ear, delivering a classic Wet Willy. I shied away and laughed. Always, buddy, I said.