“As certain as I can be. I’m just half drowned.” We entered an elevator and paused until the doors closed.
“Would you mind if I did a chest X-ray to be sure? The cops are going to want to see one anyway. Kind of a standard procedure.”
“Well, I’ve already plugged up the holes in my lung and the entry and exit wounds too, so it’s going to look a bit odd.”
Jodursson scowled for the first time. Until then, he’d been conversing with half a grin on his face. “That was probably more efficient than you should have been.”
“Well, you’re going to charge me thousands for chest bandages I’ll never use, so I figure we’re even. You and your team will just have to lie convincingly on the stand when you get called up.” The elevator bell dinged and the doors opened, and the nurses rolled me into a busy hallway lined with surgical bays.
“You’re going to sue the cops, then?” Jodursson asked.
“Sure, why not? Somebody has to pay for all this, and I’d rather it not be me.”
“You’ve got a solid case?”
“As solid as Hal can make it. Five cops saw the other cop shoot me when I was standing dead still with my hands up, offering no resistance. Got it on security cam too. You write up a good story about your medical wizardry, and it’s guaranteed.”
“Excellent. I’ll be sure to pad the bill.”
“You’re the reason we need health care reform, you know.”
Jodursson’s grin returned. “There’s also going to be the matter of my team’s hush money.”
“Sure, no problem. This one’s going to get a lot of attention, because the press can’t leave something like this alone. Just let Hal know how much, and I’ll make sure he gets it to you.”
“Do we have to rush this?”
“The faster the better. You’re going to have the police and press here sooner rather than later, and I’d prefer to disappear if I can before they get here.”
And so Dr. Snorri Jodursson had me out of there by the time night fell, scooting out a side door in a wheelchair and conveniently missing all the people waiting for me in recovery.
We didn’t miss the guy waiting by the side door, though. That would be Detective Carlos Jimenez. He was showing some annoying signs of sentience.
“You’re looking pretty good for a guy who got shot in the chest,” he said.
“Detective.” I nodded at him. “How may I help you?”
“I need a statement.”
“I got shot in Tempe. You’re from Phoenix. There’s a statement. Two, in fact.”
“I know, Mr. O’Sullivan, I just need your version of events to put in my report. There’s always a lot of scrutiny when a cop gets shot, and it gets insane when he gets shot by other cops. So oblige me, will you?”
“All right. Detective Fagles shot me for no good reason while I had my hands up and was making no threatening movements or statements. The brave and decisive action of Detective Carlos Jimenez prevented me from suffering further injury and possibly saved my life. I am going to sue Tempe for millions. How’s that?”
“That was great. Thanks. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“Maybe I’m going to a titty bar. It’s none of your business. Come on, Doctor, let’s go.” Snorri began to roll me forward, and as he did, Jimenez registered what was slung around the back of my wheelchair.
“Hey, is that a scabbard? Or a sword, rather?”
“Whoa. Déjà vu,” I said, gesturing for Snorri to keep on pushing. “That sounds eerily like the line of questioning Detective Fagles used today when he was supposed to be searching for the dog I don’t have.”
“If that’s the sword Detective Fagles was talking about, then you removed it from a crime scene,” Jimenez replied, walking a pace or two behind us.
“If it is the same sword, Detective—and that’s a big , since nobody ever saw that imaginary sword but Fagles—then it’s just as legally in my possession here as it was in my shop. Good evening, sir.”
“Wait a second,” Jimenez said. “Where can I find you if I need additional information?”
“You already know where I live and where I work,” I said.
“You’re going home, then?” He was a persistent bugger.
“Tell you what. If you cannot find me at home or at work, you may contact me through Hal Hauk, my attorney.” My plan had been to be out of the chair and walking north up Civic Center at this point, but Jimenez was kind of putting a crimp in my plans. He noticed this as we ran out of the parking lot and arrived at the street, where Snorri stopped pushing my wheelchair.
“What, no ride?” Jimenez asked.
“Good night, Detective,” I said pointedly.
He ignored me and addressed Snorri. “Has Mr. O’Sullivan been checked out of the hospital, then?”
“Yes, on my authority.”
“And you are?”
“Dr. Snorri Jodursson.”
“What can you tell me about his condition, Doctor?”
“I can tell you nothing right now, as you know. But once I receive a proper medical records request, you may of course read his chart and my notes yourself. And the sooner you leave me alone, the sooner I can get the paperwork finished.”
“Well, you’re quite a pair,” Jimenez said, folding his arms across his chest and locking his knees. He said nothing more, just stood there and stared at us. I kept my gaze focused on Scottsdale Stadium across the street, and I think Snorri was returning his gaze. I bet Jimenez would blink first—werewolves, you know—but Snorri didn’t have the patience to stare him down baldly. He employed a legal argument to save time.
“If you will excuse us, Detective, I need to consult with my patient in private,” Snorri said, and then I could practically feel him turning on that werewolf vibe that says back the hell off.
It took about two seconds for Jimenez to lower his eyes. He said, “Of course, Doctor. Good evening to you. And to you, Mr. O’Sullivan. I’ll be in touch.” We made no reply as he walked south along the sidewalk for about twenty-five yards. Then he stopped and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and started slapping it against his palm. He looked back at us as he put one between his lips and lit up, clearly intending to wait around to see who gave me a ride. Annoying.
“Snorri, start walking me north toward Civic Center park,” I whispered, confident that he could hear me, and he complied. “I’m going to cast camouflage on myself and the sword now that you’re concealing me from his sight,” I said, “and I’ll get up while you’re pushing me and walk along with you. I don’t think he’ll spot the movement, since it’s dark. When we get up to the corner of Second Street, we’ll lose him around the corner and you can walk back, saying I caught a ride in a waiting car.”
“All right,” he whispered. “He’s following us. And he’s just pulled out his cell phone.”
“Can you hear who he’s talking to?”
“Hold on.” For a few moments there was nothing but the sound of the wheelchair thunking across cracks in the sidewalk. Then Snorri said, “He’s asking the Scottsdale police to get a car over here to tail you.”
“Ha! Won’t get here in time.” I cast camouflage on myself and on Fragarach once more and felt my energy stores dwindle down to Death Valley levels—that was the price I paid for playing wedgie games. Then I rocked myself forward onto the footrests, and hopped off into the street, so that Snorri could keep pushing the wheelchair as if I were still in it. I tried to take my first deep breath since getting shot and immediately discovered what a bad idea it was.
“Don’t try to take a deep breath until you heal up fully,” Snorri advised me as I gasped and clutched at my throat. “That local is probably wearing off, and the tissue in your throat is scraped raw and extremely dry at this point.”
“Thanks for the timely warning,” I whispered, over what felt like a windpipe made of molten gravel.
“That’s why I get paid the big bucks,” he said lightly.
“Speaking of which,” I wheezed, “you might want to have Hal take a look at your report before you hand it over to the cops, just to make sure it’s consistent with what actually happened.”
“Will do.”
I turned to look over my shoulder at Jimenez trailing us. He was picking up his pace as he saw us nearing the corner. I reached out to the wheelchair and snagged Fragarach from the back and slung it over my shoulder.
“I’m going to jog up to the park now. Tell Hal I’ll meet him for lunch at Rúla Búla tomorrow at noon and to bring Oberon with him.”
“Okay. Get well and try not to worry. We have your back.”
“Thanks, Snorri. You’re worth every penny.” I veered off to the right, crossing the deserted street to a wide median populated with old olive trees that gave Civic Center its peculiar character. After drawing some energy from a tree to allow me to breathe more freely, if not without pain, I left Snorri and Jimenez behind to play Where’s the Druid? and jogged the last quarter mile to the Civic Center Plaza, an expansive grassy area dotted with some old oaks and the occasional bronze statue. It was a little too manicured for my taste, but it was a large enough source of natural power to take care of my healing needs.
I walked a few paces into the grass and sank my fingers into the soil, reaching out with my consciousness to get to know this carefully kept landscape of modern serenity. Five minutes of meditation revealed to me a place near an oak tree that was rarely trod upon, so I made my way there and shucked myself out of my clothes, folding them neatly and hiding them up in a crook of the tree’s branches. I checked my cell phone for messages and had several texts—two from Hal and one from Perry—updating me that all was well for the moment, then turned it off to go completely incommunicado. Then, na**d and camouflaged, I lay down on my right side so that my tattoos would have as much contact with the earth as possible and put Fragarach in front of me, nestled against my chest and belly. I placed some precautionary wards about myself, then instructed my body to heal and detoxify while I slept, drawing on the power of Civic Center’s abundant (if somewhat chemically assisted) life energy.
I had escaped Aenghus Óg’s machinations on this day, but at the cost of Fagles’s life. If I continued to let Aenghus test my defenses and provide him with a stationary target, eventually he would find a way to break me—especially with a coven of witches backing him up. So it was time to change the game somehow, and I had two choices: run like hell or fight like hell.
Running wasn’t attractive to me anymore, because I’d been there and done that for two millennia, and since I had basically pledged on my honor to Brighid that I would fight for her against Aenghus, it really wasn’t a viable option. On top of that, there was the betrayal of the Sisters of the Three Auroras. My ego didn’t want to let a bunch of Polish witches less than half my age get away with bearding me in my own den.
So it was going to be fight like hell, and about time too. I had managed to out-dither Hamlet, and the famous Dane’s words now haunted me: “I do not know why yet I live to say ‘This thing’s to do,’ sith I have cause and will and strength and means to do’t.” Hamlet promised himself he’d throw down afterward, but I think perhaps when he said, “From this time forth, my thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!” the limits of blank verse weakened his resolve somehow. If he’d been free to follow the dictates of his conscience rather than the pen of Shakespeare, perhaps he would have abandoned verse altogether, like me, and contented himself with this instead: “Bring it, muthafuckas. Bring it.”
Chapter 18
I awoke in the morning remarkably refreshed but with urgent pressure on my bladder. After relieving myself on the oak tree—out of sight of the few people strolling through the park—I took a deep breath, and it felt remarkably good. I twirled my arms experimentally and felt no tightness in my chest, and I smiled. The earth was so good to me, so giving and so kind.
I retrieved my cell phone and powered it on, checking the time: It was ten a.m., plenty of time to make it to Rúla Búla. I pulled down my clothes, dressed, slung Fragarach across my back, and dispelled the camouflage, walking plainly in the world again. My bear charm was fully charged and I felt completely restored, albeit dreadfully thirsty and a bit esurient.
I had messages from the Tempe Police Department, at first requesting and then demanding that I contact them immediately, as well as messages from Hal, Snorri, and Perry.
Hal just wanted me to know that Oberon was a bottomless pit, and while my dog had been very careful with his car’s upholstery and he appreciated it, the blasted canine had destroyed his citrus air freshener for some unknown reason and left it in shreds all over his interior. All business matters he would tell me at Rúla Búla.
Snorri told me Hal had approved his medical report and thanked me in advance for paying his very large bill.
In a message time-stamped at nine-thirty, Perry called to tell me that the shop door had been successfully replaced. More important, a “totally hawt” blond woman named Malina had shown up at the shop to say Emily would not require her tea or my services further; the contract was considered fulfilled. Whoa. Did that mean the adorable couple of Aenghus and Emily had broken up? Or did it mean something else? And he also said she asked about a letter from a friend of hers; she wanted it back really badly but Perry couldn’t find it anywhere in the shop, though he looked.