Trapped tidc-5 Read online

  “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.

  Oberon said. Usually I told him stories while he bathed.

  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!

 

  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!

 

  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.”

  Chapter 8

  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.

  Chapter 9

  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.

  I was about to begin the next sequence when Oberon’s insistent voice broke through my trance.

 

  Chapter 10

  Unwilling to pull myself entirely out of the trance, I paused, dropped the thorn, and spoke to him. How do you know?

 

  Somebody’s out there. You’re right. Damn it five thousand ways. Judging by where I am in the tattoos, it’s only been about three weeks. And you know you shouldn’t eat that meat, right?

 

  It was all training for this particular moment, see? You’re alive instead of dead like those dogs in the movies.

 

  Can you see any tracks? Smell anything besides the meat?

 

  It’s not turning human. You can still smell the meat.

 

  Don’t touch it, Oberon. Don’t even lick it. It’s poisoned for sure. Look, I’m going to come out there and see if I can spot any clues. Stay there, keep a sharp ear and nose out, and let me know if you sense anything.

 

  And stop staring at the meat. Look around for who put it there.

 

  Canine Psychology 101. Seriously, don’t look at it. Look for the dastardly villain.

 

  Oberon. It’s dead meat. You are stronger than other dogs. Look away.

 

  Oberon! Watch out for the cows raining down from the sky!

 

  Don’t look back at the meat! Look around for who might have dropped it.

 

  I’ll be there as soon as I can.

  I made apologies to Gaia and Granuaile. Anybody with the heart to poison a dog would have the heart to do us harm as well, and we couldn’t ignore it. //Pause necessary / Will continue binding later//

  “Atticus? What’s going on?”

  “Someone’s out there. They dropped a T-bone in Oberon’s path, and it’s a good bet that it’s poisoned. We need to take care of this before we continue. Find your knives and strap them on.”

  “We can continue? We will continue? I’m just checking,” she said as she found her knife holsters and attached them to her belt.

  “Yes to both. You’re going to cast your first magic before I go.” I tossed aside my backpack, looking for Moralltach. It was still where I’d stashed it, and I slung the scabbard on the strap over my back.

  “I can do that without the binding being complete?”

  “Yeah. Everything I’ve done so far is complete in itself. The inhibitor loop on the bottom of your foot worked immediately. Same for these other bits.” I fetched her staff and returned to where she was sitting. Granuaile seemed disoriented by the sudden change in plans—and perhaps a bit dizzy, because her leg was still swollen and oozing blood. I offered her a hand up and she took it. Pulling her to her feet, I said, “Cast the binding for magical sight.”

  “Okay, but how?”

  “What do you mean, how? Did you forget the words? I made you do all those drills for nothing?”

  “No, but …”

  “Say the words, see the knots, and be the hand that ties them. The power is there now.”

  Granuaile didn’t have any charms to cast bindings via mental commands. She’d have to speak everything until she could craft her own charms. And so she began, in a halting voice, disbelief in her eyes that she could make this happen. I triggered my charm so I could watch it: When she finished the final phrase that
energized the binding and drew power from the earth, I saw the white glow of magic flow up from the cave floor and illuminate her tattoos underneath the skin, and I heard her gasp as her eyes saw much more than they were used to seeing. She put out her hands, suddenly unbalanced. Magical vertigo—sensory overload.

  “Sensei? This isn’t … oh, shit.”

  I stepped closer to make sure she didn’t fall. “Search for the outlines of things.”

  “This isn’t like looking through your eyes. It’s too much.”

  “I know. You need to ignore the gossamer threads of all the bindings around you. If it’s below your feet, block it out; you don’t need to see all the bindings there. You have to train yourself to ignore the sensory input of these peripheral bindings, the way freeway drivers ignore billboards and speed limits and so on. You understand?”

  “Uh … yeah? I think? Whoa.”

  “When you’re driving, you don’t focus on everything at once, but you have peripheral awareness of it, right? You focus on what you need to at any given moment, whether it’s the car in front of you, the jackass in the lifted truck passing you, or the sirens behind you, whatever. Everything exists, everything is there, but you don’t have to see it all at once. Does that help? You don’t have to see all the bindings you’re seeing right now. Just focus on the outlines of the physical stuff you saw before.”

  “Yeah, well, the bushes don’t give me much of an outline, sensei, because they’re fucking bushy.”

  “Here,” I said, thrusting her staff into her hands. “That should be a simple enough shape to focus on.”

  “No, because I see the oil from my fingers and the wood cells and—what is that thing? Is it some sort of bug larvae living in my staff?”

  “Bring it up close to your eyes. Focus on the shape. There’s a big censor bar across your vision. That’s all you see, only the outline.”

  “Oh. Wait, that helped.”

  “Good. Now keep your vision in that mode, if you will, when you lower the staff. See outlines instead of everything.”