Kevin Hearne - Hunted

“Huh. Which cities?”

“Istanbul, Las Vegas, and Paris are the names I’ve heard.” I’d half expected to hear Thessalonika in there, which would mean Theophilus was making a play, but then it made sense that he would let others step forward. He was the sort of leader who moved in the shadows, safely out of reach. In that he was very similar to his mysterious counterpart amongst the Tuatha Dé Danann.

Goibhniu brought over our draughts, and I noticed it was a different beer than the first. “This is my Ballyshannon Blond Ale,” he said.

We clinked glasses and took an appreciative sip. “Did the yewmen get any more after Rome?” I asked.

“Oh, aye,” Goibhniu said, nodding. “They’ve been making hits just about every other day, spreading throughout Italy. It’s driving the bloodsuckers crazy. They’re upgrading their daytime security and hissing at one another, and I’m over here eatin’ popcorn and laughin’ me ass off.”

“So what’s the count?”

“They’re able to hit around twenty to thirty a night, but that’s only every other day. So right now we’re at a hundred sixty-two vampires who are finally dead for real.”

That was a fraction of the world’s vampires, but, so far as I knew, they hadn’t ever suffered a loss like this in my lifetime. And it came in territory they’d long considered safe, to vampires who were amongst the most powerful of their kind.

“That’s quite a bit of bounty to be paid. Can I bring you that money plus an estimate for more when I pick up my man from Zealot Island?”

“Sure, that would be grand. Want to see the heads or shall I destroy them?”

“Destroy them. There’s really only one I’m interested in getting at the moment, but I doubt he’ll be in Italy. He’ll be one of the lads sending in minions.”

Goibhniu frowned. “Who’s this?”

“The name’s Theophilus. He’s the one who all but wiped out the Druids back in the old days. It was his idea to use the Roman legions. His organization.”

A spark of genuine anger flashed in the eyes of a god whose good nature was rarely disturbed. “I didn’t know that. When did you discover this?”

“Not long ago. While I was binding her,” I said, nodding my head toward Granuaile. “He’s after us again. That’s why I wanted to push back against the vampires now. Keep him busy. But it would be even better if we could take him out. I think he’s more powerful than he lets on.”

“Hmm.” Goibhniu tapped his glass in contemplation and peered through slitted eyes at me. “You know, there’s a hundred more yewmen at the Morrigan’s Fen with nothing to do.”

Granuaile saw what he meant immediately. “You think we could recruit them to join in?”

“Quite possibly. Say that I can. Where should I send them?”

“Break them up into four pods,” I said. “Send one each to those three cities you mentioned and one to Thessalonika. Free range after that.”

“Hell yeah,” Granuaile said.

Her keenness for the idea surprised me. “Aren’t you concerned about the collateral damage to their thralls? I thought this was the kind of thing you found distasteful. Immoral.”

“Normally it would be. But I’ve had time to consider. Time to be hunted, I should say. I suppose my view grew darker after you died, Atticus—”

“Hold on,” Goibhniu interjected. “You died?”

“Long story,” I waved a hand to dismiss it and let Granuaile finish.

“When the decision is either your life or theirs, it ceases to be complicated. There are issues of dignity and justice to consider, but when it comes to vampires and their thralls, I think I can put that aside. Any one of them would kill me without hesitation, and it’s naïve to think that they’ll change their minds and wish me well someday if I just leave them alone. Those thralls not only are in the business of defending monsters but wish to become monsters themselves. I want to protect life, and they want to eat it. It’s not as if we have a difference of opinion on politics or religion, where violence would be an unacceptable solution. Vampires want to end me. Since abandoning the planet isn’t an option, my only choice is to end them first.”

I nodded and did my best to keep my expression neutral, though privately I was saddened. Granuaile’s generosity had once been unconditional; now it was tempered with a soupçon of bloodthirstiness. But battle hardens you and leaves little room for ethical niceties, and since becoming a full Druid she had seen far more conflict in a month than I saw in my first few years. I’d always known that such scarring would occur eventually, but I’d hoped she could experience the wonder of her new powers unsullied by violence for a while longer, during which she could revel in her connection to Gaia and perhaps let that smooth away some of the anger she had always felt for her stepfather.

I think his fundamental selfishness had shaped her in a manner simultaneously beautiful and dangerous. Her determination to defend the earth was a direct result of what she perceived as his criminal trespasses against the planet—and it behooved her to punish that behavior. I had felt that outrage too, in my youth, and so had many other Druids, and there was no denying that Gaia needed her champions. But during the Industrial Revolution I realized that such outrage was poisoning my spirit. There was nothing I could do to stop the world from changing, so I had to change with it and seek a balance. I didn’t think Granuaile was completely unbalanced yet, but I could see which way the seesaw was tipping, and I wished it would go the other way.

Skipping over her words without comment, I said, “What’s going to happen to the Fen now?”

“Not sure,” Goibhniu said. “It’s not exactly prime real estate. Right gloomy swamp, it is, so no one’s leaping after it. You remember the old hag Scáthach? Trained Cu Chúlainn?”

“Sure.”

“My bet is she’ll pop in there.”

“Huh. Didn’t know she was still around. What about the Morrigan’s duties?”

Goibhniu took in a deep breath and sighed heavily through puffed cheeks before answering. “Manannan will take care of those who die—he was already doing half of it anyway. But I don’t expect anyone will take over choosin’ the slain or fuckin’ people till they bleed. People will still pray to her, of course, and she’ll probably act from time to time from beyond the veil, just like Lugh Lhámhfhada does, but we’ll never see her like again.”

Perhaps it was the high alcohol content of Goibhniu’s beer, but his words hit me palpably and I suddenly missed her. She’d made life more poignant for the Irish. The terror she inspired gave peace its serenity; the pain she caused gave health its lustre; her failure to love made me grateful for my ability to do so, and I realized, far too late, that though I never did or could have loved her as she might have wished, I should have loved her more.

“To the Morrigan,” I said, throat tight with emotion as I raised my glass.

“Aye, the Morrigan,” Goibhniu said, lifting his glass and clearly as overcome as I was. Granuaile joined in with a bit of puzzlement but politely declined to notice out loud that Goibhniu and I were tearing up. We knew it was the end of an era; the sun cannot shine as bright without a proper darkness to counter it. The world had gone a bit gray.

We had two weeks before Goibhniu’s apparatus over Zealot Island would produce any results, so we took the opportunity to fulfill a long-overdue promise. Without telling my hound what we intended, the three of us shifted to a certain Irish Wolfhound Rescue in Massachusetts. It was the same place where I’d originally found Oberon, and we were hoping that they’d have another suitable hound to adopt. Oberon had been alone far too long, and we had a promise to keep.