Kevin Hearne - Hexed

Finally satisfied, I glided home and spiraled down into my backyard, where I released the binding and returned to my human form. Oberon was very happy to see me.

he said.

I cooked dinner for us, then gave Hal a call from my home phone to suggest he pick up the silver knife to aid in the investigation of Father Gregory and Rabbi Yosef. I left it on the front porch for him, the blade carefully wrapped in oilskin for his protection, then immediately began to work on shielding my house from Kabbalists. Once I finished, hours later, I felt mentally drained from the exertions of the day, but I crashed gratefully on my bed and counted myself lucky that I didn’t need to spend another night healing outside.

The Morrigan tried to wake me up gently this time, but she still managed to startle me into a waking nightmare.

“Gah! Please tell me you’re not horny,” I begged, clutching the sheets and trying to hide behind a pillow.

“No,” she replied, smirking, even though she was sitting naked on the edge of my bed, raven hair falling on alabaster skin. “I have returned with the amulets.” Four black droplets of cold iron shifted with the percussive clack of rocks in the palm of her hand. “Goibhniu was quick.”

“Ah, that’s great.” I lowered the pillow and sighed in relief. “Very good. Because I don’t think I could take another day like yesterday.”

The Morrigan laughed, genuinely amused, and it did not sound remotely malicious to me. “You look well, Siodhachan. You are completely recovered.”

“Physically, yes. But you left me in an awkward position with Brighid, and you know you did.”

The goddess of death snorted. “I saw that she redecorated your kitchen.”

“She tried to kill me, Morrigan. She could have killed my hound.”

“I felt no danger for you at any time.” Her head shook slowly and a tiny smile stretched across her face.

“Will you ever feel that danger again, now that you’ve agreed not to take me?”

“Oh, yes, I know I will, because I already have. It’s coming.”

“It is? When?”

“Very soon. Today or tomorrow. You battle with shadowy figures.”

I was bemused. “That … kind of sounds like a horoscope.”

The Morrigan laughed again. She was in an extraordinarily good mood. “I suggest you perform your own divination. Soon. But for now I come bearing gifts. These three extra amulets are yours to dispose of as you wish. And there is a package of fresh sausage in the kitchen.”

“Thank you, Morrigan,” I said, taking the three amulets from her. They were teardrop shaped, with a loop at the top to string on a necklace. “Oberon’s going to love the sausage. Shall I cook breakfast for us? Are you hungry?”

“Yes, I’m rather famished. And you make such excellent omelets.”

“Okay,” I said, whipping off the bedspread and padding barefoot toward the kitchen. I had to go to the bathroom, but I was putting that off until I had the Morrigan settled. I didn’t want a repeat of what happened the last time.

Some watchdog you are , I told Oberon, who was sitting meekly by the refrigerator.

What? I’ve never seen her in such a good mood . I gave him an affectionate scratch under the chin and got out the makings for coffee.

I don’t think that’s it, buddy. I think she’s happy because she feels she’s beaten Brighid somehow .

You must proceed on the expectation of good manners, both yours and hers. That is the essence of hospitality .

The Morrigan walked into the kitchen and took a seat at the table. “Good morning, Oberon,” she said with a smile.

So go over there and wag your tail. She won’t hurt you, I promise .

Oberon got to his feet, kept his head low, and wagged his tail slowly, half expecting to die.

“Oh, you’re actually coming to see me? I’m honored,” the Morrigan said. Oberon’s tail wagged a bit faster. “This is quite a feather in my cap, to be acknowledged by the great Druid’s hound,” she added. Oberon bumped his snout under her arm, flopping her hand expertly onto the back of his neck. She immediately began to pet him with a series of massaging squeezes, chuckling softly as she did so.

Oberon said, his tail wagging enthusiastically now.

Breakfast was pleasant. The Morrigan asked for advice on what to do next with the amulet, and I advised her to wear it as a talisman for now and cast spells with it off and on to discover what difference there was. She had to discover a way to cast spells without any interference whatsoever from the iron. In the meantime, she should introduce herself to an iron elemental and give it a few faeries, asking nothing in return. Repeat as necessary until the elemental asked if it could do anything for her. “That might take years,” I warned. “It took me three years to get to that point, and I’m a friendly guy. Never betray a moment’s impatience.”

“Where did you get the faeries to feed it?”

“Aenghus Óg kept sending them after me.”

“Ha!” the Morrigan barked. “So in a way he was helping you all along to build the defense that enabled you to stand up to him.”

When the Morrigan left, I finally relieved my grateful bladder, then discovered I was only mildly late to get on the road with Granuaile. My cell was still on top of my shop’s roof, so I used the phone in the kitchen to call her to come pick me up. After that, I got my wands out of the garage to perform a long-overdue divination.

My wands are twenty sticks with Ogham script carved into one end. Each of the sticks stands for a different letter of the Ogham alphabet, and these in turn are associated with the trees of Ireland, together with a host of prophetic meanings.

I took my wands out to the backyard and cleared my mind. I focused on my friends and their safety, then, without looking, I withdrew five sticks from the bag and threw them gently into the air, letting them fall in front of me. How they fell—and how I interpreted them—would hopefully give me a glimpse of the future.

I saw willow, alder, hawthorn, blackthorn, and yew. The latter chilled me quickly; it prophesied death. Fortunately it did not definitively cross the alder or willow—which I took to mean both male and female friends—yet it threatened both, lying between them, as a stark possibility, a possible outcome. Hawthorn and blackthorn—magic guardianship and danger. My friends needed magical protection: The German hexen would attack again soon, perhaps at any moment.

“Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune!” I cried with all the venom of Charlton Heston.

Oberon asked.

“It’s a Shakespearean word for whore. ”

trumpet . And pump it . Why didn’t the Black Eyed Peas use it in their song? Aren’t rappers always looking for cool new rhymes? They should kick it old school with the Bard.>

I snorted. “Indeed.”

“Fortune. It’s a quote from Hamlet . The idea is that Fortune is fickle or unfaithful, like a whore. The character who says it continues, ‘All you gods, in general synod take away her power;’ because he doesn’t like what Fortune has in store for him. Well, I’m not a god, nor am I in general synod with anyone, but perhaps I have a way to take away Fortune’s power to do you harm.” I had three amulets of cold iron that I could use like talismans—three people I could protect. “Come here, Oberon. Let me see your collar.”