Kevin Hearne: Hounded

“Four of them were fell,” she said, and waited for that to sink in. It wasn’t going to be a happy time.

“I see. And which of the trees spoke to you?”

The Morrigan regarded me as if her next words would cause me to swoon like a corseted Jane Austen character. “Fearn. Tinne. Ngetal. Ura. Idho.”

Alder, Holly, Reed, Heather, and Yew. The first represented a warrior and was simultaneously the most clearly interpreted and the most vague. The others all suggested that some pretty dire shit was going to befall said warrior, whoever he was. Holly signaled challenges and ordeals, Reed screamed of fear, Heather warned of surprises, and Yew prophesied death.

“Ah,” I said as nonchalantly as I could. “And how, precisely, did the Alder and the Yew fall in relationship to each other?”

“The Yew crossed the Alder.”

Well, that was fairly clear. The warrior was going to die. He’d be surprised by its arrival, scared witless, and he’d fight maniacally against it, but his death was inevitable. The Morrigan noted my acceptance of the casting and said, “So where will you go?”

“I have not decided yet.”

“There are even more isolated places in the Mojave Desert,” she suggested, with a slight emphasis on the name. I think she was trying to impress me with her knowledge of American geography since she had bungled the Iraq thing. I wondered if she knew about the dissolution of Yugoslavia, or if she even knew that Transylvania was now part of Romania. Immortals don’t always pay much attention to current events.

“I mean, Morrigan, I have not decided to go yet.”

The crow on the bust of Ganesha said nothing, but the eyes flashed red for a brief second, and that, I admit, made me a bit uncomfortable. She really wasn’t my friend. One day—and it could be today—she would decide I’d lived far too long and grown far too cavalier, and that would be it for me.

“Just give me a few minutes to think about the casting,” I said, and realized immediately afterward that I should have chosen my words more carefully.

The red eyes came back and the crow’s voice was pitched lower than before, with minor harmonics in it that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. “You would pit your divination skills against mine?”

“No, no,” I hastened to reassure her. “I’m trying to catch up with you, that’s all. Now, I’m just thinking aloud here, okay? That Alder wand—the warrior—that does not necessarily have to mean me, does it?”

The red eyes faded back to a more natural black, and the Morrigan shifted her weight impatiently on the bust. “Of course not,” she said in her normal tone. The minor harmonics were gone. “It could technically be anyone who fights you, should you prevail. But my focus was on you when I made the casting, and so you are most likely to be the warrior the Alder wand represents. This fight is coming, whether you will or no.”

“But here is my question: You have let me live for centuries because it vexes Aenghus Óg. Aenghus and I are probably linked somewhat in your mind. So when you did the casting, is it not possible that Aenghus Óg was also in your thoughts?”

The Morrigan cawed and hopped onto Ganesha’s trunk, then hopped back up to the top of the head, twitching her wings a bit. She knew the answer, but she didn’t like it because she knew where I was going with this.

“Possible, yes,” she hissed. “But it is unlikely.”

“But you must admit, Morrigan, that it is also unlikely Aenghus Óg would leave Tír na nÓg to hunt me down himself. He is far more likely to employ surrogates, as he has done for centuries now.” Aenghus’s strengths ran to charm and networking—making people love him, in other words, so that they’d offer to do him any little favor, like killing wayward Druids. He’d sent practically every sort of thug and assassin imaginable against me over the years—my favorites were the camel-mounted Egyptian Mamelukes—but he seemed to realize that taking up the chase personally would diminish him, especially since I kept living to escape another day. A hint of smugness might have crept into my tone as I continued, “And I can handle any of the lesser Fae he should choose to send after me, as I proved just moments ago.”

The crow leapt off the bust of Ganesha and flew straight at my face, but before I could get worried about a beak in the eye, the bird sort of melted in midair, reforming into a naked, statuesque woman with milk-white skin and raven hair. It was the Morrigan as seductress, and she caught me rather unprepared. Her scent had me responding before she ever touched me, and by the time she closed the remaining distance between us, I was ready to invite her back to my place. Or here would be fine, right here, right now, by the tea station. She draped an arm around my shoulder and trailed her nails down the back of my neck, causing me to shudder involuntarily. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth at that, and she pressed her body against mine and leaned forward to whisper in my ear.

“And what if he sends a succubus to slay you, most wise and ancient Druid? You would be dead inside a minute if he knew this weakness of yours.” I heard what she said, and a small corner of my mind realized that it could be of some importance, but the largest part of me could think of nothing except the way she was making me feel. The Morrigan stepped back abruptly and I tried to clutch at her, but she slapped me viciously across the face and told me to snap out of it as I crumpled to the floor.

I snapped out of it. The scent that had so intoxicated me was gone, and the pain spreading across my cheek banished the physical need I had felt.

“Ow,” I said. “Thanks for that. I was about to go into full-on leg-humping mode.”

“This is a serious vulnerability you have, Siodhachan. Aenghus could simply pay a mortal woman to do his work for him.”

“He tried that when I was last in Italy,” I said, as I grabbed the edge of the sink to help myself up. The Morrigan is not the sort to give a man a hand. “And I’ve faced succubi as well. I have an amulet to protect me against such things.”

“Then why aren’t you wearing it?”

“I took it off just a moment ago to wash it. Besides, I am safe inside my store and my home from the Fae.”

“Clearly not, Druid, because here I stand.” Yes, there she stood, naked. That could prove awkward if anyone walked through the door.

“Your pardon, Morrigan; I am safe from all save the Tuatha Dé Danann. If you look carefully, you will notice the bindings I have set about the place. They should hold against the lesser Fae and most anything he could send from hell.”

The Morrigan tilted her head upward and her eyes lost focus for a moment, and it was then that a pair of unfortunate college lads wandered into my shop. I could tell that they were drunk, even though it was only mid-afternoon. Their hair was greasy and they wore concert T-shirts and jeans, and they had not shaved for several days. I knew the type: They were stoners who were wondering if I had anything smokable behind my apothecary counter. Conversations with them usually began with them asking if my herbs had medicinal benefits. After my affirmative response, they would ask me if I had anything with hallucinogenic properties. I usually sold these types a bag of sage and thyme under an exotic name and sent them on their merry way, because I have no scruples about separating idiots from their money. They would get headaches from the experience and never return. What I feared was that these particular lads would see the Morrigan and never leave alive.

Sure enough, one of them, wearing a Meat Loaf shirt, saw the Morrigan standing bare-assed in the middle of my shop, hands on hips, looking like a goddess, and he pointed her out to his friend in the Iron Maiden shirt.