"I'd be delighted for you to join us," I tell him. "Though I hope to hear more about you as well."

"We will be running all through the night, yes? Plenty of time."

It will be my second run across Poland, although we'll be crossing the northern half and from west to east rather than east to west, but at least it won't lack for sterling conversation. And every step will get me closer to the time when I can address the real reason I became a Druid. My stepfather has lurked in my mind like dishes left over from a dinner no one enjoyed and no one wants to clear away. A divination cloak will finally allow me to attend to that chore in privacy. I think it's long past time I cleaned house.

CHAPTER 14.

When Brighid and I returned to the Fae Court in Tr na ng-she looking regal and I looking every bit as injured as I was-we had a surprise delegation of yewmen waiting for us. It was a large one: a hundred or more. They're creepy things, as one might expect from creatures spawned by the Morrigan, and devoid of any sense of humor or indeed most human emotions except for greed and bloodlust. They were highly effective mercenaries against the vampires-they had no blood to suck and could not be charmed, and bullets that might be fired at them by thralls were mere annoyances. They were perfect vampire hunters, actually, except for the high price tag on their services.

They had come to inform me that I had overdue bills to pay. The yewmen didn't have any vocal cords, however, so they had to communicate via a spokesfaery. They must have written down in advance what they wished to say. Or used sign language or played charades. I really didn't know.

"We have staked and beheaded many vampires for you, Druid," their spokesfaery said in answer to my greeting. Her high, reedy voice, similar to a hamster on helium, didn't match the grim visages of the yewmen. "And at first you paid through Goibhniu. But now Goibhniu is dead. We have not been paid the bounty on six hundred and eighty-three vampires. We will not kill any more until you pay in full."

"I, uh, yyyyyeah. About that. The vampires have managed to degrade my ability to pay."

The faery repeated, "We will not kill any more until you pay in full." She must have exhausted her scripted speeches.

"Got it." I gave them a thumbs-up. "I'll work on that. When I have the money, who should I contact?"

"Me," Brighid said, injecting herself into the conversation. "You will pay me." She looked at the yewmen. "I will be his guarantor. I expect that will be acceptable."

"Brighid, you don't need to do that, I haven't asked-"

"I am volunteering freely and expecting no favors in return, Siodhachan. It's done."

I nodded acknowledgment, realizing that I'd have to find myself a lucrative job very soon. I'd never been much of a get-rich-quick sort of guy; a long life had allowed me the luxury of getting rich slowly through investments. I could raid the store of rare books I had buried years ago by the Salt River in Arizona as a temporary solution. Auction off a few of those and I could live comfortably for a while and maybe pay down a fraction of the debt I owed them. But even if I sold everything-a troublesome prospect since some of them were genuinely dangerous tomes-I doubted I would be able to pay their bill in full.

Since lingering would only expose me to the stares of unpaid mercenaries, I took my leave and shifted back to Flagstaff outside Sam and Ty's house, wondering how I could possibly keep the war going in the short term. The Hammers of God were a welcome addition to the cause but not nearly as efficient as the yewmen. They would not be able to ignore the bullets of thralls, for example, who protected older vampires during the daytime. And the vampires could replenish their numbers faster than we could slay them by turning new victims. Without a much greater advantage, it would be a war of attrition that we had little hope of winning.

Oberon was stretched out in the grass near the house and saw me shift in. He bounded over to see me, excited to share some news.

Oberon asked.

"It's a math problem," I replied, leaving out the exhaustion and the beating I'd suffered.

"No, sorry. I'm worried that there's no solution to the vampire problem. There are many more of them than there are of us. Thousands more."

"No, it's the other way around."

"You mean Theophilus?"

"That's ... actually a good point." I hadn't heard of any specific vampires who wished to end the Druids other than Theophilus. If I could eliminate him-which was the endgame anyway-perhaps the rest of the vampires would redirect their attention to internal power struggles and leave the world's three Druids alone.

When I didn't answer right away, he said, I knocked on the door before entering and shouted a greeting into the house, announcing myself.

"Yeah! Come on in!" a voice called, and Ty appeared shortly afterward. He was about to cook up a lunch of bison burgers, so that would serve instead of a snack for Oberon, and he loaned me his phone so that I could call Hal. But in looking through his contacts under H, I saw Helgarson there.

"Ty, you know Leif Helgarson?"

"Yeah. Not well, more like acquaintances. He was the vampire boss of Arizona, so he knew all the pack leaders and seconds. As a courtesy, he'd call to inform us when he was moving through our territory."

"Is this number for him current?"

"Should be. Updated it when Hal was here and you called."

"Fantastic." The burgers were already in the pan and frying up by the time I got a call placed to my former attorney. He picked up on the second ring, which told me he was probably in the other hemisphere at the moment-where it was nighttime. His dry, cultured voice sounded amused.

"Hello, Ty," he said, responding to the caller ID on his phone.

"This isn't Ty. It's Atticus."

"Ah, my favorite Druid. What a pleasure to hear from you."

I was in no mood to exchange pleasant banter with him and could no longer conceive of a time when I would be. "Where are you now, Leif?"

"Why do you ask? Is it time to relieve me of the burden of undeath?"

"Not yet. More interested in whether you are with Theophilus."

"Oh, no, I am cast out now. A Lucifer in the veritable heaven of vampirism."

"Excessive pride led to the original fall, I believe. That sounds about right. I hope it wasn't anything I did."

"It was, but I assure you that I am content with my place. I'm still on the coast of Normandy, near where we last met, sipping from the wine-infused blood of the French. I like to drink from the people who drink pinot noirs best. Delicious bouquet."

"I'm happy for you. But since you are so content and unfettered by obligation, you should have no problem telling me where to find Theophilus."

"Only the problem of uncertainty. He does not keep me apprised of his movements now that I am out of favor."

"Give me a guess, or tell me who can point me to him."

"I am truly severed from reliable associates, alas. My best guess is that you will find him in Prague at the moment."

"Big city, Leif. Where in Prague?"

"The Grand Hotel Bohemia is his favorite. Heavy curtains on the windows and scrupulous attention to guest privacy."

"This had better not be a setup, Leif."

"It is, as I said, only a guess. Act on it or not, as your conscience dictates."

Oh, I would act on it, all right. I'd leave Fragarach with Ty and Sam and take the new stake with me and act on it with gusto.

"Enjoy your pinot blood," I said, and ended the call with my thumb.

CHAPTER 15.

It's been too long since I've had any sleep. Greta wouldn't let me until she was sure I'd handled the concussion, so it's dark by the time me vision and thoughts clear up. She takes me to one o' those hospitals like Siodhachan was in and runs me through all these machines that can take pictures o' your insides without cutting through the outside. By that time I'd had enough help from Gaia to set me brain right, so the doctor says, nope, Mr. Kennedy is not concussed, but that left shoulder is a mite dodgy, innit?

He introduces himself as Dr. Sudarga, and he smells like he's fond of vanilla soap. Greta tells me later that his name indicates he's from a place called Indonesia, or anyway his family was generations ago. He shows me X-rays and points out all the fractures and muscle tears and whatnot, and I think it's pretty helpful. Seeing the image gives me focus on what to fix, and that will make me healing more efficient.

"Great," I says. "I'll get right on that."

"I beg your pardon? How are you getting on it?"

Apparently I've said the wrong fecking thing, and Greta hurries to explain. "He means he'll rest and follow your instructions to the letter."

"Not if it includes taking drugs," I says, and Greta sighs and puts her face in her hand. I get the idea that I'm supposed to do whatever Dr. Sudarga says. His eyes shift back and forth between me and Greta.

"If you don't want any pain meds, that's of course your decision," he says, "but we really need to immobilize that shoulder."

"Try it and I'll immobilize you, lad."

"Owen!" Greta exclaims.

"What? We don't need instructions or anything else." I do understand that I've been rude somehow, so I turn to the doctor and try to let him down easy. "Dr. Sudarga, thank ye kindly for showing me that picture of me bones, but I don't want to take up any more of your time. All I want now is a shot of whiskey and a bed."

"If we don't immobilize that shoulder, your muscles might not reattach correctly and you could be looking at permanent damage. It's likely you'll need surgery."

"It's not likely at all. I told you I'm on it and it'll heal up just fine."

He blinks and looks at Greta. "If he leaves without treatment, I'm not responsible."

This is such an obvious statement that I don't know why he wastes breath on it.

"May harmony find ye," I says, and I leave the room. I hear Greta apologizing to him, which I don't think is necessary, and I get a fine long lecture afterward about how strange behavior like that is going to get written down and remembered and maybe invite official scrutiny. The better thing to do would have been to let him put me in a sling and then take it off as soon as we left.

"If we never go see a doctor again, then we don't have to pretend like that," I says. "Look, it's fecking dawn already. We were there all night to find out that I'm not concussed and my shoulder's rubbish, which I already knew when I went in."

"I wanted to confirm your head was all right, and that was the only way to do it. The Tempe Pack has a doctor in it and he knows about our unusual healing. With everyone else we have to make allowances."

"Maybe they can allow me to take care of meself," I grumble.

"So ornery! If you hadn't already had your ass kicked, I'd kick it for you."

"I know. Sorry, love. I'm just worried about Fand, and I want to see if I can find out where that troll came from."

"You have the apprentices to teach this morning."

"Aye, but I don't think it's safe to roam around the property yet until I shut down that troll's path to me Grove. Will ye take a walk with me into the woods to look for it after I focus a bit on me shoulder?"

"Sure."

Once we're back at the house I take time to reconnect with the earth, bind those tiny fractures together, and make sure the muscles are attached properly. They'll need time to rebuild before I can use the arm, but once I'm satisfied that the foundation is set, I use that trick Siodhachan taught me to ease the pain and let the healing continue on its own as I walk. I slip me knuckles on as a precaution. No telling what we might find up there in the ponderosa pines.

We don't have many evergreens in Ireland, and the smell is still something new to me nose. I like this forest and the crunch of the needles underfoot, the skittering noise of a kicked pinecone, and the chattering of squirrels. Greta's walking on me right side, her breath steaming the air, and it's a bracing winter morn-or near enough. It'll be solstice before we know it. She grins at me and feels lovey enough to grab me hand and squeeze it.

"Feeling better?" she asks.

"A bit," I have to admit. "Trees are always the cure for your modern bollocks."

"How do we find where the troll arrived?"

"We can either track it by smell, because by all the drunken gods that lad had a powerful scent, or I might get lucky and be able to spot the path in the magical spectrum."

"Smell would probably be faster," she says.

"Aye. When we find where the trail ends, that's where he emerged, and then I can either untether the tree or figure how to destroy the Old Way."

"How are they different?"

"Eh. Kind of like the difference between a private and a public road. Only Druids can use tethered trees freely, because we're bound to Gaia. Lesser Fae can use some of them but have trouble bringing other people along. Old Ways, though, built by the Tuatha De Danann, are like your highways. Anyone can travel them, no magical ability required except maybe having some way to see the path. That's what I think we're looking for. Trolls can't use the tethers to Tr na ng unless a Druid shifts with them. Good thing too. Last thing we need are trolls swinging their cocks all around the world."

"Well, you can't follow a scent trail the way you are, and if you shape-shift you're liable to mess up your shoulder even worse, aren't you? So that means I should probably play the bloodhound." She sheds her jacket and drops it to the forest floor.

"What? No, ye don't have to go through that. I'll shape-shift and it'll be fine. I'll walk on three legs, keep healing and everything."

Greta spins in a circle, scanning the area. "It's no trouble, Owen. Look, we're already deep enough into the trees that no one from the house will see anything." Her hands cross over her stomach, grab the bottom of her shirt, and pull it over her head in a fluid motion.

"I don't give a loud juicy shite if anyone sees ye." I begin to unbutton my shirt as fast as I can with one hand. "I don't want ye to have to go through the pain of the shift when ye don't have to."

"That's sweet, Owen," she says, tossing her shirt to the ground on top of her jacket and reaching for the fly of her jeans, "but I stopped fearing the pain a long time ago. It can't be avoided, so I just accept it as part of my day."

"But this can be avoided, Greta. I told ye I'd do it-"

"No. Shh!" She puts a finger to her lips and then points uphill, her eyes focused on something over me left shoulder. I turn and see a blue-skinned troll stepping from behind a pine onto the hill. He hasn't seen us yet; he's motioning to someone unseen, who becomes seen shortly thereafter: another troll, this one with brown leathery skin, stepping from behind a tree that's not wide enough to hide their bulk. It's the anchored end point of an Old Way. They're coming through from one of the Irish planes.