Though I don't have anything but American money on me, it worked fine in the market and I give the waitress everything I have, which is enough to pay for a month's rent or maybe two. I figure somebody here should have a good day.

CHAPTER 7.

Damn Siodhachan to a dark and juicy hell for making me shift to an unfamiliar city to tend his perverted hound. I can't even bring Greta with me as a guide, because he told me once what happened to her old leader, Gunnar Magnusson, when he shifted planes: The poor lad was sick all over his shoes. Werewolves don't handle plane-shifting well, and I can't ask her to suffer through that just to let a hound outside for a dump.

Hal Hauk pointed out that I didn't have to go; he could have called some pack that lived outside the city limits and one of them could have driven into town to take care of Oberon. But Siodhachan asked for me specifically, and, besides, I'm curious about who could have put his bony arse in the hospital. Maybe I'll get to try out me new brass knuckles on him or her-or it.

So I shift into Queen's Park in Toronto with a sheaf of printed papers that Hal calls "Google Maps," whatever the feck that means, and they're all marked up with arrows telling me where to go to get to the hotel and then a bunch of numbers to call to figure out which hospital Siodhachan is in. Once I find him-Greta says he's officially using the name Sean Flanagan these days-I have another stack of maps telling me how to get there. I also have a handful of small pieces of paper with the number 20 on them and a picture of an old woman wearing a necklace of white beads. Greta says to me, "These are Canadian," and that if I give them to people in this country they'll do what I want. When I asks her if that will work on Siodhachan, she says probably not.

It's midafternoon and the walk from the park to the hotel takes me a half hour or so. I keep asking strangers if I'm heading in the right direction. They're a friendly and helpful lot, and I wonder if it has anything to do with the old lady on the small pieces of paper.

The hotel is a tall building, which means a lot of stairs for me. Greta says the elevator is faster, but I don't trust them, because I don't know how they work. I know how stairs work and that will be good enough.

Siodhachan's room is on the sixth floor, Hal told me. Room 633. When I reach it, I can hear the television blaring inside and there's a sign on the doorknob that says DO NOT DISTURB. I figure that has to be a joke, since Siodhachan asked me to come here, but I don't think it's very funny.

I try the handle, only to discover that it's locked. I pound on the door and call out to the hound. "Oberon. Open the door if ye can. It's Owen." His voice filters into me head.

"Because I can hear ye talk and answer back. I'm here at Siodhachan's request. He's been hurt and I'm to take care of ye until he's well."

True to his word, the lock disengages and the handle, a short horizontal bar, moves down. I push it open and the giant wolfhound bombards me with questions before I'm even in the room.

"I don't have details. All he did was text Hal Hauk in Arizona that he's in a hospital somewhere in this city. So we have to call around to find him. Is there a phone here?"

"Good. When we find which hospital he's in, we'll go straight there and get some answers."

The television is on and showing pictures of people eating way too damn loud. The hound shows me how to turn it off and then we can concentrate in peace.

The phone is an intimidating device and it's full of instructions on the front, unlike cell phones. But it doesn't work like it should. Greta said when you use landlines like this, you get a dial tone first and then you dial the number. Except when I start dialing, the fecking thing starts ringing as soon as I punch the first number.

"Room service," a voice says in me ear.

"What? I'm trying to dial the hospital."

"Pardon, sir? Is this an emergency?"

"No, not for me. I just need to make a call, and when I started dialing, you answered."

"Oh, I understand. You need an outside line. Hang up, then dial nine, wait for the dial tone, then dial your number."

"I hate this fecking century."

"I beg your pardon?"

I slam the phone down on the voice and pick it up again. There's a dial tone, but I do what the man said and punch 9. The tone skips a beat, then continues. I try the number for the first hospital again, and this time it works.

Unfortunately, there's no one registered under the name Sean Flanagan at Mount Sinai Hospital, so the call is a waste of time. I move on to the next number, St. Michael's. The lady on the phone says, yes, Sean Flanagan is a patient there, but she can't give me any more information unless I'm a family member. I hang up on her rather than argue. I'll just go down there and see with me own eyes how he's doing.

"Right, he's at St. Michael's." Consulting the Google map, I notice it will take us a while to get there. "Looks like a bit of a walk. You need a walk anyway, don't ye?" I ask the hound.

"Anything ye need to bring? We won't be coming back here, because I don't have the key."

"Hey, I know that already, ye don't have to tell me!"

I start to object that I don't have one of those credit cards that people always use to pay for things but then remember that Greta gave me the paper with the old lady on it, and something clicks. I pull it out and show it to the hound. "Hey, do you know if this is cash money?"

"Who's this lady with the beads, then?"

I don't understand all of that, but at least I learn that Canada is ruled by a queen.

"All right, where should I go to get food?"

He stops in front of a small shop with a large glass window painted with red and white letters. POUTINERIE, it says.

"What is a poutinerie?" I asks him. It's an unfamiliar word.

"What he needs is a good long soak in the healing pools of Mag Mell. But I don't think I can shift ye there meself."

"I don't know either of ye well enough to carry you along. I used to know Siodhachan, but he's got two thousand years on me. I'd worry about containing him. And, besides, I don't have the headspaces for it. I only have one extra, and Siodhachan has, what, three?"

"See, that's one fecking impressive brain there. We get him awake, and he can shift both of us."

The corner of Siodhachan's mouth tugs upward and his eyelids twitch a wee bit. "Aw, Owen," he says, though his voice is slow and slurred. "You're sho shweet."

"You're awake?"

"Just in time to hear you shay shumthing nice about me."

"Well, don't let it go to your head! The truth is, your smarts are better hidden than a pair of snake nuts."

"They have you pumped full of drugs, lad," I says.