When I drove down to Tempe for the second time in as many days, I took comfort in the knowledge that I could stay a few hours and enjoy myself. I had missed Mill Avenue more than I realized. Crunchy unwashed people still inhabited the corners, selling hemp jewelry and singing badly in hopes of scoring enough cash to buy their next dime bag or “wicked nommy sammich.” Feeling insouciant, I joined a pungent pair in a raucous ukulele rendition of an old Tom Petty song, loudly informing passersby that, regardless of their relationship status, their living conditions need not resemble that of a refugee. I gave them forty bucks afterward for letting me sit in, and they couldn’t believe it.
“Thanks, brah!” one gushed, but the brah kept going as he stared at the twenties until it became a manic laugh: “Ha-haaah!
Ha! Haaah! Yeah! Wooo!”
His companion said, “Dude, you are motherfucking solid. Solid, man! We are going to get the best sammiches ever thanks to you!” He turned to shout at two college coeds who were strolling by with shopping bags from a shoe store, eager to share what he had just learned. “This dude with the dog and the sword is hella cool! I’m not kidding, okay?” They cringed and hurried past, and I figured I should leave before the praise of my new-found fans got any more effusive. I gave them both quick bro hugs and wished them harmony before heading to Rúla Búla to meet Hal.
I don’t know, buddy. I doubt the sandwiches they’re thinking of are anything special. It’s more like those two guys are special.
That wasn’t the obsession I’d expected Oberon to take away from last night’s bathtime story, but I could live with it. You want to learn how to cook?
Sounds like a thrilling odyssey of arterial plaque.
We met Hal on the patio because it was a nice day, even in late October, and a camouflaged Oberon would have more room to stretch out underneath the table. It was a high top with an umbrella over it to provide shade during the hot months. We ordered some draughts and the glorious fish and chips, along with some bangers for the hound. Hal was in a good mood.
“That archdruid of yours is quite the character. We had lunch here yesterday and I took him home to meet the pack. The stories he told!” He chuckled. “You and that goat!”
“Aw, no—I’d forgotten about that; thanks a lot.” He looked as if he was going to laugh some more about it, so I asked him a question to forestall him. “Where is he now?”
“Don’t know. But I bet Greta does.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, he left my house with her.”
I didn’t quite know how to take that news, because Greta was not fond of me, so I filed it away for later and made no comment. Frankly, it made me uneasy—but it wouldn’t be politic to reveal my uneasiness to Hal. I changed the subject instead.
“Remember Rebecca Dane, the girl who runs the old shop now?”
“Sure, I remember.”
“I’d like you to do a full background check. And I mean full. I especially want to know if there’s anything magical about her house or if she has any ties at all to the paranormal community here. And maybe she has abilities we never suspected.”
Our food arrived, and we paused while the server asked us if we needed anything else. Hal waited until she was out of earshot before answering. “I know you’re serious about this, but I can’t imagine why. There was never any indication she had a magic hobby on the side.”
“I agree that was the case back then. But I have reason to believe that we may have been duped.” My dream from Ganesha had come shortly after the sale of the shop, so if Inari was correct in assigning her culpability, she had done something back then to set events in motion. If it was just prayer, why had Rebecca’s drawn attention and inspired action when so many others were—and are—ignored? “I’ll go see her after we’re through here, but I’d like the check done to make sure.”
He drummed his fingers on the table once and gave a tight nod. “All right. What else?” I put a plate of bangers and mash on the seat next to me so that Oberon could slurp them up from underneath the table.
“I need you to liquidate more money to pursue my private vampire war. It’s been quite effective.”
Hal cleared his throat before picking up his fork and digging in. “Yes, well, I don’t mean to cast a shadow on your joy, but I should probably interject here that financing wars is expensive and your accounts are not inexhaustible.”
“True, but I have more accounts,” I said. Hal stopped chewing his first mouthful. “I never told you about all of them, and they’re all bigger than the ones I’ve been using so far.”
Hal growled around his fish, “What were you saving it all for?”
“For dodging Aenghus Óg. And for the day when I needed to hire a small army of implacable vampire-killing mercenaries.”
“How do you manage it all? It must take enormous time. I know, because I spend quite a bit looking after the assets you’ve told me about.”
I shrugged and dipped a chip in ketchup. “I have a trustworthy person looking after things for me. You’d like him, Hal. His name is Kodiak Black.”
“Kodiak? Is he some kind of bear shifter?”
“Yes, but don’t call him a werebear. He gets cranky about that.”
There’s only Owen and Kodiak. I promise.
“Wow. I’ve heard of those bear boys,” Hal said, “but I’ve never seen one. Where’d you find him?”
“Up in Alaska, where all the yummy salmon run in the summer. He’s into fresh fish, as you might imagine.”
“Huh. Does he tell regular folk his name is Kodiak?”
“Nah, he tells them his name is Craig. I’ll give you his email address.”
“All right. Hey, speaking of mail and vampires, I have something for you.” Hal reached into his jacket and withdrew an envelope from his breast pocket. He handed it over, and as soon as I took it, his face contracted into a look of guilt, which triggered my suspicion, albeit far too late.
“Hal? What is this?”
He looked down at his food. “ ’S a letter,” he mumbled.
“Hal?”
“You’ve been served. Sorry.”
“Aw, I can’t believe this!”
The envelope didn’t look like an official letter, but the neat script on the outside was familiar. I tore it open and yanked out a sheet of lavender paper, folded in half.
Dear Mr. O’Sullivan:
If you are reading this, then you must have survived the pursuit of Artemis and Diana and it is fitting that you be reminded of our agreement. Though Loki escaped our custody after only two days, under the terms we discussed—where a full month of captivity equaled a full year of a vampire-free Poland—you are bound by those terms to keep Poland vampire-free for a prorated span of time in payment for services rendered. By my math, two days of captivity equal approximately twenty-four days of vampire-free Poland. I will expect your purge of the vampires to begin at the agreed-upon time.
Kind regards,
Malina Sokołowska
I looked up from the signature into the uncomfortable eyes of my attorney. “What the hell, Hal? You just served papers to one of your clients on behalf of another??
??
“Well, it’s not like a regular server could find you. And that’s not your normal legal document.”
“Have you read this? We never agreed to pro-rating my services or hers. The deal was that one month equals one year. She didn’t keep him a month, so the contract’s null and void.”
“That’s what you want me to tell her?”
“Well, what do you think?”
“I think the pro-rating is implied. Otherwise, you get into definitions about what a month is, precisely. If she kept him for only thirty days, would you say it was null because she didn’t keep him for thirty-one? And what’s the incentive for her to keep him beyond a month if her efforts are not going to be rewarded? You should have called me before agreeing to it.”
“I was naked in an onion field, Hal, with two huntresses on my tail. I didn’t have the time or the phone to call my counselor.”
“I bet Malina had a phone. All you had to do was ask.”
“Come on. Help me out here.”
He sighed. “I don’t think we can convince her that she’s owed nothing. But maybe I can reduce the time. The spirit of the contract is that you somehow free Poland of all vampires—and I notice there’s no language in your contract regarding how you would prove you did so. Maybe I can get her to agree to a shorter time period than twenty-four days or maybe get her to agree to the elimination of a fixed number of vampires—which would be wise, my friend, because what if she invites all the world’s vampires to Poland right before you’re supposed to go in there and kill them all? One way or another, though, I think you’re stuck doing something.”
“All right. See what you can do for me and let me know.” I slapped some money down on the table, enough to cover the check and then some. “Hopefully you and Kodiak can get to work soon—I’ll shoot him a message to let him know to expect you—but liquidate what you can in the meantime.”
“Good enough.” We shook hands, and he told Oberon to keep me from making any more deals in the future.
Attaboy.
“Oh, and, Hal?” I said as I stood up.
“Yes?”
“If I were you, I’d rebuild my firm’s security from the ground up, using people I knew to be completely incorruptible. Leif Helgarson has been listening in on all your calls, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a Trojan horse in your computer files as well.”
“What? When did you learn about this?”
“Soon after I called you from Calais. Leif’s people heard all of it and told him everything.”
Hal’s outrage turned his voice into a growl. “And you’re just telling me now?”
“It’s because I just remembered. All this talk of vampires, you know. And you know how Leif is. He’s probably got his fingers in the pies of everyone with whom you’ve ever associated.”
The Old Norse profanity that flowed from Hal’s mouth at that point exceeded anything I had heard before in that language.
“Sorry,” I said, and headed for the door, with Oberon trailing behind.
Oberon said.
He is.
No, he’s angry about something else.
When we returned to Mill Avenue, my bros were gone, no doubt doing serious damage to monster nommy sammiches. I ducked into a souvenir shop on the way to Ash Avenue and picked up a Sun Devils hat, which I pulled low to hide my eyes. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but since my hair was much shorter than it used to be and eyes are often key to recognizing someone, it would at least cast some doubt on my identity. And, besides, Rebecca hadn’t seen me in more than twelve years and wasn’t expecting me. I’d just be another half-baked college kid looking to restock my incense, until I demonstrated otherwise.
The shop looked almost the same as when I’d left it, save for a new coat of paint and a bewildering array of flyers advertising local events and services papering over a portion of the window next to the door. Checking out the building in the magical spectrum, I saw no wards or enchantments of any kind.
You okay to chill out here while I go inside? I asked Oberon.
Okay, holler if anyone tries to mess with you. I took off Fragarach, and Oberon lay down on top of it, guarding it well.
When I opened the door to my old shop, I was hit with a complex mixture of scents—tea and sandalwood and paper and ink. A low, throaty moan from a bamboo flute skirled above the sounds of a gentle waterfall, the kind of meditation music to which people liked to do their yoga. It was pure nostalgia for me, and I missed the years of tending the shop in a semblance of peace and harmony.
“Hello, welcome to Third Eye,” Rebecca said from behind the tea counter. I grunted in response and didn’t make eye contact. Instead, I turned toward the bookshelves, making it clear I intended to browse and keeping my back to her.
The books for sale were still centered on religion and philosophy. The ones on the shelf locked up behind glass, however, were prominently labeled as RARE and FIRST EDITION. I’d never labeled mine, because I did not particularly want people to browse tomes of summoning and enchantment, but Rebecca must have discovered that there was a fair bit of money to be made from collectors of more-pedestrian volumes. Scanning the titles, I saw that she still had a few of the books I had acquired for her originally, but most of it was newer material now. It reminded me that my cache of magical texts was still buried and encased in iron and stone near the Salt River.
Rebecca would never sneak up on anybody. She still wore a ludicrous amount of silvery jewelry about her neck and wrists, religious symbols from most every religion people had heard of and quite a few that people hadn’t, and I heard these clicking and tinkling together as she moved behind me.
“We have quite a fine assortment of rare books if you’re interested,” she said, coming to a halt at my right shoulder and admiring the spines. “Can I help you find anything in particular?”
“I don’t suppose you have any first editions of ancient Edgar Rice Burroughs pulp?”
“I’m afraid not, but we do have a signed first edition of Heinlein’s The Number of the Beast, which is practically a love letter to Burroughs.”
“Seriously? That would be outstanding.”
“Great, I’ll get it for you.” She had an assortment of keys dangling on one of those curly plastic wrist thingies nestled in amongst her other jingly bangles and bracelets. She was like a set of mobile wind chimes.
I gestured vaguely at the source of the noise and said, “That’s quite a collection of necklaces. Couldn’t decide which one to go with, eh?”
“Well, I guess I have decided,” she said, speaking at twice the normal rate of most people. She might have been suffering the side effects of too much caffeine. “I’ve decided to believe in them all.”
“Really? Isn’t that contradictory?”
“People believe contradictory things all the time,” she replied. “Anyway, it’s not as contradictory as you might think. Religions are kind of like clothes. There are all sorts of them and some are more fashionable than others, but at the end of the day they all serve the same purpose: They keep you from being naked.”
“Religions keep you from being naked?”
“Spiritually speaking. Most of us seek the divine, and most of us prefer not to be nude in public.”
I smirked. “Well, we don’t have any data to support those assertions, but I imagine that would prove to be accurate.”
“Of course. At their roots, the faiths are fundamentally the same the way that clothes are the same. And that’s because we recognize that there is a certain power in faith. Even atheists believe strongly in their own rectitude, and that gives them power.”
“I believe that’s true.”
Rebecca smiled at m
e. “And what else do you believe?” She removed the Heinlein first edition from the case and put it in my hand.
I took off my hat and returned the smile. “I believe, Rebecca Dane, that you are the best possible owner of this shop. I’m Atticus. Remember me?”
She gasped and held her hand up to her throat. “Oh, my gods! Mr. O’Sullivan!”
“You don’t have to be that formal.”
“Sorry, it’s just that I thought you were dead and I’m so glad you’re not and I’ve always wanted to say thank you for the store and ask you why you did that and—oh! Do you want it back now? Is that why you’re here?”
“No, no, it’s yours,” I assured her. “But I did want to talk a bit. Might we have some tea?”
“Of course! Have a seat, I’ll be right over.” She bustled back to the tea station, making such a racket as she went that she drew the attention of everyone else in the store, each of them with tiny smirks of amusement on their faces. There were only three other people, and two of them made their choices and paid for their purchases while Rebecca was busy boiling water. She made us some Irish Breakfast tea, a blend that didn’t mess around on the caffeine front. I doubted she needed to be any more wired, and another shot might take her into the territory of those professional disclaimers who spoke at three hundred words per minute at the end of commercials, but at least our conversation promised to be high energy. We chatted about the store and her plans to open another location down in Tucson, and she asked about my beauty regimen, because I looked far too good after twelve years.
“Are you, like, using a mud pack or cucumbers or something because, oh, my gods, I gotta get me some of whatever you’re on, you look fantastic,” she gushed.
“I put on a guacamole mask every night. Avocados are the secret.”
“Really?”
“No, I’m just kidding.” I grinned at her briefly and then tapped the table to indicate a change of subject. “I wanted to ask you a question that might sound a little strange. Think back, if you will. Was there ever a time, shortly after I left you the store, when you prayed for me to many gods?”