Three Slices (9 page)

Mekera had occasion to pull out her bow about four or five minutes later when the thrall showed up, proving that he not only existed but that he possessed extraordinary stamina. A slim man built for long-distance running, he had the satellite phone she’d spoken of to his ear, and he was speaking into it as he approached. The vampires had equipped him well; he was wearing night vision goggles. If they were the kind that amplified and enhanced ambient light and the lower end of infrared spectrum they wouldn’t let him see through our camouflage. If they were thermal imagers, however, he’d spot us. The camouflage binding did nothing to disguise our body heat, and that’s how a sniper was able to target me once in Germany.

Without discussing it with me, I heard Mekera draw an arrow from her quiver, nock it on her bowstring, and shoot the thrall in the chest as he slowed to a walk near the tree, searching for us—he clearly didn’t have the thermal imaging. He squawked as he went down, and I broke off her camouflage because I wanted to see what she was doing. She ran out to finish him off if he needed finishing, dropping her bow and yanking out her hunting knife. I saw her dip out of sight in the grass for a couple of seconds, but she rose again with the sat phone up to her ear, speaking loudly enough that I could hear her. The connection was still open, and evidently, the thrall offered no resistance to her taking the phone.

“You’re too late,” she said. “We killed your thrall and we’re shifting out of here now. Tell Drasche I said his clothing is about as attractive as a festering baboon’s ass.” She listened for a few seconds and then disconnected with a thumb before tossing the phone into the grass.

I couldn’t say much because I had to keep speaking the words of the binding in Old Irish, but I dropped my camouflage too, and my face must have communicated a challenge to Mekera when she returned.

“What? I told you I have a strict no-stalking policy.”

“Noted,” I said, when I could find a pause in the phrases of the binding to slip in an English word.

“Anyway, they’re going to be here soon. As in a few minutes. As in before you finish whatever you’re doing. Don’t know how many, though.”

Even one was too many. There was no way that Mekera or Oberon could stand up to a vampire. She might be able to surprise one with an arrow to the heart; I noticed that she had wooden shafts, expertly fletched, and those would serve if she could get in a lucky shot, but she wouldn’t get more than one.

I couldn’t imagine that there would have been time to gather a large number of vampires here so quickly after sundown. We could be looking at two or three, no more—the surrounding population wouldn’t support any more. These had to have come from Gambela itself or perhaps Gore to the east. More would be coming in, though, if they thought they could delay me—and they could. They already had, because I couldn’t ignore them. My best option would be to deal with them as quickly as possible and then begin the tethering again, hoping that no more vampires showed up in the interim. Sighing in frustration, I halted the binding and stood, slapping at my jeans to get the dust off them.

“I’d like you and Oberon behind the tree,” I said to Mekera. The trunk was easily wide enough to conceal them both.

“They’ll know we’re there.”

“I know, but they’re after me anyway and I want their eyes on the prize.”

I know, buddy, but these guys are really fast and strong. If you try to fight them, you’ll get hurt, no doubt about it, and I don’t want that.

I’ll do my best not to.

They turned out not to be guys. The vampires were two women in loose-fitting robes that streamed behind them as they ran. But unlike the vampire that had ambushed us in close quarters, these two were far enough away that they could be dispatched easily. I triggered my charm of unbinding repeatedly as they approached, using it as a range-finding exercise. When it finally hit them about a hundred yards away, they both clutched their chests and did a faceplant. That allowed me time to unbind one of them, and once that was done, I made a macro out of it, changed the target, and unbound the other without ever having to draw my sword.

Yes, the ancient vampire Theophilus had good reason to fear Druids. And had he left me alone and not declared that he wished to wipe us out for good, I wouldn’t be terminating all of his minions in an effort to get to him. My little mercenary scheme with the yewmen had only begun to balance the scales he tipped in the vampires’ favor long ago, and I had a long way to go before those scales were even, much less tilting in my favor. If those names and addresses locked up in a Canadian bank were of the vampire leadership—an offline, secure location for crucial information—then I could use them to wreak significant havoc. Especially if they included the whereabouts of Theophilus himself.

“All right, you two,” I said, “let’s reset the clock. Camouflage back on. Fifteen minutes to departure. Let me know if you hear or smell any more coming.”

Fourteen of those minutes were gloriously worry-free. Insects buzzed but didn’t buzz too closely to any of my orifices. Vultures figured out something had died nearby and were circling above the body of the thrall, a bit uncertain about our designs on it. And then a distant growl began, something unnatural that gradually became a motor.

Oberon said.

Mekera confirmed the Jeep sighting a moment later, and then its headlights stabbed into the darkness, leaving no doubt. I kept going with the binding, though, hoping we’d have enough time to slip away. The fact that they were coming in a Jeep rather than on foot suggested someone on board was not a vampire. More thralls, perhaps. Or it could conceivably be Werner Drasche in person. If that thrall had called us in at dawn, Drasche would have had time to fly here from most places in Europe.

Oberon, get next to the tree now. We’ll be shifting before that Jeep gets here.
Aloud, in between Old Irish phrases, I said to Mekera, “Get your stuff. Touch the tree. We’re shifting.”

I didn’t see her do it since we were all in camouflage, but I heard Mekera shoulder her quiver and knapsack as the rumble of the Jeep grew louder and the lights grew brighter, shuddering as the suspension tried to deal with the uneven surface of the plain. I finished tying up the knots of the tether to Tír na nÓg just as the Jeep reached about sixty or so yards away; they were probably tracking the thrall’s satellite phone.

Counting on the darkness and my camouflage to keep me invisible and on their engine to mask the sound of my movement, I scrambled to my feet and laid hands on the tree, then had to drop my camouflage so that Mekera and Oberon could find me. They needed physical contact both with me and with the tethered tree to shift.

And in the time it took for them to spot me and move, I was visible to the occupants of the Jeep. I didn’t know how many were there—I couldn’t see past the glare of the headlights—but one of them was definitely Werner Drasche.

“O’Sullivan!” he barked in his Austrian accent, and then he shot me. Or rather, he shot the tree three times, and shot me once. He wasn’t a very good marksman in a moving vehicle and he was clearly aiming for my head. Tree bark exploded above me and then a slug punched into my back, midway down and to the left, making a hash of my spleen. It didn’t pass through, which meant I had to shift with it—and that was fine. The exit wound would have left blood behind for him to play with, and if I stayed around any longer I might have more serious wounds—or a wounded hound or tyromancer.

Oberon and Mekera both yelped and I felt a tug on my amulet as I shifted us to Tir na nÓg, a familiar tug that meant the lifeleech was trying to drain my energy—and that of my companions. I felt the tether snap behind us as we arrived near the edge of the Fae Court, which meant Drasche had tried to prevent my escape by killing the baobab tree.

He had apparently targeted the area around it, since Oberon and Mekera had also been hit. The two of them swayed on their feet, dizzy and weak, and I knelt beside them, drawing energy through the strained connection to earth and feeding it to them, ignoring my spleen for the moment.

I’m trying to fix that.

“What hit us?” Mekera asked, holding a hand to her head.

“The crazy ascot-wearing fool. He took a sip of your energy. He would have taken more if we had stayed there. I’m giving you some back, but you should be fine with some calories and rest.”

“It was weird. I felt a sharp pain all over, and then it was as if I’d fallen into a comfy chair and didn’t have the strength to get out of it. Like a blood donation where they take a bit too much. The sting of the needle and then your life gets siphoned away. Hey, you have a hole in your back.”

“Yeah. I’ll see to it in a minute,” I said, answering them both. “Are you two feeling a little bit better?”

“I’m still tired but not dizzy anymore.”

“Good.” The pain from my gunshot wound was beginning to assert itself and I shut it off. It was time to remove the bullet. “Mekera, would you mind holding your palm about a foot over the hole?”

“What for?”

“I need you to catch the bullet.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just going to bind the bullet inside me to your palm, and that way, I can start healing.”

“Bind it, like, permanently?”

“No, only for a moment.” After the slug wriggled out of me and flew to Mekera’s hand, I triggered my healing charm and let my body start dealing with the damage. It would be best to take a day or two to rest, and Emhain Ablach would be a lovely place to do that, but I had an advantage now and I didn’t want to waste it. I knew precisely where Werner Drasche was and it was a hell of a long way from Toronto.

He’d left a note with Kodiak Black’s girlfriend that said to find him because we needed to talk, but he’d just proven he’d rather shoot me than talk to me. We were on the same page, then.

Drasche knew I’d spoken to Mekera, because the thrall had told him. He would have had all day to call someone in Toronto and I could have a party waiting for me there. Or he might have been so eager to catch me that he didn’t think of it—or he believed Mekera when she told him I’d never go back there.

Who could be waiting for me in Toronto? Besides Drasche, only Theophilus himself would give me any trouble—that or a whole lot of vampires. But they’d hardly be out during the day, and it wasn’t likely that anyone else besides Theophilus or Drasche would have the key to the safety deposit box. The faster I moved, the more likely I’d score whatever was there to score; I could let my spleen heal on the way. But first, Mekera needed to get out of Tír na nÓg. A couple of faeries had dipped down to investigate who had arrived, saw that it was the Iron Druid, and flittered away again. More would come eventually, and it wouldn’t be long before some liveried official of the Court inquired on Brighid’s behalf what I was doing there.

“All right, let’s get you to Emhain Ablach.”

Gathering around a tethered tree, we shifted to the Isle of Apples, a sort of paradise for Manannan Mac Lir’s horses and I suppose pie aficionados and cider heads. I know that Goibhniu used to harvest a few bushels every year and make a limited-press hard cider for Beltane.

Always fragrant and blessed with a sort of eternal summer like Tír na nÓg, it wasn’t difficult to see why Manannan used it to relax.

Mekera’s face, skeptical at first, eased and brightened after a few seconds of looking around and taking in a couple of deep breaths. “You weren’t lying,” she said.

“Well…no.” I didn’t have the energy to be offended.

“Did you tell me everything, though? Who else will be here?”

“As I said before, Manannan Mac Lir, god of the sea, will visit from time to time. I’ll let him know you’re here and he can bring you whatever you need. You’ll have horses, birds, and bees around. No real living space, but lots of apples to eat.”

“I’m not worried about shelter. Looks like it’s mild here.” She waved a finger at the canopy of apple trees all around us. “Are these all the same?”

“No, they’re bunched in different varieties. You’ll see and taste differences as you walk around.”

Oberon…what?

I’m not sure Manannan has heard of them if they’re a North American thing, but I’m sure that whatever he has here is delicious.

Mekera nodded to herself in satisfaction and shifted her knapsack of goodies from one shoulder to the other. “I think I’ll take that walk around. You have time to come with?” Her eyes flicked down to my back. “If you’re feeling up to it?”

“I should be going—” I began, and Oberon interrupted me.

“—But I suppose I could accompany you for a while.”