Hounded

now and have them muster on the Mongolian steppes. We can join them in the spring and then ride to glory. ‹
    » Where are we going to recruit a horde? « I asked him as we stepped inside. Fragarach was lying where I left it on the kitchen table.
    › I don’t know. You’re the bloody Druid here, not me. But I think you should start with getting me a sufficient number of French poodles, and you can find those in the classified section of the newspaper. Hold on, I’ll go get it. ‹
    » No, no, don’t go out there, « I said. » You’re still in hiding, remember? I’ll go get it. « I wanted to see what could be seen in the daylight, anyway. I dissolved the camouflage bindings on my lawn to evaluate the signature of last night’s carnage. There were some messy patches of gore we had missed last night, especially on the eastern side, and I pulled out the garden hose to see how much of it I could spray away. Most of it obligingly melted into the soil under a jet stream, but some of the grass remained tinted an unhealthy shade of pink. That was a problem I couldn’t simply camouflage away, because the only thing around the pink grass was more pink grass. I’d have to come up with an excuse if anyone asked. Maybe that giant animated jar of Kool-Aid met his untimely end here?
    Other than pinkness, there was no evidence of the violent demise of nine very large creatures. I scooped my newspaper off the driveway and returned to the house, where Oberon was waiting with his tail wagging. › Any French poodles for sale? ‹ he asked hopefully.
    » I haven’t had a chance to look yet, « I laughed.
    We discussed the logistics and supply we’d need for our invasion of Siberia as I made a pot of coffee for us and two separate entrées: a skillet full of chops in melted butter for Oberon, and a cheese and chive omelet for myself. I also toasted a slice of whole wheat bread and slathered it with butter and blackberry preserves.
    It was domestic bliss there for a while, with the sound of our breakfast cooking, mourning doves cooing in the backyard, and a conversation that was little more than an exercise in silliness. Oberon’s ability to distract me from life’s worries was one of the reasons I adored him. But then I sat down at the kitchen table with my food and looked at the newspaper, and the worries came back.
    There was a follow-up story on the death of the ranger. The headline said, RANGER DEATH CAUSED BY CANINE, and a subhead said, Police following several leads . The food I had been intent on savoring got shoveled into my mouth mechanically as I read.
    PHOENIX—Lab reports revealed that the death of Phoenix park ranger Alberto Flores was caused by a canine, and not by a knife wound as originally believed.Dr. Erick Mellon, Maricopa County Coroner, discovered that Flores’s throat wounds bore signs of tearing associated with teeth. DNA tests on samples collected from the wound detected the presence of canine saliva.That evidence, along with several dog hairs found underneath Flores’s fingernails » and other clues, « according to Phoenix Detective Carlos Jimenez, have led police to believe that he was attacked and killed by a large dog, possibly an Irish wolfhound. » They got that lab report back awfully fast, « I said aloud, and Oberon asked me what I was talking about. » They’re on your trail, buddy. « I gestured at the newspaper. » They know a dog killed the ranger. How they know an Irish wolfhound did it, I have no idea. As far as I know there isn’t a test to isolate breeds. I bet you the police are getting help from someone. «
    Oberon’s ears pricked up and he swiveled his head toward the front room. › Someone is coming to knock on the door, ‹ he said.
    Don’t bark , I told him silently. Don’t make a sound or do anything to indicate you’re here. I’m going to camouflage you again . And then four sharp knocks echoed through the house. I quickly cast camouflage on Oberon before walking noisily to the front door. Pausing to look through the keyhole, I saw two men standing there in shirts and ties. I turned on my faerie specs, but there was nothing to see. They were humans, then, either cops or missionaries. Since it was Sunday morning and all the missionaries would be on their way to church, I was betting on cops.
    I opened the door and stepped out quickly, taking them by surprise and forcing them to step back a little bit. I closed the door behind me and smiled winningly at them. »