Hounded

you again, it takes a tremendous amount of your energy, so use it sparingly, and remember it will also take a few moments for them to die. «
    » Thank you, Brighid. «
    » Don’t thank me yet, « she said, giving Oberon a last scratch before donning her gauntlets again. » Despite the advantages you have, you are all that is keeping Aenghus Óg and his allies from moving openly against me. They are legion and you are one man, and I am glad you are so willing to stand in front of them. But I half-expect you to be dead by the dawn. «
    On that cheery note, she leaned across the table and kissed me. She tasted of milk and honey and berries, and it was simply blissful.
    › You’ve been kissed by three goddesses in as many days, ‹ Oberon said once Brighid had left, › so I think you owe me three hundred French poodles. That should make us about even. ‹

Chapter 15
    I thought Sundays were supposed to be relaxing. As a male citizen of America, I’m entitled on Sundays to watch athletic men in tight uniforms ritualistically invade one another’s territory, and while they’re resting I get to be bombarded with commercials about trucks, pizza, beer, and financial services. That’s how it’s supposed to be; that’s the American dream.
    I suppose I cannot complain, because I’m not really a citizen of America. Mr. Semerdjian called the INS on me once, in fact. I waved my hand in front of the agents’ faces and said, » I’m not the Druid you’re looking for. « They were not amused. I waved my hand again and said, » Move along, « and they got out their handcuffs. That’s when I got out my slightly scuffed yet soigné illegal documents, prepared for me by Leif Helgarson, Bloodsucking Attorney-at-Law. And after the INS agents went away, that’s when I sent Oberon over to poop on Mr. Semerdjian’s lawn for the first time.
    We have not been on good terms since then. We never were, of course, but at least for the first few years he cheerfully ignored me. When he began to harass me, I suspected him of being either abysmally stupid or a pawn of the Fae. Turned out he was just mean, and dog shit on his lawn turned him into Flibbertigibbet, a regular Lebanese Tom o’ Bedlam.
    Now I suspected I was a pawn of the Fae. I didn’t know whose pawn I was, precisely. I felt somewhat like Korea, with the United States and China fighting a proxy war through me.
    I didn’t want to be a pawn. Or Korea. It would be better to be a knight. Or Denmark. The Danes used to kick everyone’s ass—until their victims figured out where they came from.
    And that was precisely my problem. People knew where to find me. Especially, it seemed, on this particular Sunday.
    I was calling a contractor to do an emergency replacement of my melted shop door when I saw, through the window, a familiar Crown Victoria pull up. Detective Carlos Jimenez climbed out, and shortly afterward a couple more cars screeched into parking spaces, and cops with sunglasses lumbered out of them to adjust their waistbands and check that their shirts were still tucked in. Detective Darren Fagles, the one who fancied himself a Reservoir Dog, had an official-looking piece of paper flapping in his hand, the legal-size sort with lots of fine print.
    I hung up the phone as the contractor was in mid-sentence and told Oberon to leap up on top of the far table by the wall. » Curl yourself on top and don’t move a muscle. Not an ear twitch, not a tail wag, nothing until these guys leave. «
    › What guys? ‹ he said, as he moved to obey.
    » Those cops are coming. If any of them manages to see you somehow, I want you to run out of here and go straight to the widow’s backyard and hide there, okay? Don’t wait for me to tell you. «
    › You think they can see through the camouflage? ‹
    » They might be able to. They’ve certainly had help getting this far. « Oberon jumped gingerly onto the table, dwarfing it but just able to coil himself on its top. As soon as he settled down, all hints of his presence disappeared. I shot a quick glance at Fragarach, still resting on the shelf underneath my counter, and cast camouflage on it for insurance.
    As the cops grouped together and began to walk toward the door, I wondered if they had decided to come here first or if they had visited my house. If they had visited my house first, where the hell were my lawyers?
    A horn honked loudly, demanding attention, as a metallic blue BMW Z4 growled to a halt behind Fagles. Hal Hauk