Hounded

away with bearding me in my own den.
    So it was going to be fight like hell, and about time too. I had managed to out-dither Hamlet, and the famous Dane’s words now haunted me: » I do not know why yet I live to say ‘This thing’s to do,’ sith I have cause and will and strength and means to do’t. « Hamlet promised himself he’d throw down afterward, but I think perhaps when he said, » From this time forth, my thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth! « the limits of blank verse weakened his resolve somehow. If he’d been free to follow the dictates of his conscience rather than the pen of Shakespeare, perhaps he would have abandoned verse altogether, like me, and contented himself with this instead: » Bring it, muthafuckas. Bring it. «

Chapter 18
    I awoke in the morning remarkably refreshed but with urgent pressure on my bladder. After relieving myself on the oak tree—out of sight of the few people strolling through the park—I took a deep breath, and it felt remarkably good. I twirled my arms experimentally and felt no tightness in my chest, and I smiled. The earth was so good to me, so giving and so kind.
    I retrieved my cell phone and powered it on, checking the time: It was ten a.m., plenty of time to make it to Rúla Búla. I pulled down my clothes, dressed, slung Fragarach across my back, and dispelled the camouflage, walking plainly in the world again. My bear charm was fully charged and I felt completely restored, albeit dreadfully thirsty and a bit esurient.
    I had messages from the Tempe Police Department, at first requesting and then demanding that I contact them immediately, as well as messages from Hal, Snorri, and Perry.
    Hal just wanted me to know that Oberon was a bottomless pit, and while my dog had been very careful with his car’s upholstery and he appreciated it, the blasted canine had destroyed his citrus air freshener for some unknown reason and left it in shreds all over his interior. All business matters he would tell me at Rúla Búla.
    Snorri told me Hal had approved his medical report and thanked me in advance for paying his very large bill.
    In a message time-stamped at nine-thirty, Perry called to tell me that the shop door had been successfully replaced. More important, a » totally hawt « blond woman named Malina had shown up at the shop to say Emily would not require her tea or my services further; the contract was considered fulfilled. Whoa. Did that mean the adorable couple of Aenghus and Emily had broken up? Or did it mean something else? And he also said she asked about a letter from a friend of hers; she wanted it back really badly but Perry couldn’t find it anywhere in the shop, though he looked.
    Ah, Malina had tried to get Radomila’s blood back. I bet she used that hair charm on Perry and he turned the store upside down trying to find it for her. And now I wondered if Fagles and the gang had gone through the books in my study when they searched my house. If they had, they might have found the scrap of paper with Radomila’s blood on it … and that associate lawyer of Hal’s easily could have missed it or not known its significance.
    Better to save such questions for Hal at Rúla Búla, I thought. I assumed my house and the shop would be watched, so I took a taxi instead to the widow MacDonagh’s house.
    » Ah, Atticus, me lad! « The widow smiled a cheery greeting and raised her morning glass of whiskey at me from the porch. » What happened to yer bicycle that yer drivin’ up to me door in a taxi? «
    » Well, Mrs. MacDonagh, I had myself one of the most hectic Sundays you could possibly imagine, « I said, seating myself in a rocking chair next to hers and sighing in satisfaction. That’s always a good thing to do with the widow: She likes to think that her front porch is the most welcoming and relaxing spot in the city. She might be right.
    » Did y’now? Do tell, me boy. « She clinked the ice in her glass and eyed the level of liquid speculatively. » But first I’ll be gettin’ meself a refill, if y’wouldn’t mind sittin’ fer a spell. « She pushed herself up out of the chair with a couple of creaks and said, » Ye’ll be takin’ a glass with me, won’t ye? ’Tisn’t Sunday anymore, and I can’t imagine ye objectin’ to a cold handful of Tullamore Dew. «
    » Ah, you’re right, Mrs. MacDonagh, I have no need to refuse, nor would I want to. A cold glass would be lovely. «
    The widow’s face shone and her eyes began to fill