Hounded

» When the money is finally in your account, I want you to take your cut, then reimburse me for Snorri’s fees for last night. The remainder should go to Fagles’s family as an anonymous donation, all right? I don’t want to profit from some binding of Aenghus Óg’s on an innocent man. «
    Hal regarded me steadily for a moment as he chewed a succulent piece of beer-battered cod fillet. Then he said in a dry voice, » How very noble of you. «
    I nearly choked on a chip. » Noble? « I spluttered.
    › Told you werewolves were bitchy, ‹ Oberon said smugly as he inhaled a sausage. I ignored him and concentrated on Hal’s gibe.
    » Nobility has nothing to do with it. And I’m not knocking you for making a buck on the situation. All I’m saying is that I don’t want to profit by it, not even by getting some dubious credit for my charity. «
    Hal apparently had some doubts but wasn’t willing to say them aloud, so all he said was » Hmph, « as he wiped his hands on a napkin.
    » So listen, « I said, changing the subject and trying to cover the slobbery licking noises Oberon was making, » I got a lead on our mysterious barmaid. «
    » The redhead who smells like two people? «
    I blinked at him. » You never told me that, « I said.
    » As I recall that particular conversation, you asked me if she smelled like a goddess « —he began to tick off my queries on his fingers— » a demon, a lycanthrope, or some other kind of therianthrope. « Hal smirked. » You were too smitten at the time to ask me what she actually smelled like. «
    Oberon? Is the werewolf telling me the truth?
    › Don’t know for sure. I never paid her much attention, and his nose might be a bit better than mine. If you would just let me go have a nice sniff of her ass, I could— ‹
    Never mind .
    » All right, Hal, what else does she smell like? «
    » I’ve told you all I know, Atticus. You can shift to a hound and smell her yourself if you want. « He placed his hands flat on the table and drummed his fingers, deliberately trying to goad me.
    » Thanks, but I’m going to find out the old-fashioned way. She’s going to tell me what’s going on—after I’m through with you. «
    » Ah. Is that my cue to leave, then? «
    » Almost. This might take a while, so I want you to take Oberon with you to the widow MacDonagh’s house. «
    Hal winced and Oberon whined.
    › Do I have to? ‹
    » Must I really? «
    » Yes, « I said to both of them.
    They left a bit disgruntled but quietly enough, leaving me to settle up with the waitress. She looked at the plates of bangers and mash, which looked like they had been licked disturbingly clean, and then at the plates of fish and chips, which had a few scraps of detritus and slaw on them as normal plates would—and then glanced at me uncertainly, knowing that something was very wrong but unable to imagine a satisfactory explanation.
    I really enjoy moments like that. Thinking it would be amusing to create another, I dispelled Oberon’s camouflage so that the sudden appearance of a huge dog would be sure to startle someone on Mill Avenue, and if that someone was Hal, so much the better.
    The fine bar at Rúla Búla had a few more stools available as the slightly sauced lunch crowd returned to their jobs, and Granuaile had nothing to do but polish glasses when I sat down in front of her. Head slightly bowed, her green eyes locked on to mine as she seductively licked her upper lip, a coy smile playing at the edges of her mouth. Refusing to be toyed with, I looked up at the high shelves full of whiskey and knickknacks as if she were doing nothing more interesting than predicting another day of dry heat, and she chuckled at me.
    » What’ll it be, Atticus? « she said, placing a napkin in front of me.
    » A name, I believe, was where we left off. «
    » You’re going to need a drink first. «
    » Tullamore Dew, then, on the rocks. «
    » You got it. But you’re going to have to be patient. I’m going to tell this my way. «
    » Your way? No one else’s? Like, no one else in your head? «
    » That’s right. My way, « she said, pouring me a generous shot over ice. She placed it squarely in front of me, then folded her arms under her bosom and leaned against the bar, her face only a foot away from mine. Perfect skin, a slight tilt to the end of her nose, strawberry gloss on her lips. It was difficult not to think about kissing her, especially as she pursed her lips for a moment before