Hounded

by my request. If she refuses, send a wolf to let me know immediately, but do not attack her. Just keep her from leaving. «
    » You want me to send a werewolf to bark at you like Lassie? « Magnusson looked outraged.
    » Fine, come tell me yourself, then. « I rolled my eyes as I pulled on my shirt. » Hopefully I’ll be back in time to make the point moot. «
    I sprinted around the side of the house to the front porch, where the widow was yelling at the remaining werewolves, including Dr. Snorri Jodursson, to get their damn spooky selves off her lawn.
    » Mrs. MacDonagh, it’s okay, they’re perfectly safe— «
    » Gah! Atticus, yer not one of them, are ye? « The widow raised her arm in front of her throat.
    » No, « I assured her. » I’m not. «
    » Some of yer friends turned into bloody big dogs right before me eyes! « She took a couple of deep breaths and clutched at the railing for support.
    » I know. They won’t hurt you, though. «
    » G’wan, now! « she scolded me. » Yer not goin’ ter tell me it’s the drink talkin’? «
    » No, what you saw was real. But it’s okay. «
    » Why? Are they Irish? «
    » They’re Icelandic, for the most part. The younger ones are Americans. «
    » Wait, wasn’t Iceland a British colony? «
    » No, it was a Nordic colony. Listen, Mrs. MacDonagh, I apologize, but I have some strange friends. None of them are British, though, and they won’t hurt you. «
    » I think ye owe me an explanation, Atticus. «
    As a rule I don’t tell the truth about the world, because shattered illusions are no fun to clean up. But if the widow had a strong enough constitution to shoo werewolves off her lawn, I figured she could handle it. We sat down in her rockers as the remainder of the Pack hurriedly cleaned up the trimmings and drifted one by one to the backyard, and I gave her the short version: There are more things under heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy—including Druids like me and werewolves like the Tempe Pack.
    » Yer a real Druid? Aren’t y’supposed to be dead? «
    » Lots of people sure think so. «
    » All of it’s real, then? There’s no make-believe? «
    » There’s plenty of make-believe in the details. This vampire I know actually likes garlic quite a bit. And werewolves, as you just saw, can change anytime, though they do try to confine it to the full moons when they have to change, because it’s a pretty painful transformation. «
    » So God really exists? «
    » All the gods exist, or at least did exist at one time. «
    » But I mean Jesus and Mary and all that lot. «
    » Sure, they existed. Still do. Nice people. «
    » And Lucifer? «
    » I’ve never personally met him, but I have no doubt he’s around somewhere. Allah is doing his thing too, and so are Buddha and Shiva and the Morrigan and so on. The point is, Mrs. MacDonagh, that the universe is exactly the size that your soul can encompass. Some people live in extremely small worlds, and some live in a world of infinite possibility. You have just received some sensory input that suggests it’s bigger than you previously thought. What are you going to do with that information? Will you deny it or embrace it? «
    She grinned fondly. » Ah, me dear boy, how can I deny anything y’say? If ye haven’t killed me yet for seein’ more than I ought ter, I figger ye mus’ like me and ye wouldn’t steer an old widow wrong. And besides that, I saw those bloody werewolves with me own eyes. «
    I smiled at her and patted her hand, small and wrinkled and spotted with age. » I do like you, Mrs. MacDonagh, quite a bit. I trust you and know that you’re the really good sort of friend who would help me move a body, as your Sean would say. I know you must have a bushel of questions for me, but right now there’s a crisis to deal with. Oberon’s been kidnapped along with one of the werewolves, and that’s why we’re all so upset. We’ll talk more tomorrow, and I promise to answer all your questions if I survive the night, « I said.
    The widow’s eyebrows raised. » Ye’ve got all these nasty pooches to run around with and ye still might die? «
    » I’m going to go fight with a god, some demons, and a coven of witches who all want to kill me, « I said, » so it’s a distinct possibility. «
    » Are y’goin’ t’kill ’em back? «
    » I’d certainly like to. «
    » Attaboy, « the widow chuckled. » Off y’go, then. Kill every last one o’ the bastards and call me in