Hunted (The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Six)

chances—and they weren’t bad. The thornslanded mere inches beyond my mangled left side. There was no need to inform him how close he had come. Continuing to build the wall and simply not screaming in agony would let him know that he failed.
    He gave up after a short while and I could hear him pacing, wet splortches mixed with the clank and rattle of his confinement. I continued to cannibalize the floor to build the wall, a bit higher than I had originally intended to cut off the manticore’s field of fire. I didn’t want him to be able to nail me from afar once I started moving toward the kitchen door.
    Gods below, I hoped there was something edible in there.
    The last of the poison had been broken down and a modest skin covering had closed the wound on my shoulder, but my tattoo wouldn’t heal up all on its own, and I was running on fumes. Once the wall was completed to my satisfaction, I began to drag myself along the ground, using my right arm and leg. Ahriman heard me moving and he lost it. He didn’t speak; instead, he roared and attempted to pull free of his chains, though he had doubtless tested their strength long before and found them sufficient to restrain him. He made quite a ruckus back there, but it didn’t stop my long slog to the kitchen. After picking up Fragarach and realizing how profoundly unable I was to use it right then, I had occasion to reflect that crawling away was not my most heroic moment.
    Ahriman spoke one last time, as I pushed open the kitchen door and hauled my body out of the sex hall. That half-human voice slithered into my head, menace in every syllable.
    ∼I may die here, Werner Drasche. But if I am freed, I will hunt you.
    “Okay!” I called back, and let the door close behind my feet. I hoped that, if he did escape somehow andfound me instead of the arcane lifeleech, it would be far enough in the future that I would be in better condition to fight him.
    An important step to improving my condition would be to eat something. Magic could boost my base strength, which was barely keeping me moving, but it couldn’t boost low blood sugar or stop the growling in my belly, and since the kitchen had been tiled, I was now subsisting on my bear charm until I could find some other source of energy.
    The kitchen appeared to be well stocked, and should it prove to be the case, I silently swore to give Brighid a fruit basket and no explanation whatsoever.
    Since Tír na nÓg lacked electricity, food was kept safe in iceboxes—the enchanted sort one could find at the goblin market. Midhir had three huge ones and a prep area made entirely of wood; his faery servants wouldn’t have appreciated the modernity of stainless steel. The cutlery and cookware were bronze, copper, and glass.
    In the first icebox, I found a cold roasted chicken with only a single drumstick missing, so I counted it as a major score. I pulled it off the shelf, laid it out on the tile floor, and tore into it.
    Finally able to think of the future, now that I had something on which to chew, I tried to salvage some useful information from my debacle of a shortcut. Whoever had rolled through here was an utter boss. Judging by the bodies and ash piles and by the fact that I still hadn’t heard a sound beyond those made by Ahriman or myself, it was quite likely that we were the only living creatures in the compound. If that was true, then I could have walked in the front gate and avoided becoming a chew toy for the pieholes. I would have had to face Ahriman no matter what, though, if I wanted to learn what happened to Midhir.
    I knew how the Tuatha Dé Danann tended to think,and this slaughterhouse probably didn’t even count as a massacre to my adversary’s way of thinking. No, this was self-preservation. A strategic retreat, even. Bagging the Druids hadn’t worked out, so it was time to withdraw and tie up loose ends like Midhir and Lord Grundlebeard. Now that we had the help of the Olympians, Granuaile and I couldn’t be confined to earth anymore through pandemonium. So far as I knew, no other pantheons possessed that particular power. Whoever was behind all this would plot something else, for sure, and we’d have to remain paranoid, but at least the vampires were getting some payback, the dark elves had much to fear from the Ljósálfar, and our freedom of movement was restored. Or would be, once I healed.
    A slow smile spread across my face, past a cheek full of chicken. As messed up as I was, it felt good