Hunted (The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Six)

the stew with some bread.
    Goibhniu shook his head in wonder and raised his glass. “
Sláinte
, laddie. I love the way you make everybody dance.”
    We clinked glasses and then I said, “What do you know about Zealot Island?”
    The smith blinked. “I know it’s feckin’ tough to get anybody off it once they’re on.”
    “Why?”
    “Time moves so slowly there that when you swoop in to pluck them out you’re likely to break their bones. Some o’ them haven’t blinked in hundreds of years.”
    “So why put anyone there?”
    “We only put assholes there, until I could figure out a way to get ’em out safely.”
    “Oh, so you
can
get them out?”
    “Wait. Are you saying you killed a bunch of people to experiment?” Granuaile asked at the same time, a hint of outrage in her tone. Goibhniu answered her rather than me.
    “Well, yeah, but, like I said, they were assholes. Vikings, mostly, what were going around raping and pillaging the Irish coast back then. But, come to think of it, we’re still putting assholes there. Only now we can get ’em out without killing ’em. Mostly.”
    “What do you mean, mostly?” I asked.
    Goibhniu shrugged. “It’s a tricky business. Have you been out there and seen the rig I set up?”
    Thinking of the bizarre machinery erected over the island, I nodded.
    “Well, I can snatch ’em out with that. The time bubble has a low ceiling. We sweep what amounts to an ultrasoft mattress in behind ’em and then scoop ’em up. Thing is, you’re practically guaranteed to break their legs, because we hit them first to make ’em fall backward and usually they have their legs locked up. Sometimes we get additional breakage, but it’s hardly ever fatal anymore.”
    “Can you get someone out for me?”
    “Who?”
    I shot a glance at Granuaile, who was listening intently. “I’d rather not say,” I replied, “but he was left there by the Morrigan.”
    Goibhniu’s eyes rounded. “She said someone would come asking about that someday, but I never thought it would happen now. And I certainly didn’t think it would be you.”
    “Do you know the person I’m talking about?”
    “No, I don’t. She only told me that she left someone there and that far off in the future somebody—not her—would ask to get ’im out. She paid me in stupid huge pots of gold to get this guy off the island and make sure he healed up all right.”
    “But you don’t know who it is?”
    “Nope. She said whoever asked about it would identify him.”
    That gave me pause. Considering how long ago she must have put that man on the island, she had been flirting with the idea of her own death for a very long time. Or she had divined some purpose for him far beyond his own era.
    “All right, I need you to go around to the north sideand look for an old man in winter clothes pointing at the shore in mid-shout. Can’t miss him. Epic eyebrows. That’s the guy.”
    “Done,” Goibhniu said. “Or it will be in a couple of weeks. Takes that long.”
    “Good enough,” I said. “What news from the yewmen?”
    “Ah! I’m thinkin’ we need another beer for that. This is good.” He collected our glasses and went back to the tap and checked on Oberon, who had fallen asleep behind the bar after wolfing down his lamb stew.
    “You heard what they did the first night, right?” the god of brewing said as he deposited the old glasses in the sink and fetched some fresh ones. “Took out every vampire in Rome. It was a sort of cooperative enterprise from several different pods. They split up from there and took a day to find new targets. Meantime, the rest of the world’s vampires wake up at night and some of them realize that they’re hearing nothing from their leaders. A few go to find out what’s happened, and then it’s chaos. Lots of different reactions. Some are battening down the hatches and increasing security until they know more. Some are sending minions to Rome to seize the city for them and take control. Others are claiming that fighting over Rome is a moot point, as it’s no longer the center of vampiric power—which is a fair point—and then they claim that their city should be the new capital, or whatever you want to call it.”
    “Huh. Which cities?”
    “Istanbul, Las Vegas, and Paris are the names I’ve heard.” I’d half expected to hear Thessalonika in there, which would mean Theophilus was making a play, but then it made sense that he would let others step forward. He was