Hunted (The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Six)

Atticus. Links to both can be found on the appropriately titled Goodies page.
    Special thanks to Colin Wagenmann in Germany for his insights regarding German geography and for expressing existential quantification in
Deutsch
. I’m also grateful to Michelle Drew and William Cathcart in the UK for info regarding Windsor Park and Frogmore House, and to Heather Blatt at Florida International University for her invaluable help with Middle English. Dr. D. Forrest Taylor coached me a bit on toxins and their effects. Any inaccuracies are of course my fault and not theirs.
    To belay speculation, the similarity betwixt my surname and Herne the Hunter’s is entirely coincidental—unless it isn’t. I know my ancestor arrived in “the Colonies” in the sixteenth century from London and could conceivably be related to an historical Herne (if he existed), but I lay no claim to that and frankly think it far-fetched. I simply found Herne a fascinating and irresistible figure because he illustrates the principle that stories (and perhaps gods) can take on a life of their own.
    I cannot say enough good things about my alpha reader, Alan O’Bryan, my agent, Evan Goldfried, andmy editors at Del Rey, Tricia Narwani and Mike Braff. Words simply fail, so we tend to drink a lot and sing the praises of a literate populace. Seriously. We’re not bad singers. And we have sung songs about you. Someday we will form our own heavy metal band called Thë Grätüïtöüs Ümläüts and sing of death and linguistics. Our first single will be “(Die)acriticäl Märks.”
    Many thanks to you for reading and for spreading word of the series to your friends. It’s the only reason I get to write more.
    Last but certainly not least, I’m grateful to my family for their love and support.

Don’t miss the first five and a half books of The Iron Druid Chronicles by Kevin Hearne
    Hounded

Hexed

Hammered

Tricked

Trapped
    Two Ravens and One Crow:

An Iron Druid Chronicles Novella

Author’s Note
    Novellas related to series are often stand-alone adventures or only tangentially related to the overall plot, but this one was conceived and written to be an integral part of the Iron Druid Chronicles. It’s really book 4.5, set six years between the events of
Tricked
and
Trapped
, and there are references in both
Trapped
and
Hunted
to events that occur in this novella. We’ve printed it here at the back of book six because novellas are rarely printed and sold separately, and also for the very practical reason that this was written after
Trapped
was already completed and well into its production process. This was the earliest point we could get it into print at no extra cost to you. Thanks for your understanding, and happy reading!

T WO R AVENS AND O NE C ROW
    A N I RON D RUID C HRONICLES N OVELLA

What would it be like, I wonder, if humans could slobber as freely as dogs? There’s no social stigma for dogs when they slobber and it looks like a lot of fun, so I envy them that freedom. I’ve certainly wanted to slobber at various times—there are situations where nothing else makes sense—but despite having lived for 2,100 years and in many countries around the world, I have yet to find a culture where it’s even mildly acceptable, much less looked upon with approval.
    I guess some things will never change.
    Despite the universe’s refusal to change enduring truths according to my will, lately I’ve been wishing I could train a Druid in a five-minute karate-movie montage rather than the necessary twelve years. After ten seconds of futile effort trying to solve a problem, the initiate would abruptly improve or learn the lesson and her expression would fill with wonder, and I would award said initiate a cookie or a tight nod of approval. The initiate would bask in the glory of an achievement and then move on to the next difficult challenge for another ten seconds, and so on, until a triumphant swell of music and a slow-motion high five signaled victory and completion. We would smile the radiant smiles of actors in fast-food commercials, merrily chuckling as we ateenough grease to make our hearts explode like meat grenades.
    But training my apprentice, Granuaile, wasn’t like that at all. Shaping her mind for Druidry was rough and monotonous for both of us, yet shaping her body was fraught with peril. The peril was the sort Sir Galahad had faced at Castle Anthrax: stupefying sexual tension.
    Every winter solstice, I gave my apprentice an entire