Kate Daniels 02 - Magic Burns

strayed.”
    On the left a drawing of the hound stretched and became a man.
    â€œHe left Morrigan for a woman and the terms of his bargain forced her to let him and his progeny live.”
    Things snapped together in my head. “Red. That little bastard is a descendant of the hound who got away.”
    The witch nodded.
    â€œThat means he can carry the cauldron. He stole the cauldron?”
    The four witches of Morrigan looked like they wanted to be anywhere but here.
    â€œI saw the imprints of the cauldron’s legs. It’s huge. Red’s arms are this big around.” I touched my index finger to my thumb. “How in the world did he carry it? And how could you not notice the giant cauldron being dragged away?”
    â€œWe were so used to it sitting there, it took a little while to realize it was gone,” one of the witches said.
    â€œYou can shrink it,” Bran said. “Small enough to fit in your pocket.”
    â€œOr slide onto a necklace. Oh crap. Wait, you said the cauldron is keeping the Fomorians alive, so they have the cauldron. What’s on the necklace then?”
    Bran shrugged his shoulders. “The lid. The boy stole the cauldron for the witch, but I crashed the party just as they finished the rite and the first Fomorian crawled out. While I was busy being the hero, he took off with the lid.”
    â€œWhat does the lid do?”
    â€œIt controls the cauldron.”
    I fought an urge to grab him and shake him until the whole story fell out. “How?”
    â€œYou put the lid on one way and it’s the cauldron of plenty. You put the lid on the other way and it’s a gateway to the world of the dead. Right after the first batch of Fomorians came through I closed the cauldron, turning it into the cauldron of plenty. It still keeps them alive, but unless they can get ahold of the lid, they can’t open the gateway again to let Morfran out.”
    â€œWhat happens if Morfran gets to appear instead of Morrigan?”
    He grimaced. “It’s a simple bargain, woman. He gets life and the cauldron. They get life and freedom. If he appears, he will release the horde of sea-demons into your city. They want revenge on Man. Use your head to imagine what will happen next.”
    I looked to the Oracle. “Is he telling the truth?”
    The youngest Oracle nodded. “He is.”
    â€œOne last thing. Why did you keep stealing the maps?”
    He sighed. “The cauldron must sit on the crossing of three roads. It won’t shrink for the Fomorians, so they had to physically drag it somewhere. There are only so many places where three roads cross. The cauldron of plenty doesn’t shine with magic the way the cauldron of rebirth does. Hard to sense where it is. I was misting to each crossing of the roads near the pit, trying to find the cauldron.”
    That made sense. “Okay. The Pack has the lid,” I told him.
    He grinned. “This shouldn’t be too hard.”
    Thin tongues of mist swirled around his feet and dissipated into the air. Leaving him standing in the same spot.
    â€œYou’re still here.”
    â€œI know that!” He rocked forward. Mist puffed and vanished. Again. Again. “Something is wrong. You!” Bran pointed at the youngest Oracle. “Find the Shepherd!”
    A hint of a smile brightened the youngest Oracle’s face, highlighting her fragility. At first I thought she was laughing at the absurdity of Bran’s order, but her eyes glazed over, gazing somewhere far, past us, into the horizon only she could see, and I realized that using her gift filled her with joy. She leaned forward, focused, smiling wider and wider, until she laughed. The music of her voice filled the dome, exuberant and sweet. “Found him.”
    The dome quaked. Steam rose and the far wall faded into early dawn. Under the gray sky, mist drifted, caught on familiar steel spikes that thrust from the ground littered with metal refuse. A Stymphalean bird perched on a twisted spire of railroad rails, crushed and knotted together, as if some giant had tried to tie them in an angler’s knot. The Honeycomb Gap.
    The mist parted and I saw Bolgor the Shepherd perched on a mound of rusty barrels. A faint breeze stirred the cloth of his monk’s habit. A huge hulking silhouette towered behind him, still shrouded in mist, holding a cross. Ugad, fully regenerated. How nice, I could kill him again.
    A tall form