Tricked

accounts. «
    » How many accounts do you have? «
    » Hundreds, scattered around the world under various names. I got into the practice thanks to Aenghus Óg. The constant need to flee meant that I needed safe places to run, which often meant cities, and surviving there meant I needed funds. Hal knows about twenty of them. «
    » Do you really need so many now that Aenghus Óg is dead? «
    » Eh. They’re not doing me any harm. They’re just sitting there earning interest. Might need them down the road. «
    Granuaile conceded the wisdom of this. » What are we doing next, sensei? «
    » We have most of the day to wait until Greta can get here. Let’s do some training for you and some play for Oberon. «
    We drove to a small undeveloped area in the township boundaries that supported a few rabbits and some extremely skittish ground squirrels. Oberon had a blast terrorizing them while I walked Granuaile through some martial arts forms that required a straight back and neck.
    Kayenta was a dry place and a simple one. Austere, even. But I could see myself being happy there, if only the world would let me.

Chapter 13
    There was a span of years in the 1980s during which I marveled at the almost supernatural powers of Steve Perry. While he sang for Journey, he made people believe in themselves, weep over long distance relationships, and inquire at transit stations about midnight trains. Together with his bandmates, he fully explored the hidden depths and nuances of the word whoa —teasing out shades of meaning and connotations that I would have been hard pressed to discover, even with two thousand years of attention to the problem—and I’m willing to bet that the pathos with which he imbued the syllable na shall never be equalled in the history of the human race.
    He was a god of rock. He nearly solved all the world’s problems with nothing but power chords and anguished cries into a microphone.
    But his power to uplift the spirit did have a limit—a limit shared, I might add, by every other band—and that was the inability to ameliorate the soul-destroying visual discord of corporate fast-food franchises. Some acquaintance or another would periodically drag me into one of the horrors, and, under the malign influence of a décor scheme that assaulted my retinas with primary colors, Steve would be singing » woe « instead of » whoa « on my Walkman. His sound could not tame the visual fury of paper-wrapped cheeseburgers dressed in angry red ketchup and a lonesome pickle chip.
    I should have remembered that before I suggested the sub joint on the highway as a good place for Greta to meet us. It was decorated in lurid yellow and a shade of green that I felt was unnecessarily belligerent.
    » Ugh. This place hurts my eyes, « Granuaile said. » It’s offensive. «
    A camouflaged Oberon chimed in. › She’s right. I can smell the vegetables in here and they almost drown out the scent of ham. That’s offensive. ‹
    What’ll you have?
    › Can I have the entire bin full of roast beast? ‹
    Nope, sorry. Sandwich with double meat .
    › Roast beast, then, with no frills. ‹
    We had no sooner sat down with our sandwiches in a screaming-yellow booth than Greta entered and squinted at the glare.
    » Damn, « she said, pausing at the door and wincing. » It’s ugly in here. « She was dressed professionally and carried a brown leather courier bag slung over her left shoulder. Her hair had grown long since I’d last seen her, and she had it plaited into a thick braid. Seeing us, she lifted her chin in a terse greeting and came over to our booth, slipping the bag off her shoulder and into the seat we’d left her. She promptly put out her hand, palm up. » Boss said my early dinner’s on you. «
    Granuaile’s mouth gaped, but I’d half-expected this sort of behavior. Greta had never particularly liked me, and I expected she liked me even less since I’d taken a trip with her alpha, Gunnar Magnusson, and come back with his crushed body. I nodded and put a couple of twenties in her hand.
    » So generous, « she sneered, and went to stand in line without thanking me.
    Granuaile bent close and whispered urgently, » Atticus, what the hell— «
    » Patience, « I said, interrupting her. » You do know that wolves have fantastic hearing, don’t you? «
    » Oh, « she said in a tiny voice. » I’ll just eat my sandwich. « I smiled at her in thanks.
    › Sure wish I had a sandwich to eat, ‹ Oberon hinted from