Hexed_ The Iron Druid Chronicles - Kevin Hearne [25]
“That’s fine. I will look forward to seeing you, Laksha.”
I tried to think of what service a scary body-snatching witch might require of me, but after a few seconds I dismissed it as idle speculation when I had other things to do. I called my apprentice to give her instructions for the morning.
“Atticus? Are you all right?” she asked when I called her. “You kind of worried me last night.”
“Sorry about that,” I said, blushing in embarrassment and glad she could not see. “I was demented after fending off a demon attack. I’m going out to kill another one—a big one—with Coyote, but I should be back after lunch. Couple things I need you to do. Got a pen?”
Granuaile snagged something to write with and took down Malina’s name and address for the yarrow delivery. “Don’t go yourself; make sure it’s a courier.” I didn’t want my apprentice unwittingly delivering her hair into one of Malina’s glass jars. “Then have Perry show you where we keep the applications—I need to hire some more help. Thumb through those, make some calls, and line up a few interviews for later this afternoon. If they’re still unemployed, they should be available.”
“You seriously need more help? It’s been dead in here.”
“I’m going to be gone more often. That dead patch of land out by Tony Cabin needs my attention. It won’t come back for centuries without my help.” Aenghus Óg had killed many square miles of the earth by opening his portal to hell, and while he would be paying for it by spending eternity burning there, the land was still barren and cried out for aid.
“Oh, yeah, absolutely. Won’t you need a car for that, though?”
“Nope. You get to drive me, so you’ll be gone more often too.”
“Okay, now it makes sense.”
“That’s what senseis do. While I’m gone and it’s dead in there, work on your Latin, using that software I bought you.”
After ringing off with Granuaile, it was time to rummage around in my garage. It held all sorts of things instead of a car—shuriken, sai, a couple of shields, fishing tackle, and plenty of gardening tools. It was also where I stored my bow, a modern compound number with ridiculous pull on it. I couldn’t draw it without magically boosting my strength; I figured it should give the demon something to howl about. I also found a quiver full of carbon steel arrows and set them next to my bow near the front door.
With an hour to kill before Coyote was due to arrive, I jogged up Roosevelt Street with Oberon to visit the widow MacDonagh and pay some attention to her lawn.
It was only nine in the morning, but she was already out on her porch sipping a glass of Tullamore Dew on the rocks and reading a hard-boiled mystery novel. Her weathered face split into a wide smile when she saw Oberon and me trotting up her driveway.
“Ah, me dear lad Atticus!” she cried, setting down her novel but not her glass. “Yer a fine bloom o’ spring on a cloudy fall day, an’ that’s no lie.”
I chuckled at her poetic greeting. “Good mornin’, Mrs. MacDonagh. You could lift a lonely man’s heart from fifty leagues away.”
“Tish! I’ll have to be bakin’ ye some brownies for that spot o’ blarney there. ’Tis yerself that’s good for the heart. Come here and give us a hug.”
She rose from her rocking chair, glass in hand, and opened her arms to me. She was wearing a white cotton dress printed with a blue floral pattern, and a navy shawl was draped about her shoulders; it was finally getting chilly in Tempe, and it looked as if a cold rain would soon fall to renew the desert. She patted my back as we embraced briefly and she said, “I can’t imagine such a handsome lad as yerself bein’ lonely fer any reason, but it’s God’s truth that I’m that happy to see ye whenever ye stop by—Oh, hello, Oberon! That’s a colorful bit o’ clothing yer wearing.” She scratched behind his ears, and Oberon’s tail thumped against her porch rails. “Ah, yer a good hound, aren’t ye?”