Hexed_ The Iron Druid Chronicles - Kevin Hearne [28]
“It would,” I said. “Don’t forget to mention she could help me slay a demon escaped from hell. Pray hard, if there is such a thing, and focus on what she would look like and when she’d do it, which is during the next couple of hours. And while you’re at it, I’ll give your grass a trim.”
“Attaboy,” she said, and smiled beatifically at me as I rose from my chair and trotted down the porch in search of her push lawn mower. I found it in the garage and hauled it out for a bit of brisk exercise as the widow shut her eyes and began to rock softly in her chair.
I didn’t know if this would work, but I had hope. Mary tended to make a lot more visits than the rest of the Christian saints and angels, and in the dozen or so times I’d run across her, it was always a result of some prayer for intercession someone had made on behalf of a group of people.
If it didn’t work, then I wouldn’t sweat it; I’d just take the arrows into a Catholic church and ask a priest to bless them. Anyone’s strong Christian faith would be effective against the demon, but Mary’s personal blessing would be quite a coup if I could count it.
After finishing the lawn, I returned the mower to its place in the widow’s garage and joined her on the porch. Her eyes opened after a moment and there were tears welling up in them.
“Ah, Atticus, I do hope she heard me and comes on down like ye say. I know she’s been lookin’ after me Sean, God rest him,” she crossed herself at the mention of her deceased husband, “but I don’t think he’d mind if she popped out for a bit to help some souls down here goin’ through a dark patch right now. ’Twould be a mighty blessing, an’ that’s no lie. But whether she comes or no, it does me heart good to think she might and that there’s hope fer those benighted people who might find God in the kindness of her smile. Thank ye fer suggestin’ the prayer to me.”
I took the widow’s small, spotted hand and gave it a brief squeeze. We sat together on the porch and watched the storm clouds boil in from the east until it was time for me to meet Coyote.
“Off ye go, then,” the widow said when I made my farewell and told Oberon it was time to leave the cats alone. “Tell Mary I love her if ye see her. Oh, and Atticus me boy?”
“Yes, Mrs. MacDonagh?”
“Maybe ye should wear a helmet this time,” she teased me, “in case the demon wants to nibble on yer nose or something.”
Chapter 8
Coyote was only five minutes late.
The tires of a Ford Escape hybrid squealed as he rounded the corner. He braked sharply in front of my house, marking the pavement and sending up the smell of burned rubber. He got out of the cab and laughed. “This here is one hot ride, Mr. Druid, yessiree!” He slapped the hood a couple of times to punctuate his enthusiasm.
“You really think so? I’d think something sportier would be more fun to drive than that.”
“I meant hot as in ‘freshly stolen.’ Stealin’ cars is almost as fun as stealin’ horses used to be a couple centuries ago. You ready?”
“Yep.” I held my bow, and the quiver of arrows was strapped to my back. Oberon was all set up inside with One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest on DVD. I’d promised to get him the audiobook version later so that he could appreciate the trip from inside Chief Bromden’s head. “Did you remember to bring a bow?”
“Sure did. An’ I got me a squirt gun filled with holy water for laughs.”
“All right, then. Mind if I drive?”
Coyote laughed. “Sure, Mr. Druid. This is your rodeo. I can’t wait to see where you’re gonna find us some holy arrows.”
“Arrows are right here,” I said, jerking a thumb over my shoulder at my quiver. “They’re just not holy yet.”
Coyote laughed again. “You’re just gonna dip ’em in holy water, aren’tcha?”
“Maybe.” I grinned to hide my irritation. “Maybe not. Wait and see.”
Apache Boulevard wasn’t nearly as bad as Mos Eisley. After the light rail was built, developers began to reinvest in the area and relieve some of the urban blight. But there were still stretches of low-rent trailer parks and cheap stucco boxes that passed for shelter, unpaved driveways,