Hexed_ The Iron Druid Chronicles - Kevin Hearne [29]
At a few minutes after ten in the morning, all the meth addicts were asleep and there was very little for Mary to do. The people walking around Apache Boulevard at that time all had someplace to go; they all had a shred of hope in their lives. Nevertheless, there was a small knot of people crowded around her when I saw a navy-blue dress and white headband between Martin Lane and River Drive. There were even a few stray dogs and some alley cats rubbing up against her legs, as if they were gentle domestics.
To double-check whether I was looking at a true manifestation of Mary, I activated a charm on my necklace that I call “faerie specs.” It’s a spell that shows me what’s going on in the magical and supernatural spectrum—if there’s anything more to look at than the normal collection of proteins, minerals, and water.
“Aggh!” I squeezed my eyes and turned off the specs immediately, jerking the wheel of the Ford a bit.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Druid?” Coyote asked.
I blinked and saw spots. “That’s definitely the Virgin. Bright white light.” I turned the Ford into the first driveway I saw and put it in park. It was the entrance to a decrepit trailer park, covered in gravel and broken glass. Nothing grew there but misery and despair, the people living there cut off from nature and walking the world unbound from it.
Coyote and I got out, and I retrieved my quiver of arrows from the cargo area. As we approached, Mary was blessing a large Latino man dressed like a tough guy—a vato loco would be the slang term. He wore a blue bandanna and dark sunglasses, even though it was completely overcast, and his gray flannel shirt was buttoned only at the top, leaving a white T-shirt to show underneath. Tears were streaming out from underneath the sunglasses.
“Your pardon, ma’am, but I wonder if you would mind blessing these arrows for us,” I said. “We’re off to fight a demon.”
She smiled and chuckled fondly as she addressed me. “Child,” she said—she always called me that, even though I was older than she was—“I came here with no other purpose in mind.”
“The widow MacDonagh wanted me to tell you she loves you,” I said.
“Ah, Katie.” The Virgin’s smile became even brighter. “She prays to me daily, you know. And recently she’s been asking to keep you safe. So you must remain safe, Mr. O’Sullivan, and return my love to her. She has a beautiful soul.”
“Yes, she does.”
“Let us see these arrows of yours.”
Being careful with the fletching, I slowly drew the arrows out of the quiver together and then handed the quiver to Coyote. I presented them to the Virgin across both my arms, so that the heads were pointed north, to her right.
She closed her eyes, laid her hands gently on the heads, and spoke a few lines from the Benediction in the Latin Mass: “O salutaris Hostia quae coeli pandis ostium. Bella premunt hostilia; da robur, fer auxilium.” The form of her blessing was rather unexpected. I was hoping for an original composition, but upon reflection I supposed it was an appropriate sentiment: Our foes press on from every side; thine aid supply, thine strength bestow. She held on to the arrows for about ten seconds after she finished speaking. I’m sure if I had dared to use my faerie specs, I’d have seen some really interesting magic being woven around them—a split second before the light of the Virgin burned out my eyeballs.
When she finished, she opened her eyes and released the slightest bit of tension that had built up in her shoulders. She smiled benignly upon me and then widened it to include Coyote.
“The last of the Druids and one of the First People of Native America are off to fight a fallen angel from the Fifth Circle.”
I’d been smiling back at Mary until I processed the end of her sentence. At that point I didn’t know if I’d ever smile again. “A fallen angel? One of the original host?”
Mary nodded. “Yes. It is twisted and blackened now, the light of heaven snuffed out long ago.”
“Hoo-ee, Mr.