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“In Tír na nÓg, of course.” She finally took a sip of the ale she had asked for.

“Can I not remain here, if there is no ruling for me to do?”

“You will have other duties,” she purred in that triple voice that turned my insides to Jell-O.

“But I rather enjoy this plane. There’s so much change and advancement to appreciate and an abundance of knowledge to absorb.”

“You can still sample these things as you wish, making brief trips as often as you like to the mortal plane. But there are more stimulating things to experience as my consort than the latest technological toy. There will be embassies to the world’s gods and wonders to behold, and you will visit all the planes on my behalf.”

“And my initiate? My hound? They cannot go to Tír na nÓg.”

“We can accommodate Oberon.” Brighid smiled. “Your initiate would be more problematic, as a mortal who would be constantly at risk of falling prey to the more mischievous of the Fae. Tír na nÓg would not be kind to her, and I doubt she would survive long. But she has not sacrificed much. She cannot have learned any of our mysteries yet in these few weeks. Pay her for her time and have done.”

“It is not so simple. I have given my word she would be trained fully.”

“Bring her if you must, then. I cannot guarantee her safety.”

“But you can guarantee mine and Oberon’s?”

Brighid shrugged. “There is no need. You are able to take care of yourself.”

Yeah, buddy, I know, we’ll talk later. To Brighid I said, “This is a most generous offer and yet wholly unexpected. To become the consort of one’s own goddess is beyond the scope of any man’s ambition. I confess myself unprepared to give you an answer at this moment, for much may depend on my response, and I feel it would be irresponsible of me to provide one without giving all ramifications their due examination.”

“So formal.” Brighid shook her head. “I must have made it seem like a business transaction. You mistake my meaning.”

She set her ale down on my kitchen table and stepped close to me. Her hand groped below my belt but pulled away, disappointed.

Brighid’s face clouded. “What’s the matter, Atticus? Do you not find me attractive? Am I not desirable to you?”

“It’s not that, not that at all,” I said, clearing my throat uncomfortably as I reminded Oberon that Brighid could hear him. “It’s just that I’m extremely tired at the moment—exhausted, in fact—and while I can do you any other service, I simply can’t do … that. Right now, I mean. Later would be good.” I nodded, smiling. “Great, in fact.”

Brighid’s nose wrinkled. I heard her sniff a couple of times, and then she abruptly stepped back and tore my shirt down the front, revealing the scratches and bruises from my morning’s exertions. Brighid’s face flushed and her eyes bulged as she drank in the evidence of my dalliance with her rival.

“I knew it!” she shouted. “You’ve lain with her! You’re the Morrigan’s creature!” And that’s all the warning I got before she unleashed the flames of her wrath against me in very literal terms. Fire whooshed out from her fingers and palms to char me toasty in my own kitchen. It didn’t burn me directly, thanks to my amulet, but it did behave differently than the fallen angel’s hellfire: Whereas the hellfire gave me a flash of heat before fizzling impotently, this ball o’ fire got channeled directly to the cold iron on my chest, where it began to burn painfully, just like the German hex had a couple of days ago. That was a mystery I’d have to ponder later. Right then I had a friend to protect, skin to heal, and several fires to put out.

Oberon barked.

That’s why I wanted you behind her. Don’t attack yet; I’m okay.

I drew Fragarach from its sheath, wincing at the heat in my palms, and pointed it at Brighid’s throat. “Freagróidh tú!” I yelled.

“No! Release me now!” she shouted back. She struggled to move but could do nothing but twitch, held fast in the blue glow of a spell crafted by her own