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By Root 687 0

is, but in situations like this, you don’t want them to smell smoke and figure there’s been a fire. Which turns out to be literally true in this case.” He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “What started the fire, anyway?”

“A visiting goddess.”

“Are you being serious or pulling my hair?”

“Completely serious.” I didn’t tell him the correct expression was “pulling my leg,” because he was doing so well otherwise. Hal was quite a bit younger than Leif and more willing to make an effort to use American vernacular correctly. He usually appreciated it when I corrected him, but I didn’t want to distract him now.

“Anything I should be worried about?”

“Nah, it’s all Irish politics.”

Hal looked at me sharply and shook a finger in my face. “That’s bloody dangerous, getting involved in that. You be careful.”

I gaped at Hal. “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”

“What?” Hal protested, shrugging his shoulders and looking aggrieved.

“I called to ask Gunnar for help with the Bacchants yesterday and he shut me down. No well-wishing, no pleas to be careful, nothing. So now we’re dealing with the aftermath of what happens when I try to go it alone, and you tell me to be careful about Irish politics?”

“Well, I know precisely where Gunnar’s coming from. It’s not our job to keep the magical peace.”

“Neither is it mine.”

“Well, then, why did you get involved?” Hal asked.

I thought about explaining that I needed a safe place to live and work so I could restore the land around Tony Cabin, but it seemed too arcane and he might not understand why I was so eager to tackle a project that would take years to finish. I shrugged instead and said, “Irish politics.”

“There you go. Bloody dangerous. Our job is to keep you out of jail when you get in trouble, not help you get into trouble in the first place. Come on.” He rose from his chair and gestured inside. “I’ll help you get everything stowed.”

Oberon said as we walked inside.

You don’t offer werewolves treats if you want to keep all your appendages. They think it’s undignified and degrading to be offered a treat.

I beg your pardon?

No. You just made all of that up.

Clearly. I stopped in the kitchen to grab a handful of treats for Oberon out of the slightly scorched pantry cabinet. After you finish these, I want you to stand sentinel on the front porch and let me know if anyone drives up, please.

I collected Moralltach from the garage, a couple of other practice swords, and a roll of oilskin (the real stuff, not the synthetic fabric they call oilskin these days, because I’m a natural fiber kind of guy). Since I didn’t have a bat cave, I’d have to hide everything by using magic. I got out some scissors and started cutting lengths of oilskin, then told Hal to wrap the swords in them so that every inch was covered.

“Do you have some duct tape or something to keep it all together?”

I stopped slicing through oilskin and looked up at my lawyer. “Hal? I’m a Druid. Like, for reals.”

Hal flushed and muttered an apology. “Right. You can bind it yourself, can’t you?”

“Yes, I can. Are you ready with that one?”

“Right. Yes.”

“Hold the edges down, then,” I said, and waited for Hal