Staked (The Iron Druid Chronicles, #8)(24)

It’s midafternoon and the walk from the park to the hotel takes me a half hour or so. I keep asking strangers if I’m heading in the right direction. They’re a friendly and helpful lot, and I wonder if it has anything to do with the old lady on the small pieces of paper.

The hotel is a tall building, which means a lot of stairs for me. Greta says the elevator is faster, but I don’t trust them, because I don’t know how they work. I know how stairs work and that will be good enough.

Siodhachan’s room is on the sixth floor, Hal told me. Room 633. When I reach it, I can hear the television blaring inside and there’s a sign on the doorknob that says DO NOT DISTURB. I figure that has to be a joke, since Siodhachan asked me to come here, but I don’t think it’s very funny.

I try the handle, only to discover that it’s locked. I pound on the door and call out to the hound. “Oberon. Open the door if ye can. It’s Owen.” His voice filters into me head.

<What are you doing here? Where’s Atticus? Wait—how do I know you’re really Owen?>

“Because I can hear ye talk and answer back. I’m here at Siodhachan’s request. He’s been hurt and I’m to take care of ye until he’s well.”

<Atticus is hurt? How bad?>

“I don’t know yet, I just got here. Would ye let me in so I don’t have to keep shouting through this fecking door?”

<Hold on. I can move the handle down but you’ll have to push it open, because I can’t pull. No thumbs.>

True to his word, the lock disengages and the handle, a short horizontal bar, moves down. I push it open and the giant wolfhound bombards me with questions before I’m even in the room.

<Where is he? Who hurt him? Are they dead yet or will they be dead soon? Can I help them die?>

“I don’t have details. All he did was text Hal Hauk in Arizona that he’s in a hospital somewhere in this city. So we have to call around to find him. Is there a phone here?”

<Yes. Next to the bed.>

“Good. When we find which hospital he’s in, we’ll go straight there and get some answers.”

The television is on and showing pictures of people eating way too damn loud. The hound shows me how to turn it off and then we can concentrate in peace.

The phone is an intimidating device and it’s full of instructions on the front, unlike cell phones. But it doesn’t work like it should. Greta said when you use landlines like this, you get a dial tone first and then you dial the number. Except when I start dialing, the fecking thing starts ringing as soon as I punch the first number.

“Room service,” a voice says in me ear.

“What? I’m trying to dial the hospital.”

“Pardon, sir? Is this an emergency?”

“No, not for me. I just need to make a call, and when I started dialing, you answered.”

“Oh, I understand. You need an outside line. Hang up, then dial nine, wait for the dial tone, then dial your number.”

“I hate this fecking century.”

“I beg your pardon?”

I slam the phone down on the voice and pick it up again. There’s a dial tone, but I do what the man said and punch 9. The tone skips a beat, then continues. I try the number for the first hospital again, and this time it works.

Unfortunately, there’s no one registered under the name Sean Flanagan at Mount Sinai Hospital, so the call is a waste of time. I move on to the next number, St. Michael’s. The lady on the phone says, yes, Sean Flanagan is a patient there, but she can’t give me any more information unless I’m a family member. I hang up on her rather than argue. I’ll just go down there and see with me own eyes how he’s doing.

“Right, he’s at St. Michael’s.” Consulting the Google map, I notice it will take us a while to get there. “Looks like a bit of a walk. You need a walk anyway, don’t ye?” I ask the hound.

<Yes, a walk would be good right about now.>

“Anything ye need to bring? We won’t be coming back here, because I don’t have the key.”

<I’m supposed to be on a leash in the city, but that’s it. Everything else is Atticus’s stuff. Oh, wait! He left his sword here. It’s under the mattress. He’s going to want that.>

“I should imagine so.” I retrieve it, strap it to me back, leash the hound, and leave the rest. Down the stairs we go, past some rather shocked people in the lobby who didn’t know they made dogs in Oberon’s size.

Once he’s outside, Oberon informs me that he’s going to need to do some “urban fertilization.”

“Is that what ye call it?”

<Atticus says my waste helps plants. It’s science! Which is great, because I like peeing on them. I like to pee on streetlights and fire hydrants too, but it turns out that doesn’t help them like it helps plants.>

“And what do ye do when ye have to shite in the big city?”

<Well, you are never supposed to do that on the sidewalk, Owen. That’s rude.>

“Hey, I know that already, ye don’t have to tell me!”

<You hardly know how to use a phone or turn off a television, so obviously I can’t assume you know these things. Since you didn’t have sidewalks in your day, I thought maybe you weren’t aware that they are not for shitting.>