Staked (The Iron Druid Chronicles, #8)(26)

That takes a bit more time than I would like, but the hound is right; one eventually comes along. A nurse wheels an old man into a room near Siodhachan’s and helps him into bed. He looks like he’s about the age I was before I drank that tea Siodhachan made for me, and his skin is dry and papery. He’s asleep before the nurse is finished pulling up the sheets over his thin frame. I wait for her to leave and then I cast camouflage on the wheelchair and steal it. A few minutes after that, I’ve stolen me a Druid and I’m out of the hospital with a camouflaged Siodhachan in the chair. I drop the camouflage on meself and the hound as we walk away but keep it going on me old apprentice. The hound gets more and more worried when Siodhachan doesn’t respond to him—apparently he’s never had his food reviews ignored before, and the discovery of poutine should have roused Siodhachan right away.

Eventually I get Siodhachan to Queen’s Park and stop the chair right next to the bound tree I used to shift in. Looking around to make sure no one’s watching, I drop his camouflage, then I squat down and pull his right foot off the little metal shelf so that his heel can touch the earth again. Oberon thinks he should wake up immediately on contact.

<Why isn’t he talking now?> he asks. <If he can touch the earth he should be able to heal, right?>

“Well, yes, but there’s no telling how bad he is or what they did to him in there. Greta was telling me about modern medicine. Lots of drugs involved, and lots of it is synthetic shite they cook up somewhere. They may have knocked him out on purpose.”

<Oh, yeah, they do that. I’ve seen it on TV loads of times.>

“What he needs is a good long soak in the healing pools of Mag Mell. But I don’t think I can shift ye there meself.”

<Why not?>

“I don’t know either of ye well enough to carry you along. I used to know Siodhachan, but he’s got two thousand years on me. I’d worry about containing him. And, besides, I don’t have the headspaces for it. I only have one extra, and Siodhachan has, what, three?”

<Five extra, I think.>

“See, that’s one fecking impressive brain there. We get him awake, and he can shift both of us.”

The corner of Siodhachan’s mouth tugs upward and his eyelids twitch a wee bit. “Aw, Owen,” he says, though his voice is slow and slurred. “You’re sho shweet.”

“You’re awake?”

“Just in time to hear you shay shumthing nice about me.”

“Well, don’t let it go to your head! The truth is, your smarts are better hidden than a pair of snake nuts.”

<Atticus! I’m so glad you’re okay! I have to tell you about this new thing I ate! It’s called poutine, and it’s mostly gravy!>

“I’m deffy … definitely not okay, Oberon. Sho tired. Groggy.”

“They have you pumped full of drugs, lad,” I says.

<Oh! Oh! There’s a better word for drugs, and it’s pharmaceuticals. That’s five syllables, so I deserve some more poutine.>

“We need to get you to Mag Mell,” I says. “When do you think you’ll be clear enough to shift?”

“Need to break down kam … chemical. Sss. Chemicals first.”

It’s a long couple of hours of the hound talking about food and his favorite entertainments after that. People passing by give us curious stares every so often, but they mind their own business and I admire them for it. I shift away quickly to get the fancy stake Luchta made for Siodhachan, and he doesn’t even notice. When the sun goes down, it starts to get cold quickly, and that, along with the cleansing he’s been doing, finally allows Siodhachan to announce that he’s ready.

I have to help him up and he winces—his right leg is shredded—but he shifts us all to Tír na nóg, leaving a mystery wheelchair behind, and then to the plane of Mag Mell, where I carry most of his weight over to the healing pools and he sinks into one with a happy sigh, tossing away that cloth he calls a hospital gown.

“What day is it?” he asks, all the slurring gone from his voice.

“Same day, lad. What happened?”

We trade stories, and it makes me cringe to think of what these modern weapons can do to a body. It’s a problem I’ll have to consider, because he’s right—his sword is no use against weapons like that, and neither are me shiny new knuckles.

“Those are impressive, though,” he says. “If you can shatter rock with them I wonder if they’d stop a bullet. Wouldn’t want to try catching one though. What are you going to name them?”

“I don’t know yet.”

I take off his sword and place it next to his hand by the side of the pool, then give him the stake from Luchta as well.

“Look, lad, keep that vampire war as far away from me and Flagstaff as possible. I’ll have a bunch of wee kids to look after soon.”

“Hal said as much. I’ll try, but you should be aware that they may come after you to get to me. Or to retaliate against something I do. Just ward and be wary.”

“I will.”

“And … Owen?” His face is all scrunched up as if he’s expecting a beating for what he’s going to say next.

“What is it?”

“Maybe go a bit easier on them than you did on me.”