Staked (The Iron Druid Chronicles, #8)(90)
“Well, you told me that you are on better terms with the Hammers of God now after Toronto. Why not give them a call and see if they can take this down? I mean, we don’t absolutely have to go after the vampires today, right? We can wait for a bit of help?”
“Yes. That’s an outstanding idea.” I pulled out my new burner phone and punched in Rabbi Yosef Bialik’s number from memory. He answered in a sleepy voice—it’s not early afternoon in Toronto but rather closer to six in the morning. “Hello, Rabbi? Atticus here. How soon can you and your friends get to Rome?”
CHAPTER 25
After Atticus convinces the rabbi to fly to Rome as soon as he can, we have the rest of the day and a night to kill. It’s just as well: Neither of us is 100 percent healthy, still recuperating after our assorted run-ins with gods and the undead. We decide to shift elsewhere before the vampires wake up for the night, but we take our time returning to the Villa Borghese. We make a date out of it, visiting a charcuterie to fulfill my promise to Orlaith and delight Oberon in the process. I’m not super-familiar with Rome; I had to get instructions to find the Piazza di Spagna—so Atticus shows me a few things and we get espressos at one of the ubiquitous caffè bars that pepper the city the way Starbucks peppers Seattle. I love the clink of saucers and cups and the gurgling hiss of steam wands frothing milk over the music of the Italian language. When we get to the Villa Borghese it’s about an hour before dusk, and as we’re walking to the tethered tree we see a familiar figure walking toward us.
“Oi! Well, at least findin’ ye wasn’t the nightmare I expected,” a deep growly voice says. “Didn’t have to take a single step onto that dead land.”
“Hello, Owen,” Atticus says. “We were just about to leave. What are you doing here?”
“Lookin’ for you. I have news, good and bad, and some of your bollocks.” He tosses Fragarach to Atticus in its scabbard, and the leather strap flaps in the air. Then he tosses a plastic bag to him, which Atticus catches and examines.
“Oh! My new documents. Thanks. It’ll be good to have a bank account again. Huh—Connor Molloy. Not bad.”
The archdruid’s face twists into an ugly sneer and he spits to one side. “The good news is that Werner Drasche is finally dead. Greta killed him.”
“Oh, wow. That is good news! But wait—are you saying Werner Drasche was in Flagstaff?”
“That’s exactly what I’m feckin’ saying to ye, lad. And before Greta killed him, but very shortly after Hal Hauk brought your documents there and raised a toast to your bloody arse, Werner Drasche brought seven vampires with him and shot up our house. Now, why do ye suppose he’d do a thing like that?”
“Oh, no. I bet it was retaliation for Berlin.”
“What’s Berlin?”
“A city in Germany. I unbound nineteen old friends of Theophilus there, but he escaped. He must have told Drasche to strike back however he could.”
“So he hopped on a plane and came straight for us.”
“I guess so. Was anyone hurt?”
Owen’s fists clench at his sides and he shouts, “Yes, someone got hurt! Hal Hauk is dead, ye fecking shite-heap! Because of you! He was there to deliver your new identity and then he took a silver bullet to the brain because of something you did in Berlin! And the father of one of me apprentices was killed too!”
Atticus shrinks back under the onslaught. It’s awful, terrible news, and I see that it hits him hard. Especially since it was delivered with such a large load of blame.
“Oh, gods,” he says. “What can I do? Is there a service to be held, or…?”
“It’s been held already. I just came from there. And I have a message to deliver from the pack—packs, I mean, both Tempe and Flagstaff. You’re banished, lad. If ye enter their territory again, they’ll try to kill ye. They’re not going to hunt ye or set the world’s packs on your tail. But ye can’t ever go back. And Magnusson and Hauk won’t be your firm anymore after they finish what business they have with ye. Time to get some new attorneys.”
“What?” I say. “Wait, that’s—”
“Completely deserved,” Atticus says. “I understand their point of view on this. I don’t blame them.”
“Well, they shouldn’t be blaming you either!” I said. “It’s not like you pulled the trigger.”
“No, but I gave Drasche a reason to go there. They’re perfectly justified.” His voice has gone cold and dead, and I know what he’s doing: He’s walling up his pain in a different headspace. But at least it’s calming down Owen, who looked for a moment as if he would throw a punch. He looks up at his old archdruid and says, “Thanks for letting me know. And bringing me my sword.”
Owen merely grunts in reply and turns to me. “Speaking of weapons, I have something for you too, Granuaile.”
I immediately assume it’s a parting gift and gasp, “What? Am I banished too?”
“Not that I’ve heard. I imagine they won’t jump to do ye any favors, but I don’t think they’d go after ye either. No, what I have is a stake carved by Luchta.”
He’s dressed in jeans and a soft brown leather coat lined with lamb’s wool. He pulls out a hardwood stake, beautifully carved, and tells me it’ll unbind a vampire no matter where you stab it.