The bacon latte?

"No, Atticus, I already told you those exist! I’m talking about the prophecy! “Out of the steam and the foam and the froth, a man in white with poor eyesight will craft a liquid paradox, and it shall be called the Triple Nonfat Double Bacon Five-Cheese Mocha!”"

Oberon, what the f**k? I was about to ask him if he’d heard that on television when Granuaile’s eyes snapped open.

“That was amazing,” she breathed. “It was like … dreaming, these images in my head, except I could control the dream and say what I wanted without using words.”

“That’s a cool way of putting it. What did he say?” I asked.

“He hopes that two Druids will mean twice as many faeries for him.”

I smiled. “That sounds about right. Time to say hello to Sonora. You’ll find him a bit deeper and richer than Ferris. If Ferris is a glass of chocolate milk, Sonora is mousse.”

“Wow. Okay,” Granuaile said. “But I’m going to think of Sonora as female.” She put the iron marble into the pocket of her jeans and picked up the turquoise marble. This time she closed her fist around it confidently and closed her eyes. A small shiver and sharp intake of breath indicated when she’d made contact. She smiled again as she had before.

Right, she’ll be busy talking for a bit, I said to Oberon. Now explain to me how a Double Bacon Five-Cheese Mocha can ever be nonfat.

"Duh, it can’t. That’s why the people researching it must have bad haircuts: They’ve already demonstrated their bad judgment, and only bad judgment could lead one to believe that it might be possible."

Yeesh. Your logic should come with a warning label. Where’d you hear that prophecy you spouted?

"Well, that’s an interesting—hey." Oberon’s ears pricked up and he swung his head to the east. "Someone’s coming."

I followed his gaze and saw flashes of a familiar canine form coming toward us through the desert scrub.

"It’s Coyote!" Oberon said, his tail wagging. It was indeed. Or one version of him, anyway: This one claimed to represent the Navajo tribe. He trotted nimbly between the teddy bear cholla with his tongue hanging out to one side and yipped a cheerful greeting at us. Before we could answer, he shape-shifted to a Native American man clothed in blue jeans, boots, and a white sleeveless undershirt. His straight black hair fell down his back from underneath a cowboy hat, and he had a tiny smirk on his face.

“Howdy, Mr. Druid,” he said. “You ain’t still mad at me, are ya?” His manner suggested that he really didn’t care if I was mad or not. He was referring to the way he’d tricked me—even threatened me—to secure my aid in attacking a fallen angel from the Fifth Circle of hell. He spoke in a slow, dry rumble tinged with amusement, and I tailored my voice to suit his manner of speech.

“Naw, I’ve mellowed out a good deal in the past few weeks.”

“Figured you would. How’re you, Oberon?” He squatted down on his haunches and beckoned to my hound. Oberon bounded over to him and wagged his tail enthusiastically.

"Can’t complain, Coyote, unless you forgot to bring me sausages."

Coyote laughed, able to hear Oberon’s thoughts as clearly as I did. He petted Oberon with both hands, running one hand along his back and massaging his throat with the other. “I’m sorry, Oberon, I didn’t have time to stop without makin’ Mr. Druid wait. Who’s your lady friend?”

"That’s Granuaile."

“My apprentice,” I explained. “She’s busy talkin’ to Sonora right now. We should prob’ly let ’er have a good gab. Wanna take a short walk?”

“Sure, Mr. Druid, that’d be fine with me.” He rose from his squat and the two of us walked south, where our conversation wouldn’t distract Granuaile. Oberon trailed behind and snuffled happily at the cacti and creosote.

“I’m in need of your special talents,” I told Coyote, and explained to him what the immediate future might hold for me in Asgard.

He chuckled. “I was wonderin’ when you’d turn to sooee-cide,” he said. He turned his head and spat. “Takin’ on the Norse. You’re crazier than a pink-eyed parrot.”

“Well, maybe only crazy like you,” I said. “This deal I have in mind might work out pretty well for both of us.”

“A deal, huh?”

“Think of it as a trade, if you like.”

“A trade?” Coyote’s grin became feral, and a light sparkled in his eyes. He wouldn’t be able to resist now. He’d bargain until he thought he had the better of me, all the while protesting that I was robbing him. After I proposed the deal, he fell down laughing and clutched at his gut, howling while tears streamed from his eyes. But once I could get him to speak again, we negotiated in earnest until we shook hands on it.

“Meetin’ up with you is always interestin’, Mr. Druid,” he said. “I’ll stick around in this area ’til you get back. Unless you don’t come back.” He looked down at Oberon. “An’ next time we meet, I’ll make sure to have a bag o’ those chicken apple sausages you like so much.”

"Okay, I’ll remember that!"

With one final wave, Coyote dissolved back to his canine form and trotted off to the east from whence he came. Oberon and I returned to check on Granuaile, who was rising from the ground and brushing dirt off her knees.

“How’d it go with Sonora?” I asked.

She was glowing with childlike giddiness. “So awesome! She’s given me a big job to do, but I can’t wait, because it needs to be done.”

“What is it?”

“I’m to get rid of all the crayfish in the East Verde River.”

My eyebrows shot up. “You weren’t kidding. That’s a pretty big job.” Crayfish were a nonnative invasive species that were slowly killing off the native fish and frogs in the river by eating their eggs and competing for food. “How are you going to be sure you get them all?”

“Sonora’s going to guide me—She’ll show me where they are and teach me about her ecosystem, how the species and plants are bound together. I can’t wait.” She hopped up and down and clapped three times in glee. “It’s true that the earth is alive. I never knew it could be like this, sensei. Is there like a hierarchy of elementals or something?”

“Yes, there is. Thought you’d catch on. Where would you put Ferris in that hierarchy?”

“Lowest level.”

“That’s right. He’s the avatar of a mineral. Tremendously limited in what he can do, but within his limits he’s supreme. And since iron is so darn handy, it’s good to make friends with iron elementals—but you’re never going to need to call up a beryllium elemental, for example, or a molybdenum one. They’re out there but they’re not hanging by the phone, if you know what I mean. Sonora’s at the next level, and his kind are the kind Druids are supposed to protect. They’re avatars of a regional ecosystem, and they have massive power but they’re also vulnerable to human stupidity. Whenever we draw power from the earth, we’re drawing on them, if you see what I mean.”

“What’s above them?”

“The tectonic plates. They’re literally below the ecosystems, but in terms of hierarchy they’re the next step up. It’s best not to piss them off. You won’t have much contact with them. After that you have Gaia herself.”

“Wow. What’s she like?”

Her smile was infectious, and I found myself smiling back as I said, “Patient. Kind. Much more difficult to talk to. I think it’s good that Sonora has entrusted you with that crayfish business and that he’s so willing to talk with you.”

“She is so willing,” Granuaile said pointedly.

“Okay, she,” I agreed, and shrugged my indifference. “It’ll be good for you to be out of town for a while. You should take Oberon with you; he’ll love hanging out by the river instead of being trapped with Mrs. MacDonagh’s fearless cats again.”

"Absolutely! Thank you, Atticus, that’s very thoughtful!"

I want you to keep an eye out, okay? Patrol while she’s busy, warn her when anyone approaches. She hasn’t developed a proper sense of paranoia yet.

"Okay, will do."

“That would be fine, except he’ll be kind of squished in my tiny little car,” Granuaile said.

“Right. Let’s head back into town and stop by the bank. I’ll get you some cash; you can use it to rent a truck, and you can go get some camping gear and some giant paint buckets to put the crayfish in.”

“Sweet!” Granuaile said, and the three of us piled back into her small Chevy.

"I’m going to miss being able to talk to you," Oberon said. "But at least Granuaile won’t treat me like some ordinary dog."

Don’t go running off and making her worry. We’ll go hunting together when I get back, just you and me.

"Where?"

I’m thinking the San Juan Mountains in Colorado.

“After you’re finished,” I told Granuaile as we cruised back to town on the Bush Highway, “just bring Oberon over to the widow’s place. I’ll stop by there this afternoon and let her know that you’ll be coming.”

Granuaile was all bubbles and excitement over her new mission, and it recalled for me my first interaction with an elemental, a bog spirit in Ireland. My sense of wonder had been every bit as profound as Granuaile’s. Her temperament, I reflected, was well suited to a Druid’s life. She remained giddy until it was time to part ways at a Mill Avenue ATM. I was going to go grab some lunch, and she was going to grab some gear at REI, with Oberon in tow, then rent a truck.

“You come back, sensei,” she said, poking me in the chest to make sure I was getting the message. “You can’t leave me dangling like this now that you’ve started. It would be like buying a kid an action figure and then telling him he can’t take it out of the package.” Her green eyes met mine and I found myself tongue-tied, even though I knew I was supposed to say something reassuring. A few awkward heartbeats passed, and then she gave up on waiting for me to speak. She grabbed my shirt front and pulled me toward her, delivering a quick buss on the cheek. Her scent lingered as she withdrew, a dark-wine-and-floral shampoo with a top note of strawberry lip gloss. She turned her back immediately and strode to her car, shoulders hunched up high as if she expected me to scold her for something. She opened the back door for Oberon to jump in and then circled around to the driver’s side, climbing into the car without looking at me.

"That was kind of sweet, but I don’t think I could say good-bye like that. I guess I could hump your leg affectionately or something."

I squatted down and chuckled, hugging Oberon around the neck. Be good, I told him. I’ll be back as soon as I can, and then we’ll go find a new place to live.

"I want more room to run," Oberon said.

I think that can be arranged. I escorted him to the car and he jumped carefully into the backseat. I shut the door behind him and waved as Granuaile drove off.

I sighed happily, replaying her kiss and still enjoying the faint traces of her scent, while simultaneously feeling guilty for even permitting it. I hoped she would do that again someday, and I berated myself for wishing it.

A last meal of the world’s finest fish and chips awaited me due north at Rúla Búla, so I shook myself out of my trance and walked that way, determined to savor my last few hours in Tempe.

“Hey, Siodhachan!” a man’s voice boomed from behind me, and I ducked instinctively and pivoted on my heels to meet an attack. My right hand flew to the camouflaged hilt of Fragarach over my right shoulder, but I relaxed and left it sheathed when I saw there was no threat. A fit-looking African man was standing in front of Trippie Hippie and laughing at me. “Wow. You’re even more paranoid than the last time I saw you.”

I felt acutely embarrassed not to recognize someone who knew my true Irish name. He looked friendly, but I had no idea who this guy was.

Chapter 10

“Come to Jesus,” the man said, smiling hugely, with his arms open and inviting embrace. He wore a tie-dyed T-shirt in predominantly reds, yellows, and greens, with a white peace sign screen-printed on the front of it. He had on a pair of relaxed-fit blue jeans, and his Chuck Taylors were classically black. He appeared to be an affable sort, and his voice and rugged good looks reminded me of that guy from the Old Spice body-wash commercials.

I still couldn’t place him, and it was supremely annoying because I should have been able to. Random strangers don’t know my Irish name—most of my current friends don’t know it either, including Granuaile. And it’s not like he just made a lucky guess: Siodhachan hasn’t exactly been in the top one thousand baby names for quite a long time. Whoever he was, he had to truly know me from the old days, or he had a connection with someone who did. I almost took a look at him with my faerie specs, but then I hesitated. What if he really was Jesus? If I looked at him in the magical spectrum, my retinas would fry like eggs. I chose to inquire verbally instead.

“Would you like to speak to me in Aramaic?” I asked him in that language. “I can’t recall the last time I spoke it. Can you?”

He switched to Aramaic without difficulty. “Of course I can,” he replied. His smile remained broad and highly amused. “We spoke it together in England when we were moving around all that treasure of the Templars and planting false clues. You know, I have really enjoyed the results of that little visit to the planet. The theories have been endlessly creative, and it’s put food on the table for many a nearsighted scholar.”