A puzzled Granuaile answered her cell phone, not recognizing the number calling her.

“Hey, it’s me, back safe,” I said. “No names, okay? Are you in town yet or are you still working on the Verde River thing?”

“I got back a few days ago.”

“Great. I need you to come pick me up at the Huddle on Broad Street in Globe as soon as possible.”

“I’m bartending,” she said, by which she meant she was at Rúla Búla. “Just came on shift.”

“Time to quit that job,” I said.

“Again?”

“Again, and for good. We have to move. Your new life begins now.”

“Oh. Should I pick up the dog?”

The smart answer would have been yes, but I wanted to see the widow one more time if I could. So I said, “No, we’ll get him together.”

“Right. See you in an hour.”

She was so quick and decisive. I hoped she’d make it through the training. For that matter, I hoped I’d make it through the training. The Morrigan’s vision was very much on my mind, not to mention the consequences Jesus had mentioned.

Before I could make my second phone call, Perun whispered urgently, “Do you have Arizona money? I have none.” How sweet of him to be worried about the bill.

“Oh, it’s no problem, Perun. The drink’s on me,” I said. “Especially since it doesn’t look like you’ll be finishing it.”

“Ah. My thanks. I think I go now, Atticus, explore country, find place to hide.”

“So soon?” I thanked him for his invaluable aid and hoped that in his exploration of America he would find a town populated by many beefy, hairy women.

“America has such places?” he asked, hope and wonder filling his face.

“I’m sure it does. It’s a land of opportunity,” I said. He hooked me up with a couple of extra fulgurites for Granuaile and Oberon before he left, and I made sure to dispel the camouflage on his fur cloak outside. “Meeting you was a pleasure,” I told him. “It’s one of the few things about the trip I can say was one hundred percent positive, in fact. As gods go, you’re one of the best I’ve ever met.”

“You are only Druid I ever met,” he said, “but I think best also.” He tried to leave by pounding me manfully on the back a couple of times, but then decided that was inadequate and crushed me with a companionable hug. It was like getting squeezed between large hairy rocks. As he exited out the back of the Huddle, I tried not to laugh out loud at the collective sigh of relief from the locals. I covered my amusement by taking a long draught of my drink.

The extra alcohol gave me the courage I needed to dial the next number. I punched it in and steeled myself for an unpleasant conversation.

“Hal, it’s me. I’m back. And I have bad news.”

“Yes, I’ve been waiting for your call,” the new alpha of the Tempe Pack said, his voice tight with tension. “I already know it’s bad, but how bad? Are they both gone, or just my alpha?”

“It’s uncertain. Better that I show and tell,” I replied. “I brought them back, Hal. I did everything I could.” I told him where to find me and to bring the new IDs I’d ordered for both Granuaile and myself. “And come in a work van, or maybe borrow Antoine’s wheels,” I added, referring to the local ghoul who collected and hauled bodies around in a refrigerated truck.

“Tell me this much before I drive out there,” Hal said. “Did they at least get their revenge?”

“Yes. They got their revenge. But I never got to ask them if it was worth it.”

“I don’t think it was,” Hal said.

“No. No, it wasn’t.”

Epilogue

All my old haunts were possible traps now, and the Morrigan’s vision of my death had me practically loony with paranoia. Granuaile was already teasing me about my constantly swiveling head, half in jest and half in annoyance; I was making her nervous. Despite her impatient sigh and the rolling of her eyes, I had her park out of sight of the widow’s house so that I could call to Oberon through our mental link from up the street.

Oberon, can you hear me?

"Atticus! Stay back! Don’t come here!"

He sounded alarmed at my arrival rather than welcoming. That wasn’t right. What? Why not?

"It’s not safe. I’ll come to you."

Is the widow all right?

"No, she is definitely not all right. I’ll explain. Do you have a way to get out of town fast?"

Yes. I was sitting with Granuaile in her car, near University Drive.

"Where?"

His question jangled alarm bells in my head. What if I wasn’t talking to Oberon? That scene from Terminator 2 where Schwarzenegger imitated the voice of John Connor and the T-1000 imitated the foster mother replayed in my head. I wasn’t sure if such a switch could be accomplished magically, but I didn’t want to take the chance. Instead of answering him, I asked a question of my own. Oberon, can you get out of the house?

"I’m already out. I’m in the backyard."

Jump over the fence and come to the front. By yourself. Right now.

"Don’t have to tell me twice!"

“Start the car,” I told Granuaile. She nodded and turned the key in the ignition. Oberon appeared alone at the edge of the widow’s property in a few seconds, looking south down Roosevelt first and then north to where we were parked.

See the blue car? That’s us.

"Coming!" He went from dead stop to full speed in about three seconds. "Hope you got a full tank of gas! We need to drive until we run out and hide in a cave somewhere."

What are you talking about? I got out of the car and opened the back door for him to jump in. He didn’t stop to be petted or anything. He leapt in and immediately started barking at Granuaile before I could close the door.

"Go! Step on it! We gotta get out of here before she sees us!"

Oberon, what on earth? Stop that racket. I ducked back into the car and told Granuaile to get us off Roosevelt Street as I closed my door. Oberon’s behavior needed an explanation, but if matters were truly as urgent as he suggested, it would be unwise to demand one before leaving. We could always return if it was a misunderstanding. Granuaile made a U-turn and turned east on University, heading toward Rural Road.

“Where to, sensei?” she asked, checking her mirrors.

“Same place we discussed earlier,” I said. “Oberon says we have to get out of town.” I turned in my seat to collect an overdue explanation from my hound. Now you will tell me why we’re running. What’s happened to the widow?

"Okay, about two days ago—or maybe it was five, you know, a while ago, I’m not sure—I could have sworn the widow died. She was in her bed sleeping, and I heard this hoarse rattle from her throat, but it wasn’t like a snore, you know, so I went to investigate. She wasn’t breathing, Atticus. I nudged her with my nose, I licked her face, but I got no reaction. I barked right in her ear and she didn’t even twitch. But then I heard the front door open and close, and I left her room to go see who it was. There wasn’t anybody there, and that was really weird, because I knew I heard that door, and it wasn’t like the cats grew opposable thumbs. I sniffed around for a bit; there was something rotten and I thought it felt colder near the door, but it might have been my imagination. Then I heard the bed creak and I went back into the widow’s room, and there she was, getting out of the bed."

Ah, so she is alive after all?

"Well, no, I don’t think so. I don’t think that’s her. She’s dead, Atticus. I saw it and smelled it and heard it."

Then who’s been walking around in her house and feeding you and letting you outside since then? You’re not making sense.

"I don’t know who it is, but it’s not the widow. She doesn’t talk to herself anymore and she doesn’t pet me and tell me what a good hound I am. She just feeds me silently and gives me water and lets me out every so often. It’s creepy."

Well, maybe she’s just in a funk, Oberon. She’s been depressed lately.

"So depressed she doesn’t drink anymore?"

What?

"She hasn’t had a single sip of whiskey since she rose from the dead. I haven’t seen her eat either. I’m telling you, Atticus, she’s gone. Whoever that is, it’s not Mrs. MacDonagh."

I faced forward and slumped in my seat. Shock upon shock left my mouth slightly open and my eyes unfocused.

“Sensei? Atticus? What’s the matter?” Granuaile flicked her eyes from the road to my face, creases of worry between her brows.

“Drive on,” I told her. “Oberon’s right. We have to get out of here.”