Seeing that we are headed for the door, Orlaith gets up and moves out of the way. You’re a good hound, I tell her. Aloud, I ask Laksha the all-important question.

“What are we going to do with him? It’s still raining.”

“That’s a blessing. Everyone is indoors.”

“There’s no convenient burial ground.”

“He should be burned far away from here, but that’s not an option. We will choose a place where no one will try to grow anything.”

That place is a well-worn path between houses, a sort of alley, now a muddy trench. I contact the elemental Kaveri and ask her help in burying the rakshasa’s body, explaining that we might be doing this sort of thing all night to help people. She parts the mud for us far more quickly than I could do it myself, and we drop the dark corpse of the demon into the resulting grave. The mud flows back over him and the problem is solved—no witnesses.

Orlaith, who had followed us out of the house, is struck with the procedure’s practical application for dogs. "So fast! Bury bones like that?"

Your paws do the job admirably on their own, I tell her.

“One down,” Laksha says. “Now that we know what works, perhaps we can do the next one a bit quicker. It won’t be long until we draw your father out. And in the meantime we are saving people. This is good karma.”

A tight smile on Laksha’s face suggests that the last point is perhaps the most important to her. I cannot blame her for wishing to do others well, but I do wish there was a quicker way to find my dad.

“What did you use as a focus when you tried to divine his presence?” I ask her.

“The shards of the canister that held the raksoyuj. It was the object he most recently touched.”

“Ah, but that wasn’t really his. It was a thing of the raksoyuj. Might a different object be more effective, one that was more closely tied to him?”

“It might,” Laksha agrees. “Do you have such an item with you?”

“No,” I say, “but I might be able to get one. Let me think about it.”

Laksha darts into the house to retrieve what I suppose must be called her exorcism kit, along with my staff, and to offer a hurried farewell to the family. I squat down next to my wet hound and scratch behind her ears, trying to think of something that might hold a stronger psychic signature of my dad than the shattered remains of that clay vessel.

When I was growing up, he’d send me little trinkets and cards for my birthday and Christmas from wherever he was, and I’d go into my room and open them in private and cry because he was always so sweet and loving, albeit from a distance; to me, that was infinitely preferable to the coldness of my stepfather up close. He continued doing this even into my adulthood, never forgetting me, always letting me know that he was thinking of me and that he loved me. From a distance.

I still had some of his gifts back at the cabin, but the most recent one was more than twelve years old now. The gifts had stopped coming, of course, when I’d faked my death to disappear and begin my apprenticeship in secret. Would any of them have a psychic signature strong enough for Laksha to find, when so much time had passed and he was possessed by something with its own magical defenses? Emotionally I wanted the answer to be yes, but rationally I could not imagine that the odds would be good. Laksha’s approach of killing rakshasas to lure the raksoyuj would probably work better. And it would keep me busy while I worried.

When Laksha reappears with Scáthmhaide, she asks if I’ve thought of anything useful.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Let’s go play exorcist.”

Chapter 5

I have noticed over many centuries of relationships that a corollary to love is worry. They sort of come together as a matched set, and it’s nigh impossible to ditch one without the other. I don’t mean worry in the sense of a constant hand-wringing or an outward show of anxiety but a silent panic, always there but flaring up on occasion until one chokes and cannot see through a sudden veil of tears, panic that what you cherish most will be scarred or lost or taken away forever.

I worry about Granuaile a lot.

That’s not to suggest I lack confidence in her abilities. She can handle most anything. But Laksha Kulasekaran is one of the few things she might not see coming in time to defend herself. I’m sure Granuaile thinks Laksha would never hurt her. I used to think that way about Leif Helgarson too, right up until he betrayed me.

At their cores, Leif and Laksha are the same: They must prey on humans to ensure their continued existence. They are predators, and we mustn’t forget that.

When we shifted to a banana grove near Thanjavur, Oberon passed judgment without much deliberation.

"Wauugh! So this is what meatless air smells like? I don’t like it!"

Oh, come on, it’s not that bad. I thought the air was pretty clean, due to what had obviously been a good shower overnight. The ground was soft and I could see standing water in places below. The morning sun banked off the surfaces and glinted in my eyes.

"You think I’m being a drama hound, don’t you?"

Maybe a little. We have to find Granuaile and Orlaith, and meatless air isn’t registering high on my threat dial. The temple is a couple miles away, so let’s go, and stay close, okay?

"Okay," Oberon said, loping along beside me as I descended from the grove, "but how far do you think it is to the nearest sausage? I ask merely to gauge the depth of my peril."

I imagine you would have to travel many miles.

"Miles to go before—hey! That was in that Tarantino movie, right?"

Which one?

"Death Proof! The deejay was talking to Butterfly, and she said, “And I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I eat.”"

Ha! No, Oberon, it was “miles to go before I sleep,” and the movie was actually quoting a poem by Robert Frost.

"Well, Robert Frost was obviously not writing for hounds. “Miles to go before I eat” is much more edgy."

The Brihadeeswara Temple was built in 1010 by the Chola emperor, and I figured it hadn’t moved very far since then. But when I checked in with the elemental Kaveri, just to let her know I was visiting, she responded with the news that she knew precisely where Granuaile was and she would lead me to her. Going to the temple was no longer necessary.

A tightness in my chest relaxed with the confirmation that Granuaile was still alive. We found them to the south of the city in the rural farming district, walking wearily along a ridge bordering a rice paddy. Oberon and Orlaith said hello to each other and began to play.

“Thank you for coming,” Granuaile said, giving me a quick hug. I think both of us would have shown more emotion had we been alone—well, I know I would have. Laksha was capable of truly frightening magic besides her already-creepy body-snatching, and Granuaile wasn’t protected from it as I was, so myriad worst-possible scenarios had run rampant through my mind, like kobolds in a mine shaft. What I wanted was to squeeze Granuaile close and say how glad I was to see her, but instead I gave a tight nod to Laksha, which she returned, and then replied to Granuaile as if I’d never been worried.

“Of course. You look wiped out. What happened?”

“We’ve been working all night, exorcising these demons in an attempt to lure my father out of hiding. So far it hasn’t worked, and we are exhausted. We decided to take a break and continue after we’re rested.”

“Good plan. Catch me up; I’ll walk with you.” The hounds trotted behind us, making happy growling noises and nipping at each other.

Granuaile recounted their night and explained their exorcism process to me, and I asked for clarification on one point. “Why is water effective again?”

“The rakshasas are of the ether, and their powers are drowned in it.”

Something about this was familiar. “But they have to be submerged for this to work, or would taking a shower be sufficient?”

Granuaile looked to Laksha for help, and the witch supplied the answer.

“The rakshasas are attacking the heart chakra, so they must be submerged, preferably up to the neck.”

“But telling everyone to take a bath wouldn’t solve the problem.”

“No. The rakshasa would merely move to the head until the victim got out of the tub—and that’s more for comfort than necessity. Surrounding it with water cuts off its access to the ether but doesn’t kill it. It is the same as when you are cut off from the earth.”

“Oh, okay,” Granuaile said, nodding her understanding, and I did the same. Those were terms we could understand.

“In other words, the water wasn’t affecting them once they moved to the heads of the victims?” I asked by way of confirmation. “They had access to the ether, and so it was the noise, the smells, the chanting, and the cold iron that drove them out?”

“Precisely,” Laksha said. “But it was a close thing.”

“Right. So that’s not going to be enough when you find her father. Anything that can summon and control the rakshasas down to the method of how they kill their victims is going to require something more than what you’ve managed so far. Is the raksoyuj also a thing of ether?”

“Yes. Even more so. It cannot take its own physical form, like the rakshasas it summons, but rather must possess a body.”

“In theory, then, water magic would harm it?”

“What are you thinking?” Granuaile asked. “Involving Manannan Mac Lir?”

“Indirectly, yes. Well, maybe. Laksha, let us say that I know of a weapon made of ice that will not melt and that holds an edge like steel. It is made of water and bound by water magic. Would such a weapon harm the raksoyuj—say, if applied to the proper chakra?”

The witch’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead. “Such a weapon exists?”

“Yes. Five of them, maybe more.”

“You never told me Manannan had something like that,” Granuaile said.

“He doesn’t. Gaia lets him draw energy from the water, but his magic is still of the earth.” I addressed Laksha. “And I should probably confirm: As far as affecting the raksoyuj goes—and I’m asking because you are more familiar than I am with them—this would be different from getting stabbed with an icicle, right? Or anything that I bound together with the power of the earth? Because I can smoosh ice together into whatever shape I want, and so can any other Druid, but I can’t make it hold an edge and I can’t prevent it from melting. That’s a different kind of juju from mine.”

“Yes, I think you are right,” Laksha said. “If these weapons are truly forged with magic born of water, strikes to the fourth and sixth chakras—the heart and the third eye—should break its hold. It would be forced to leave the host.”

Granuaile raised her hand. “I have a problem with this plan to stab my father in the head and the heart.”

“No, no,” Laksha said, a rare smile blooming on her face. “We are merely severing the ties, fouling the chakra points with water magic so that the raksoyuj cannot hold on. Breaking the skin will be sufficient. You will have to draw blood and he may scar, but he will heal, and he will not be able to be possessed again.”

“Then what happens?” Granuaile asked. “I mean, after the ties are severed?”

“The raksoyuj will be forced to leave your father, and it will try to possess someone else—but I will not allow this. I will fight him in the ether and I will win.”

That was bold, but Granuaile asked what I was thinking.

“How do you know you’ll win?”

“I have been doing this for quite some time now. He has never had to fight out of body, but I have.”

I didn’t think that necessarily guaranteed a win, but I kept my mouth shut. I also tried to conceal my elation over the fact that Laksha was teaching me how to defeat her, should it ever become necessary. She was a creature of the ether too.

Granuaile decided to let Laksha’s assertion pass without comment and asked me, “So where do we get these five ice knives?”

“I doubt you’ll be able to get more than one. You need to go to the Himalayas and ask a yeti.”

Oberon broke off his play with Orlaith to interject, "That sounds like a game show! ASK A YETI! My first question is, “Can you thaw a steak or only freeze it?”"

“You’re being serious?” Granuaile asked. “Because you told me the bigfoot thing was one of your shenanigans.”

“Yes, Sasquatch is dead, if he was ever real to begin with. But yeti have been around for about twelve hundred years now, and they speak Old Irish.”

“What? How is that possible?”

“Not a word of this to anyone else, okay?” I held up a finger. “I need an oath from both of you.”

“Wait,” Granuaile said. “Before you say anything, did you make a similar oath?”

“Fudge. Yes. Yes, I did. But I think he’ll grant me an exception in your case. It shouldn’t take long. Wait here?”

“We will wait in my home,” Laksha said. “We are tired and need to eat.”

"You’d better tell Orlaith there won’t be any meat for breakfast."

“Ask Kaveri to direct you to the house when you get back,” Granuaile said. “And hurry. If I have to go to the Himalayas and back to beat this thing, I want to get started.”

“I’ll hurry,” I promised, and together with Oberon I jogged to the banana grove and shifted planes to the tree nearest to Manannan Mac Lir’s estate in Tír na nÓg. We were fortunate enough to catch Manannan as he was walking from his hog pens back to the house. A mild look of concern settled like weights on his expression when we flagged him down.