Tricked Part 15

Once Granuaile's blood was drawn and a bit of adhesive placed in the crook of her elbow, we packed everything we would take into a backpack and reviewed the plan as I drew on a pair of surgical gloves and carefully held a st.i.tching needle between my lips. Performance theater. Granuaile left her handbag with her "old" ID and everything on the pa.s.senger seat. I searched for a suitable fallen bough among the ponderosas and found one, then meticulously covered my tracks on the pa.s.senger side of the car. I made no effort to cover the dim tracks coming out of the forest, even though they would be nothing more than faint impressions in the carpet of pine needles and bunch gra.s.ses.

Oberon, how we doing? Anybody coming?

All clear, Atticus.

Okay, we're about to start.

Gotcha.

Granuaile had to be inside the car for this or the gla.s.s wouldn't fall around her body properly. She'd get a few scratches, but that was okay. She did hold the backpack up between the window and her face, though; neither of us wanted that to get cut. She locked the door using her key fob, activating the car alarm, and then left the keys in the ignition. Let them puzzle out why she was parked here in a locked car. I didn't care. in the ignition. Let them puzzle out why she was parked here in a locked car. I didn't care.

Standing outside the car, bough held like a bat, I began to count down. Granuaile picked up her old cell phone and dialed 911. And I started beating the h.e.l.l out of her window, which was a bit more awkward with a neck brace on than I'd expected. She screamed at the dispatcher that she was being attacked, Shultz Pa.s.s Road, oh my G.o.d, no, etc. And she didn't have to fake being terrified about gla.s.s exploding next to her head. While she yelled into the phone, I reached over the broken gla.s.s, careful not to cut myself, and unlocked the door manually before pulling it open. That caused the alarm to go off; it was Oberon's signal to leave his post and meet us at the rendezvous point and would also provide us some cover noise for the remainder of the call.

"Shut up!" I growled, trying to sound like some road-rage goon, then I swung the bough to thunk thunk noisily into her steering wheel. Granuaile gave a startled yelp and dropped the phone, connection still live. She wordlessly handed me the backpack and I shrugged it on one strap at a time, switching the bough between hands as I did so. Granuaile had a few cuts on the legs of her jeans but otherwise looked to be in pretty good shape. I retrieved the blood bag from the top of the trunk and poked a hole in it with the needle I'd been holding between my lips. I sprayed some blood on one side of the bough and Granuaile helpfully stuck a couple of her hairs onto it. I dipped my gloved fingers into the blood, leaned into the cab, and carefully flicked a few drops around on either side of her head, pointing my fingers in the direction she was facing-because a blunt force blow to the face would hardly splatter drops behind her head. Satisfied, I dropped the bough into the dirt near the rear tire and then handed the blood bag to Granuaile, hole at the top so it wouldn't leak. Now came the tricky part. I had to noisily into her steering wheel. Granuaile gave a startled yelp and dropped the phone, connection still live. She wordlessly handed me the backpack and I shrugged it on one strap at a time, switching the bough between hands as I did so. Granuaile had a few cuts on the legs of her jeans but otherwise looked to be in pretty good shape. I retrieved the blood bag from the top of the trunk and poked a hole in it with the needle I'd been holding between my lips. I sprayed some blood on one side of the bough and Granuaile helpfully stuck a couple of her hairs onto it. I dipped my gloved fingers into the blood, leaned into the cab, and carefully flicked a few drops around on either side of her head, pointing my fingers in the direction she was facing-because a blunt force blow to the face would hardly splatter drops behind her head. Satisfied, I dropped the bough into the dirt near the rear tire and then handed the blood bag to Granuaile, hole at the top so it wouldn't leak. Now came the tricky part. I had to drag her out of the car, presumably unconscious or even dead, and she'd get raked across some of the broken gla.s.s as she left the vehicle. She couldn't cry out if she got cut, because the phone call was still live, the 911 operator distantly calling out for her to respond. drag her out of the car, presumably unconscious or even dead, and she'd get raked across some of the broken gla.s.s as she left the vehicle. She couldn't cry out if she got cut, because the phone call was still live, the 911 operator distantly calling out for her to respond.

She held the blood bag up near her right cheek, sort of like a squishy red shot put. I grabbed her left arm with mine and pulled. Then, as she went horizontal, I supported her rib cage with my right. Granuaile let the hole in the blood bag point down and she squeezed gently to create a trail out of the car. She kept her legs limp and did get lacerated through the denim on her left calf as she got dragged out, but that would just add verisimilitude at this point. With Granuaile now on her back in the dirt outside the car, I began to drag her by her left arm along the ground. She moved the blood bag just over her right shoulder and continued to let it flow out slowly. If she was being dragged, unconscious, by the left arm and had suffered a hit to the face, her head would loll to the right and bleed on that side. Once around the rear of the car, I pulled her downhill toward Shultz Tank. It was extremely uncomfortable for her, but the best way to accurately simulate dragging a body on the ground is to actually drag a body on the ground. Besides, we wanted stray threads and hairs and other trace evidence to be left behind in the path she was making through the pine needles.

Speaking of needles, I had to ditch the one I'd been carrying between my lips. Halfway down the hill and well outside the range of her cell phone's microphone, I took it out of my mouth and said quietly, "You're doing great. How you holding up?"

"Promise me I'll get to do this to you someday?" she asked, her voice all sweet and sugary.

"Sure, except maybe what's coming up next. I think that's really going to suck. The water looks foul."

"Great. Well, can you at least heal up my cuts before I go in? No telling what kind of bacteria are growing in there."

"Yeah, I can close up the skin, no problem. We'll get you on antibiotics as a precaution anyway. Hold on a sec." I knelt quickly and asked the earth to hold on to this needle for me. It accepted it, closed back up, and now the police would never find it-and even if they did, it was unlikely they'd connect it to the a.s.sault on the road when there was a giant b.l.o.o.d.y bough sitting next to the car.

Hey, Atticus, I think I hear sirens on their way, Oberon said. You should hear them when your human ears get around to it.

Okay, thanks for the heads-up, I told him, continuing to drag Granuaile downhill. "Oberon says the police are coming. We need to hurry."

A few yards from the waterline of Shultz Tank, I stopped and let Granuaile's arm go. She allowed it to flop down in the dirt. I walked around to her legs and looked for the cuts. The tiny punctures on her thighs were not much to worry about; the piece of gla.s.s that had dragged down her calf and shredded the denim had left a much more significant wound. Removing my gloves, I stuffed them in the pocket of my jeans and put a gentle hand on her leg. I usually don't like to do direct healing on other people, because the risk of s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g something up is too high, but convincing the skin to grow back quickly is harmless.

"Go ahead and continue to squeeze some blood out here to reflect a pause," I said, "and then empty the rest out when you're facedown and then in the water."

"Okay," she replied.

"All right, done here. You're closed up." I stood, gathered her feet in my hands, and pivoted her around so that she was lying parallel to the waterline. "Ready?"

"Let's get it over with," she said.

"Remember not to drop your feet once you're in. Dead people don't stand up in the shallows."

"I'll remember. Just get me out fast." We could both hear the sirens now. We needed to get out of sight before the police spotted us.

"All right. Here we go." I knelt down next to her torso and began to roll her down into the tank. Every time she was facedown, she squeezed out more blood into the earth. And then she took a breath as I rolled her into the sc.u.mmy, stagnant water. I kept pushing her out so she'd be able to float freely, and I waded in up to my hips, careful not to soak the backpack.

I tapped her on the shoulder and shouted, "You can do a shallow tread," so she'd be able to hear through any water in her ears. Her head came up and she gasped, delivering her a.s.sessment of the water's freshness as soon as she could.

"It's f.u.c.king nasty!" she said.

"Sorry," I said. She really did look miserable, with fungi sc.u.m and who knew what else in her hair. I turned around and shrugged off the backpack, holding it in front of me. Granuaile threw her arms around my neck and pulled herself up, piggyback, the now-empty blood bag clutched in her right hand, and I waded out of there, making a glorious set of muddy footprints for the police to follow. They'd a.s.sume Granuaile's body was in the tank at first and figure out only a couple of days later that I must have carried her out with me. I jogged around the edge of the tank to the far side and then began climbing up, where Oberon waited for us in the shadow of the pines. Once on the relatively track-free surface of the pine needles, I dropped the backpack and asked Oberon to carry it for us between his jaws. That allowed me to hook my arm under Granuaile's legs and make really good time running. We heard the police pulling up to Granuaile's car after we were only a hundred yards or so into the woods. We'd cut it pretty close. Granuaile's car after we were only a hundred yards or so into the woods. We'd cut it pretty close.

We ran east through the forest for about three miles until we found a nice outcropping of boulders. "This will do nicely," I said. Once on top of the rocks, I let Granuaile down and asked Oberon to bring me the backpack. There was a change of clothes inside for both of us, as well as our a.s.sumed IDs and other a.s.sorted goodies like sungla.s.ses and baseball caps. We retreated to either side of the outcropping to change and then stuffed the wet clothes into the backpack.

"We have to do something about my hair," Granuaile said. It still had funky alien chunks of something in it, pine needles, and a film of green algae on top. The rest of her looked great in a fresh shirt and jeans with brand-new sneakers. "It's utterly gross and I can't be seen in public like this."

She was right, but I thought it best not to agree too enthusiastically. "Okay, we'll get a hotel room so you can clean up before we go to the dealership. Sorry again."

From here on out she would run with me and I'd feed her energy so that she didn't get tired. We were going to head south and drop back into town on the east side of Flagstaff, where the auto dealerships were. Colorado graciously agreed to cover what tracks we made for a mile past the boulders; it didn't matter to me if my single set of prints was traced up to them.

After a half hour's stop in a cheap hotel room so that Granuaile could wash her hair and dry it, we walked onto the lot of a car dealership and told the salesman we'd pay cash for a hybrid SUV as long as he could guarantee delivery in a couple of hours. We used my neck brace as an excuse for why we needed a new vehicle and didn't have one to trade in.

"He totaled my old one in an accident," she explained, and the salesman pretended to be sorry about that. She told him explicitly that he was not to run a credit check, because she didn't want to take the hit on her credit score. We'd pay cash via wire. We gave him Granuaile's account number at the bank, he made a call, and then he moved as quickly as he could to please Ms. Caitlin Collins. He even offered a few free hot dogs to Oberon, who was waiting patiently outside. and the salesman pretended to be sorry about that. She told him explicitly that he was not to run a credit check, because she didn't want to take the hit on her credit score. We'd pay cash via wire. We gave him Granuaile's account number at the bank, he made a call, and then he moved as quickly as he could to please Ms. Caitlin Collins. He even offered a few free hot dogs to Oberon, who was waiting patiently outside.

Mmm, tubes of Grade C meat! Oberon said. To keep him entertained, I drew a sign that said, My name is Snugglepumpkin. I am friendly! My name is Snugglepumpkin. I am friendly! and propped it up next to him so that he could collect data as people walked by. and propped it up next to him so that he could collect data as people walked by.

The salesman waved fondly at us as we drove off the lot a couple of hours later, no doubt thinking we were the biggest pair of suckers to ever walk into the dealership. We hadn't even tried to negotiate.

The sun said farewell with patches of pink and purple clouds. I felt fully healed now, so I took off the neck brace and chucked it into the backseat, where Oberon regarded it uncertainly.

Is this a new chew toy?

If you like, but there are plastic bits and I doubt those will be very yummy.

It was dinnertime, but we had a couple of hours before we had to meet Leif at Granny's Closet. I asked Granuaile if she was up for a gustatory challenge.

She eyed me suspiciously. "What do you mean? Chug a jar of habanero salsa or something like that? Because I'd rather save time and set my a.s.s on fire with a match."

"No, much more interesting than that, not so painful. Do you like to try unusual foods? Stuff that you've never eaten before and probably never will again?"

"Ah, stuff you eat just so you can say later, 'I ate that once'?"

"Precisely. There's a place in town with a very unusual menu. We can try that and then head to Granny's to chase it with some beers." menu. We can try that and then head to Granny's to chase it with some beers."

"Okay." Granuaile shrugged. "I'm game. Sounds fun."

Hold on. Are you taking her to that one place that serves bizarre meats and cheeses made from mammals that aren't cows?

Heh! Yes, I am. Remember the Nicaraguan chupacabra cheese?

Okay, I'm betting five sausages that Granuaile can't make it to the fifth course.

You're on. Say good-bye to those five sausages. I know she'll make it. She has a proud streak.

Chapter 16

The place in question was called the Double Dog Dare Gourmet Cafe. It's the only place I've ever found that provides patrons with a barf bag-and it's not because the food is ill prepared. To the contrary, it's exquisite. They just serve items that most Americans cannot fathom putting down their throats, and the reactions, when they happen, are all psychologically based. That being the case, they have a rather unique ordering system and service style.

Everyone gets a different menu from which to order, and you don't order for yourself-you order for your dinner partner. You pick five items from the menu by silently checking off a list and handing it to the waiter. All five of them are put on a single plate in very small portions, and then you get the plate put in front of you that your partner has dared you to eat-and vice versa. You don't get told what each item is until after after you eat it. Hence the barf bags. It's all part of the charm. you eat it. Hence the barf bags. It's all part of the charm.

The waiters are very careful to inquire about food allergies beforehand, and in some cases you have to sign a waiver before you get served.

When the ordering system was explained to Granuaile, she smiled and then she perused her menu with relish, determined to put me off my dinner. My smile mirrored hers; ordering was one of the best parts of the process. I toyed with the idea of having mercy on her, but I knew she wasn't going to have any on me, and, besides, I wanted to give Oberon a decent shot at winning his five sausages. Remembering that Granuaile was a bit sensitive to smells, I ordered the most pungent items I could think of, except for one fried item. process. I toyed with the idea of having mercy on her, but I knew she wasn't going to have any on me, and, besides, I wanted to give Oberon a decent shot at winning his five sausages. Remembering that Granuaile was a bit sensitive to smells, I ordered the most pungent items I could think of, except for one fried item.

It was probably a bit unfair. I've been around and tried some unholy culinary atrocities in my time, so I knew I'd be able to hold down everything. She might surprise me with something, but nothing was going to make me ralph at the thought of it.

We took it easy on the drinks, ordering iced tea. Oberon was outside, camouflaged, sitting down out of the way of the door. I ordered him a full order of yak liver to go and let him know.

Sounds good, he said. Hey, Atticus, not to alarm you or anything, but I think this woman about to walk into the restaurant is a vampire. She smells dead.

I was sitting facing the door-an old paranoid habit-so I flicked my eyes over there casually as a sharp-featured brunette came in, accompanied by a doughy college kid. Checking her out in the magical spectrum, I saw that she was indeed a vampire; she had the dead gray aura with the two burning embers of vampirism about her heart and head. The college kid was just a clueless sort whose aura suggested that he was h.o.r.n.y and hoping to get lucky later on. He'd get something, all right, but it wasn't lucky.

She wasn't all gothed out, the way people these days are trained to expect from vampires in fiction. She was wearing a pair of jeans with holes in the knees and a very tight American Eagle T-shirt underneath a thin white coat that was more for fashion than warmth. She was wearing Vans, for crying out loud. She was trying very hard to blend in and seem human.

I couldn't point her out to Granuaile or even say, "Psst! Bloodsucker!" because the vampire would overhear. I had my own blending in to do. "Psst! Bloodsucker!" because the vampire would overhear. I had my own blending in to do.

Well spotted, Oberon. Negative eleven sausages now.

"Atticus?" Granuaile frowned. "What's wrong?"

I smiled at her. "Just remembered something," I said. "I don't suppose you have a pen or anything like that in your purse? I need to write it down before I forget." This was a transparent excuse for anyone who knew anything about Druids, because we don't forget. But I was counting on the vampire not knowing what I was.

"Oh," Granuaile said. "Sure." She rooted around in her bag and found a receipt that I could use for paper. I flipped it over and wrote on the back: Don't say anything about this out loud. She will hear. There is a vampire here. Don't worry; just thinking through the implications. Will talk about it when we leave Don't say anything about this out loud. She will hear. There is a vampire here. Don't worry; just thinking through the implications. Will talk about it when we leave.

"Thanks," I said, pushing the note to her. She read it, nodded, and tucked it into her purse.

The vampire and her date/snack were seated two tables away to our left. She shouldn't be here, according to Leif's behavior in the past; he exterminated all other vampires in his territory as a matter of course. Was she someone allied with Leif in the new vampire politics, or was she an enemy? I could unbind her right now and the college boy would have to watch his date melt in front of him, but I thought perhaps I should wait, especially if she turned out to be someone on Leif's side. I rather doubted, however, that Leif was operating with anyone. It was far more likely that she was one of many trying to take Leif's territory for her own. And I suspected she wasn't here by accident.

Our food arrived, and I grinned mischievously at Granuaile as her plate was settled reverently before her. She gave it right back as mine appeared before me.

"Okay, one thing at a time, right?" she said.

"Right."

"Age before beauty. Start with that stir-fry thing right there." She pointed to some suspicious cauliflower-looking bits mixed in with vegetables and fried brown rice.

"All right," I said, taking a generous forkful. Granuaile watched me put it in my mouth and chew, horrified fascination writ large upon her face.

The cauliflower bits weren't cauliflower. They were mushy, a bit gelatinous. But they had a nice, spicy flavor, if a bit pedestrian. Taste-wise it wasn't terribly unique, just an unusual texture.

Granuaile waited until I'd swallowed and then she said, "Congratulations. That was a bheja fry-goat brains."

"Brains? You made me eat brains like a zombie? Ugh!"

"Braaaaaaains," she moaned, eyes rolling up in her head.

"I bet you zombies would like them even more with these spices. All right, take that fried thing there, dip it in the c.o.c.ktail sauce, and chow down."

Granuaile eyed it cautiously, as if it might suddenly decide to move. It looked like a large chicken nugget, but it wasn't. "What's under all the batter?" she asked.

"You find out after you eat it. Those are the rules."

She did as instructed, taking a tiny bite at first and quirking an eyebrow at me by way of inquiry.

"Eat the whole thing," I said.

She sighed and chomped down the rest of it. "That wasn't so bad," she said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. "What was it?"

"That was a Rocky Mountain oyster, also known as a Montana tendergroin."

"No. I just ate a bull's b.a.l.l.s?"

"Only one, but yes, you just tore up a tasty t.e.s.t.i.c.l.e. Congratulations!"

Disgust suffused her expression for a moment, but it was quickly replaced by narrowed eyes and a cold promise of grief. She gripped the tablecloth and squeezed it, pretending, perhaps, it was my newly healed neck. "You will never tell anyone about this."

"No," I said. I fully intended to write it down, however. To keep her from extracting a promise not to record this in any way, I waved at my plate and said, "What shall I try next?" We worked our way through the culinary dares, and I kept half an ear open for what was going on at the vampire's table. The brunette didn't order anything, just ice water with lemon, and that sat on her table and sweated.

At one point, she turned her head and gave me a good stare. Leif had always told me my blood tasted different from that of modern men. I'm sure it smelled different too. The vampire didn't know what I was, precisely, but she knew my blood was as exotic to her as sloth steak was to me. Chances were she'd be stalking me after she disposed of her college boy-if she hadn't stalked me in here to begin with.

I paid for dinner, got Oberon's yak liver to go, and said, "Let's talk about that other thing when we get to Granny's." Granuaile nodded her understanding. We collected Oberon outside and I kept his camouflage on.

I'll need you to stay hidden while we're at Granny's Closet too. Keep your nose open for any more vampires and let me know.

Okay. Do they have regular food in there? Yak is great, but it's kind of rich.

Yeah, I'll get you a steak and bring it out, I said as we got in the car.

Sweet. Did I win the bet?

I answered him out loud to see what reaction it got. "She made it through all five courses, buddy. Sorry. You're back up to negative sixteen sausages."

Dang it! I should have bet you some vegetables instead, then it wouldn't sting so bad. Though it wouldn't have been very cool to win vegetables either. Probably need to rethink this whole gambling thing.

"Wait," Granuaile said. "Oberon bet against me? Thanks a lot, Oberon."

Tell her she can take comfort in my suffering.