Free Staked (Iron Druid Chronicles) by Kevin Hearne Page B

side so that he could stretch his empty left hand back at them, clutching at the air. He was trying to leech energy from the officers, first to heal and then to pump himself up to finish me off, but it didn’t work, and the shouts got more insistent. Every second he held on to that gun increased the chances that he would be shot himself. But Drasche was stubborn and perhaps a bit slow to realize his predicament and just remained still, straining to do something he no longer had the power to do. The police converged, pointing their weapons at him, fingers on triggers, and eventually kicked away his gun. It skittered down the aisle as they grabbed his arms and yanked them behind him. Drasche finally realized he was a regular, powerless human, and his carefully cultivated arrogance evaporated. Being manhandled like the criminal he was caused him to lose his shit. He shouted curses in a mixture of German and English and struggled to free himself, but they had him cuffed in short order.
    That’s when I called for help and got it. “He shot me,” I said weakly, and that’s all I had to do. Drasche would go to prison after some cursory medical treatment, unless one of his vampire friends came to bust him out in the night. Regardless, he was simply human now, and I knew that would be a fate worse than death for him after centuries of preying on people.
    Saying “he shot me” was all I
could
do, anyway—I was fading fast. I had been able to take care of single bullets on a couple of other occasions, but I’d also been able to access the earth’s power when I did so. Five rounds and no juice meant I was completely dependent on modern medicine. Paramedics probed me and asked me questions that I tried to answer but succeeded only in spewing out an unintelligible verbal slurry. They gave me plasma as I was trundled into the ambulance and whisked away to a hospital somewhere.
    The ride was almost absurdly short—a block away, it seemed—but during the ride it occurred to me that I’d certainly be staying the night in the hospital, most likely sedated, and if Drasche knew where I was and managed to make a call, he could summon his vampire buddies not only to spring him but to take me out. Even if the police posted a guard on my room for some reason, a vampire would simply charm him or her and walk on past, ripping out my throat while I slept.
    As I slipped into unconsciousness before reaching a surgeon, I mouthed a prayer to the Morrigan that I’d get to wake up.

CHAPTER 6

    W ith Loki’s mark dissolved, I feel simultaneously free but hunted—like prey, in other words. I can go wherever I want, with the proviso that someone could be (and probably is) watching. Surveillance-state London, in other words, but instead of the government tracking my movements, it’s anyone with a talent for divination.
    Loki is not particularly adept at that himself, but he knows people who are. He could still find me and set me aflame anywhere outside my warded cabin. That’s the trouble with earth-based wards: They don’t travel well. It’s what caused Atticus to bind cold iron to his aura—he couldn’t think of any other effective way to ward against magic on his person.
    It’s going to be a long process, doing that to myself, but after seeing how much the Fae hate it, I’m wondering if I should. Still, I think hiding from divination is a necessary safety measure and something I should pursue now, considering my current enemy: Loki can’t kill me if he can’t find me. I don’t want to ask Odin or any of his pantheon for help, though. The price they’d want me to pay would probably have something to do with their apocalypse, and the exchange of services would not be in my favor.
    The same would hold true of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Scáthmhaide was a gift, but any further favors would come at a price, and they would be sure to ask for a heavy one. Atticus might have a decent suggestion for me, but I doubt he’d encourage anything