Free Trapped by Kevin Hearne Page A

said.
    › Oh, I like how you phrased that, like their destruction is inevitable. Thanks. ‹
    Well, it is inevitable. You’re like a Terminator hound .
    › Are you sure you want to use that analogy? Because if I’m the Terminator, that would make you Skynet and the enemy of Sarah Connor, and you’ve always had that thing for Linda Hamilton. ‹
    Oh. Right. I take it back .
    › If you’re going to compare me to a Hollywood badass, then I want to be Jules from Pulp Fiction . He was Super Fly TNT! He was the Guns of the Navarone! ‹
    Whoa, there. You’re forgetting something. Jules didn’t eat pork. That means no bacon or sausage .
    › Auggh! Inconceivable! I take it back! ‹
    I think you’re a badass in your own right, buddy .
    › Really? You don’t think those hounds of Brighid’s were badder? ‹
    Nah. They were all for show. I bet she never takes them hunting. And they weren’t very bright. Brighid hasn’t taught them to talk the way I taught you. I touched their minds briefly while we were at Court. All they know are a few basic commands and a few random words .
    › What words? ‹
    Food. Potty. Bitches .
    › Ha-ha! Well, wait. Maybe I shouldn’t laugh. If you think about it, that’s pretty Zen. Or maybe something even more significant. You know, Atticus, that might be like a holy trinity for canines. ‹
    Don’t you think that including bitches in the trinity is sexist? You need to think about it from their perspective, too, if you’re trying to come up with some sort of universal canine dogma, heh-heh .
    › Me? Dogmatic? Perish the thought! But you have a point: I should probably recast it in terms of general sexual behavior. Humping, perhaps, would be a good catchall phrase to describe our basic needs. And then, you know what? I could make the trinity alliterative. Ham, humping, and the holy hydrant! ‹
    Are you setting yourself up as the prophet of a new religion?
    › Why not? I hear there’s money in it. ‹
    What do you need money for? I give you everything you need .
    › I could refute that easily by pointing out that there is, in fact, no poodle bitch trotting along beside me now, but let’s see if you’ll give me this: Will you type out my holy writ if I dictate it to you? ‹
    Sure. What’s this religion going to be called?
    › Poochism. ‹
    And the name of the holy writ I will be typing for you?
    › The Dead Flea Scrolls: A Sirius Prophecy. ‹
    Granuaile’s voice interrupted our plans to revolutionize canine belief systems. » Is that an airplane? « she asked, pointing ahead to a long, narrow strip of an island. A twin-engine metal airplane hung suspended above it, a trail of smoke coming from the left engine, and it appeared to be headed for what might be charitably called a rough landing on the island.
    » Yep. That’s a Lockheed Model 10 Electra. «
    » No. Wait. There’s a pilot in there? «
    » None other than the famous aviatrix herself. «
    » Shut up. You’re telling me Amelia Earhart is in that plane? Alive? «
    » Until she crashes, yeah. She might survive the crash; we don’t know. Hasn’t happened yet. But generally airplane crashes don’t leave many survivors. «
    » You have Amelia Earhart alive and you’re casually speculating on whether she will survive a crash? Atticus, we have to save her! «
    » How? Think about the problem. Once you enter that timestream, you’ll be moving as slowly as she is. You can’t prevent the crash. No one can. «
    » But that’s horrible! Prolonging the moment of her death— «
    » For her, nothing is prolonged. It’s still the last few seconds before she crashes. «
    Granuaile clenched and unclenched her fist several times before she spoke again. » Gah! What’s the point, then? Why is she here? Do the Fae enjoy watching people die in slow motion? «
    » No, that’s not it at all, « I said, puzzled that she didn’t see the miracle here. » She’s inspirational, Granuaile. A strong, brave woman like Amelia—well,