Medea made it all the way across the table and hunkered down in front of Beauclaire. She focused on him and moaned. Id never heard another cat do it.
The oakman told me afterwardI raised my voice a little so it would carry over Medeathat Lugh never made anything that couldnt be used as a weapon. I frowned. No, that wasnt quite what he said. It was something along the lines of never made anything that couldnt become a spear when needed.
Medea upped the volume on her yowl, then turned into Halloween kitty; every hair on her body stood at attention, and if shed had a tail, I was sure it would have been pointed straight in the air.
Medea, who dealt with werewolves on a daily basis, was pretty much immune to fear. She even liked vampires. And she had no trouble with Zee or Tad.
Beauclaire ducked his head until he was facetoface with Medea. He dropped his glamour just a bit, and I caught a glimpse of something beautiful and deadly, something with green eyes and a long tongue as he hissed at the cat. She all but levitated off the table and disappeared around the corner of the kitchen and up the stairs.
I felt my lip curl in an involuntary snarl. Overkill, I told him.
He relaxed in his seat. So the walking stick is with an oakman now?
I shook my head. No. It came back after that. But last summer the otterkin
Ive heard about you and the death of the last of the otterkin. He shrugged. They always were bloodthirsty and stupid. They are no loss He paused, looked thoughtfully at me, and said, You killed them with the walking stick?
It was what I had. I tried not to sound defensive. And I only killed one with it. Adam had taken care of the rest, but I wasnt going to tell him that. There was something wrong with the walking stick when the otterkin died. Something hungry.
Something wrong, he repeated, thoughtfully. Then he shook his head. No. It is only the great weapons that are quenched when they are first made, usually in the blood of someone worthy, someone whose traits will make the sword more dangerous. The walking stick was finished long ago.
I wondered if I should mention that Uncle Mike had thought that Id quenched the walking stick. Maybe I should tell him that the otterkin wasnt the only thing the walking stick had killed that day. Maybe I should tell him that I was pretty sure the walking stick had killed that otterkin mostly on its own.
But before I had a chance to speak, Beauclaire continued, The blade you know as Excalibur was born when her blade was drowned in the death of my father. He paused, showed his teeth in a notsmile. I understand that you might be acquainted with the maker of that blade.
I quit worrying about the walking stick for a moment.
Jumping Jehoshaphat. O Holy Night.
Siebold Adelbertsmiter had made blades once upon a time. Hed been the owner of a VW repair shop when I met him. Hed hired me, then sold me the shop when the Gray Lords decided that it was time that he admit he was faedecades after the fae had come out to the public. I knew him as a grumpy old curmudgeon with a secret marshmallow heart, but once hed been something quite different: the Dark Smith of Drontheim. He wasnt one of the good guys in the fairy tales that mentioned him.
Part of me, still properly afraid of Beauclaire, worried that his grudge against Zee might be turned toward me. Part of me was horrified that my friend Zee had killed Lugh, the hero of hundreds, if not thousands, of stories. But the biggest part of me was still stuck on marveling that Zee, my grumpy mentor Zee, had forged Excalibur .
After a moment, I started processing the information in more practical paths. That story was the answer to why Beauclaire didnt know what Id done with the walking stick.
If Zee had killed Lugh, Lughs son wouldnt be exchanging kind words with him or anyone who associated with him. No one holds grudges like the fae.
But we are not speaking of one of the great weapons, Beauclaire said, temper cooling as he pulled away from an old source of anger. So tales of the walking sticks being used to kill a vampire or otterkin are not germane. The walking stick is a very minor artifact, for
all that Lugh made it, nor is it useful for important things.
Unless I decided to raise sheep, I said, because his disparagement of the walking stick, to my surprise, stung a bit. It had been old and beautifuland loyal to me as any sheepdog to its shepherd. If it had become tainted, that was my fault because it had been my decision to use it to kill monsters. Then all my sheep would have twins. Might not be important to you or the fae, but it would certainly have made an impact on a shepherds bottom line.
He looked at me the way my mother sometimes did. But he wasnt my parent, and he had invaded my house, so I didnt cringe. I narrowed my gaze on him and finished the point Id been making, If I were a sheep farmer, I would have found it to be powerful magic.
It is an artifact my father made, said Beauclaire who was also ap Lugh, Lughs son. I value the walking stick, do not mistake me. But it is not powerful; nor is its magic anything that would interest most mortals or fae. For that reason, it was left with you longer than it should have been.