<It always is. Sometimes I wish I weren’t so freakishly huge. Do you ever wish you had a tiny dog?>
Nah. People find small dogs approachable, and I don’t necessarily want to be approached. When they see you coming, they’re more likely to cross the street. It’s like I have Sasquatch on a leash.
<Sasquatch on a leash! I like that.>
You’re welcome. That would be a great band name, actually.
<Or it could be a line of men’s beauty products, like those musky soaps and colognes and stuff. Sasquatch on a Leash: Control your Smelly Beast.>
I opened the door for Oberon and let him walk in. Watch out for people. Table’s to the right, next to the window.
<No problem.>
Granuaile startled a bit when she felt Oberon brushing past her legs to wrap himself around the center of the table but otherwise gave no sign that she had a huge Irish wolfhound lying on her toes. I carefully sat down, tucked my legs underneath the chair, and then scooched forward.
We ordered coffee, eggs, and a whole lot of meat sides. While we waited for our food, I returned to the paper and read aloud the article about my death.
TUBA CITY — Authorities are flummoxed by a strange murder scene in a small patch of desert in Tuba City, where the remnants of a man were found on Thursday.
The body of Atticus O’Sullivan, age 31—
“Thirty-one?” Granuaile interrupted.
“Well, that has to be based on the driver’s license they found. I was twenty-one, according to the license, when it was feloniously issued to me.”
“Ah, okay,” Granuaile said, nodding in understanding. “Continue.”
The body of Atticus O’Sullivan, age 31, was found mutilated and dismembered near a water tower. Examination of the area suggests that eight to ten different people were at the scene and possibly involved in the killing — one of them barefoot.
Friends identified the body based on hair and tattoos.
“Huh.” I paused and looked up from the paper. “I wonder who identified me.”
“It doesn’t say?”
“No. It goes on, though. Check this out.”
The FBI has jurisdiction over murders committed on reservation land. Though agents could not be reached for comment, authorities in Tempe noted O’Sullivan’s recent troubles with the law.
Detective Kyle Geffert of the Tempe Police Department said, “Mr. O’Sullivan was shot by Tempe police a couple of months ago and was on the scene at the Satyrn Massacre in Scottsdale. Also, one of his employees died rather suddenly last November.”
“Gods Below, can you believe that guy? He makes it sound like I killed Perry and deserved to be shot.”
“Well, you didn’t exactly endear yourself to him during that investigation,” Granuaile pointed out.
“I know, but there’s no call to go around smearing me now that I’m dead,” I said.
“You might want to keep your voice down,” Granuaile said in low tones, her eyes darting significantly to the tables nearby.
“Good point.” Seeking validation for my own point that Geffert was out of line, I said in a hushed whisper, “Oberon, don’t you have anything to add?”
<I’d like to add a few orders of bacon to the bill.>
“We haven’t even gotten the first orders yet.”
<Hey, you asked.> No validation for me, then.
“What else does it say?” Granuaile said over the rim of her coffee mug. The sun streaming through the window left golden highlights in her red hair and lit up her green eyes. The light dusting of freckles high on her cheeks was unspeakably charming and …
“Atticus?”
“Hmm?”
“The article.”
“Oh, yes.” I raised the paper to hide my embarrassment.
<Ha! She caught you staring again, didn’t she?>
Shh. I have to read this.
O’Sullivan was the owner of Third Eye Books and Herbs in Tempe. The current manager, Rebecca Dane, was shocked to hear that her employer had passed.
“The last time I saw him, he said he was going on vacation to the Antipodes,” she said. “I have no idea why he’d be in Tuba City.”
Regular customer Joshua Goldfried noticed a change in Mr. O’Sullivan’s behavior in the past few months. “Ever since the middle of October, it always seemed he was nervous about one thing or another. He was always so good about being here, but he started to disappear for days at a time.”
Mr. O’Sullivan was shot by a Tempe police detective in late October in his store and subsequently sued the city for $5 million. Hal Hauk, attorney for Mr. O’Sullivan, confirmed that the City of Tempe had just agreed to settle Mr. O’Sullivan’s lawsuit against them for a seven-figure sum.
“Whoa. Does that mean you’re rich?”
“I’m already rich. But, regardless, I instructed Hal to give my share of the settlement to the family of Detective Fagles. Wait, it gets good here.”
Mr. O’Sullivan’s murder was among the bloodiest and most brutal of any in Arizona history. While the murder itself may have been committed by a single person, the dismemberment and mutilation of his body afterward was undoubtedly performed by a group of people wielding different bladed and blunt weapons.
Mr. O’Sullivan was seen wearing a sword in Tempe by multiple witnesses before his death. Authorities from Tempe and Tuba City refused to speculate on a motive for the killing and denied that there was anything like a sword-based Fight Club organization.
Granuaile laughed at that.
<Well, of course they denied it,> Oberon said. <The first rule of Sword Fight Club is don’t talk about Sword Fight Club.>
Our food arrived as we shared a chuckle over the article. As plate after plate was set down, I kept scanning the newspaper.
“Anything else?”
“Nah, it just continues to imply that I must have done something naughty to deserve this. What’s really interesting is that it doesn’t mention the bodies of Týr or Vidar. Or any evidence of the Morrigan’s orgy.”
“I beg your pardon?” Granuaile’s fork froze halfway to her mouth, and those green eyes, though still lit by the sun, carried a cool steel warning in them. I took heed.
“As I was leaving,” I explained, “the Morrigan mentioned her desire for an orgy in the mud. I don’t know if she actually had one or not, but she certainly seemed intent on it.”
“An orgy with whom?”
“She was hoping to attract the locals,” I said, leaving out the part where she originally hoped to attract me. “But now I’m wondering if she went through with it. She probably ate Týr and Vidar instead. She does that, you know, when she’s in crow form. She eats dead bodies.”
Granuaile blanched. “Ew. Gross.” She looked down at all the sausage and bacon sides waiting on the table. “Kind of puts me off my appetite a bit.”
<My appetite is like Sasquatch on a leash, and he’s ready to break loose! Feed me, Seymour!>
Ah, right you are. Sorry, Oberon.
I camouflaged a plate of meat and then pretended I was picking something up off the floor when I was really putting something down for Oberon. He’d find it by smell, no problem.
“How could she put away two fully grown men, though?” Granuaile asked, in spite of herself.