Staked (Iron Druid Chronicles) by Kevin Hearne Page B

in a hurry, and that is all. I was not acting at Durga’s instruction and this was never intended to be a prison sentence for you—and I remind you that it’s not a prison of any kind. You can leave that body right now and you know it.”
    “No. I am stained by my past, and regardless of your intent in the hospital, I know that this is where I belong.”
    “You
belong
in an abusive household for trying to help me? I’m sorry, Laksha, but I must reject that premise completely. Durga could not have meant that you are never to help anyone again. Why would she want that? Her words applied only to that situation—because you truly couldn’t have helped with my father. That raksoyuj was formidable, to say the least. I mean, Durga had to make an effort to kill him. He was a challenge. I’m sure she didn’t mean for you to sit here and submit passively to some patriarchal toad for trying to help.”
    Laksha bobs her head to either side, a noncommittal gesture, and our tea and biscuits arrive. We spend a minute with the rituals involved in serving it—milk and honey, the clink of spoons on porcelain—and then Laksha speaks again.
    “You have given me new information and I’m grateful. I will consider it, I promise you, and act should I feel the need. You are right that I can leave at any time. But you are completely dismissing why I am staying.”
    I shake my head, uncomprehending. “No, I don’t mean to be dismissive. I guess I don’t understand.”
    Laksha flashes a smile at me over her teacup. “That is both likely and easily forgiven.”
    “Help me out a little bit?”
    She sips, savors the tea, and puts down her cup. “This is not my meek acceptance of systemic misogyny. I am not in need of your rescue. What I need is to atone for centuries—
centuries,
Granuaile!—of my own cruelty and arrogance. So whether Durga meant for me to be here or not is immaterial.
I
feel I need to be here, to feel what it’s like to be at the mercy of an arbitrary, power-mad individual like I used to be. I am learning. I am becoming empathetic and understanding the horror of how I used to behave. This is where I am on my spiritual journey. Where are you on yours?”
    I flinch because the tone of her voice feels like a slap. “I’m not really on one. Gaia is my jam, and she’s in favor of life on earth. That’s about it. Journey’s over, I’m at my destination.”
    “You haven’t told me everything. You’re different. Something else has happened to you besides the death of your father. What am I missing? Is it something to do with why you’re holding your arm awkwardly?”
    Yes. She’s missing what Loki did to me, and my determination to never let something like that happen again. Being at the mercy of an arbitrary, power-mad individual has very little to recommend it—I knew from experience with both Loki and my stepfather—but if she feels that it’s necessary for her own personal growth, then my opinion doesn’t matter. Still, her question and its answer shift my vision a little, allowing me to glimpse what she must be seeing: I’m much angrier and more aggressive than I used to be. And, yes, I have cause—but the tragedy is that I’ve lost that giddy wonder I had when I first became bound to Gaia. There was peace too, which I felt even while being pursued across Europe by Artemis and Diana. It’s all gone now.
    “You’re missing why I came to see you,” I say, knowing that she would recognize I wished to change the subject. “I need a way to hide myself from divination and wondered if you knew how I could make it happen.”
    Laksha grimaces at me, sucks at her bared teeth, and squints her eyes. “You think I can help you with that? I have absolutely no talent in that kind of magic. If I did, I wouldn’t have been so surprised to see you.”
    “But … oh. I guess you’re just my go-to for advice. I had a problem and I came to you first.”
    Laksha affects a Southern accent, which she must have picked