Shattered: The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Seven Read Online Free

language. Right now she speaks to me in short bursts of words, the simplest of sentences. Fluency and syntax will come later, though she knows how to ask for new words, and her meaning is always clear to me through our bond, a sort of emotional and image spillover akin to the communication we share with elementals.
    She’d been at the rescue ranch because the newborn child of the couple that owned her turned out to be allergic to dogs. She misses them still and remembers how sad they were to give her up, but she is happy to be with us now. Her mental voice is a bit lighter than Oberon’s, and she loves the trees here.
     she says as we run, excitement evident in her words and in the movement of her tail.
    Our mission today is to explore the small town of Ouray on foot. Surrounded on three sides by the San Juan Mountains and only a couple of square miles in area, it rests in a sort of natural bowl with egress to the north. Yesterday we dug a cache above the town and buried money and a set of clothes for me, along with collars and leashes for the hounds—for though Ouray is a very dog-friendly town, local ordinances require a leash at all times.
    Burying things and digging them up again, of course, is half the fun.
    Now dressed in jeans, sandals, and a black T-shirt announcing my affection for the legendary all-girl punk band the Laser Vaginas, I fold the paper bag that had protected my clothes and take it with me down the hill. The hounds gambol ahead, turning back frequently to check on my progress, since I am moving so much slower than before.
    Ouray’s economy largely depends on tourism. The majority of income derives from hotels, restaurants, and shops selling gimcracks, souvenirs, and the occasional artsy doodad. A glass-blower and a blacksmith keep shops going in the summers, and one guy does some amazing sculptures with chain saws and treetrunks. Jeep touring companies make a killing as well, their income from the summer months supporting them for the rest of the year. Now that it’s October and the temperature is dropping, the town is largely quiet and safe for Orlaith to learn how to conduct herself in urban environments. The opportunity to teach her new words would be invaluable too.
    Lacking a jacket and feeling the chill, I use the binding Atticus taught me to raise my core temperature, then call the hounds over as we approach the Uncompahgre River, which marks the western edge of Ouray. As I fix the collars onto their necks, I say aloud, “Let’s review the rules for behavior while we’re in town. Oberon, you go first.”
    
    “Very good.” I repeat Oberon’s words for Orlaith’s benefit and then ask her, “Do you remember any rules?”
    
    “Excellent. Make sure you take care of that before we cross the bridge. Anything else?”
    Oberon says,
     Orlaith adds.
    “Good, good. And?”
     Oberon finishes.
    “Fabulous!” I repeat everything Oberon said for Orlaith but don’t bother with the other way around. Oberon is an old hand at this.
    Leashes in my fist and filled with insouciance, I take the dirt road down from Box Canyon Falls, cross the bridge, and enter Ouray near the Victorian Inn. We turn left up Main Street and slowly make our way north, pausing frequently when the hounds want to investigate something or when passersby want to pet them and chat. Some people cross the street when they see us coming; wolfhounds can be intimidating if you’ve never seen them before, and no doubt they think that I won’t be able to hold on to one of them, much less two, if the dogs take it into their heads to run for it.
    The pleasant morning is ruined as we pause outside a leather shop, though it’s no fault of the leather’s. The manager of the establishment, a