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

grizzled man in his fifties with a brow furrowed in confusion, steps outside with a cordless phone and says, “Sorry, but would your name be Granny-Woo, by any chance, or something like that?” He completely bungles the pronunciation of my name, but I’m used to that.
    Oberon and Orlaith swing around in concert to look at him, ears raised, and he flinches when he sees them. They hadn’t been in view from inside the shop, so they take him by surprise when he steps across the threshold. “Gah. Those are some damn big dogs,” he mutters.
     Orlaith asks.
     Oberon says, and it’s a struggle to keep my expression neutral when both dogs are thinking essentially the same thing. They are right: He’d probably stagger backward and hurt himself in his haste to get away, so I remind them to remain silent.
    “Yes, I’m Granuaile,” I tell him.
    “Well, there’s a phone call for you,” the manager replies, holding out the phone to me. “They say it’s an emergency. Life or death.” I take the phone from him, and he says he’ll be inside when I am finished. I’m not terribly surprised, since I’m aware that those of sufficient skill can divine my whereabouts if they wish, but I dread the bad news.
    “Thanks,” I say to him, nodding, then hold the phone up to my ear. “Hello?”
    “Granuaile. It is Laksha.”
    “Laksha? Where are you?” I had not heard from Laksha Kulasekaran for more than a decade. The spirit of the Indian witch had shared space in my head once, and it was thanks to her that I learned of Atticus’s true nature and became his apprentice. But after she found a body she could fully possess, we had spoken only a few times, as I began my training in earnest and she moved away to build a new life.
    “I am in Thanjavur, India.”
    “Okay. I’m not sure where that is.”
    “It’s near the southeastern coast, in the state of Tamil Nadu. I have been living in the region for several years. There is a problem here that might interest you, and I would appreciate your help even if it doesn’t interest you. You are a full Druid now, yes?”
    “Yes.”
    “Congratulations. Your skills could do wondrous good here, but especially if you are related to this man. Do you know of a gentleman named Donal MacTiernan?”
    “Yes, that’s my father’s name. My real dad, not my stepfather.”
    “Is your father an archaeologist?”
    The conversation was beginning to worry me. “Yes, he is.”
    “I was afraid of this. That is why I took the trouble to divine your location and call you. I believe your father is here. Did you know he was digging in India?”
    “No, but that doesn’t surprise me. He digs all over the world.”
    “I am afraid he found something that would have been better left buried. He unearthed a clay vessel recently and he opened it, either ignoring what was written on the outside or encouraged by it. It wasn’t empty. The vessel contained a spirit that had been trapped inside for many centuries—trapped for very good reasons—and it immediately possessed him.”
    “
Possessed
him? Shit. How? The way you do it?”
    “No, but it is similar. His spirit still dwells within his body, but the possessing spirit is dominant.”
    “What can you tell me about it?”
    “I found the vessel at the site. Your father had dropped it, or perhaps shattered it on purpose. I pieced it back together in order to read the Sanskrit markings. They warned that there was a raksoyuj inside.”
    “I’m sorry, what was that?”
    “A raksoyuj, which means a yoker of rakshasas. It’s a type of sorcerer that I thought had been eliminated before I was born. They are capable of summoning demons and bending them to their will, and that is what he is doing. The rakshasas your fatherhas summoned are spreading a pestilence throughout the region. People are dying.”
    “Wait, you’re saying my dad is killing people?”
    “The spirit possessing him is responsible,