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This

story, narrated from Owen’s point of view, takes place after the events of Staked and Oberon’s Meaty Mysteries:

The Purloined Poodle.

Back in me own time—I’m fecking allowed to start like that because me own time was two thousand years ago—elementals never asked Druids for help with the environment. Humans weren’t sophisticated or numerous enough then to cock up the planet on an industrial scale. So when a call shudders up through me bones and it’s the elemental Colorado, asking me directly for help on behalf of another elemental, ye could knock me over with a spider whisper—and I’m talkin’ about one o’ those giant, silent, brooding bastards that lurk in your house high up on the walls and wait for ye to see them and ruin your pants.

The elemental wants me to save a species on the path to extinction, and that’s even stranger. Animals go extinct all the time and Druids never hear so much as a sad trombone noise. But some species are key to the healthy functioning of their ecosystems, and sometimes, in small places, Druids can help

out. I hear Granuaile helped clean out an invasive species of crawfish from an Arizona river while she was still an apprentice, saving some native trout that were getting all their eggs eaten. That kind of thing makes sense: The invasive species is still vital in its own space, and balance is restored where they were causing trouble. This job sounds different, though.

The request for help comes from an elemental I’ve never even heard of: Tasmania.

//Devils dying from disease / Mutated cancer / Contagious / Must cure//

Images flood me head of what a Tasmanian devil looks like: the size of a small dog with a face akin to something in the rat family, black fur with a white stripe crossing at the collarbone and again on its back near the tail, which did have hair on it like a dog instead of naked like a rat. And Tasmania emphasizes that the devils are important to keeping its ecosystem balanced—Greta tells me the popular term for that nowadays is keystone species.

I get the idea that it’s not going to be a nice afternoon’s work: It’s going to take a while, because I’ll have to cure every devil individually until the disease is wiped out.

I can’t leave me apprentices for so long—but then it makes me wonder if I can bring them along.

//Query: Can apprentices help?//

//Yes / Harmony//

//Harmony// I says, and then I have to hunt down Greta. We can’t shift there: For some reason there are no bound trees on the island, and I’m not confident that I know the kids well enough anyway, so we’ll have to fly. That’s going to take money.

And of course it would be best to have the parents along, so that’s more money. But at least the full moon is recently past and the werewolves can travel safely.

Greta is excited by the idea and welcomes the idea of a trip to the other side of the globe. Especially since we’ll probably be there the next time a full moon rolls around and the pack can run together in the woods there. She says she’s going to charter a private flight for us—using either the pack’s funds or her own, I don’t know which. I have a project to complete while she’s at it: something to keep the elemental spheres the apprentices use to talk to the earth safe. I’m thinking they’re going to need both hands for this project, and holding the spheres in one hand won’t be effective anymore.