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but preferably in a way that enhances my reputation so that I can achieve immortality in the songs of bards. They simply do not think like modern people, and it is because of them that the Fae have such twisted senses of right and wrong.
    Flidais took an experimental sip of her smoothie and her face lit up, very pleased with herself. » Ah, I think the mortals are on to something here, « she said. » Anyway, Druid—what name are you using now? « A faint crinkle appeared between her eyes.
    » Atticus, « I said.
    » Atticus? « The crinkle deepened. » Does anyone actually believe you are Greek? «
    » Nobody pays attention to names here. «
    » Then what do they pay attention to? «
    » Crude displays of personal wealth. « I stared at the remaining liquid in the blender and hoped that Flidais would get the hint. » Shiny trucks, shiny rocks on their fingers, that sort of thing. « Sure enough, she noticed that my attention was not totally centered on her.
    » What are you—oh, would you like some of my smoothie? Help yourself, Atticus. «
    » That is most considerate of you. « I smiled as I reached for another glass. I thought of the stoners who came into my shop earlier, probably already dead at the hands of the Morrigan, and how they would have been equally dead had they found Flidais in their kitchen. They would have seen her and said something like, » Yo, bitch, the fuck you doin’ with my strawberries? « and those would have been their last words. Bronze Age manners are tough to fathom for modern men, by and large, but it’s fairly simple: The guest is to be treated like a god, because he may, in fact, be a god in disguise. I had no doubts on that score when it came to Flidais.
    » Not at all, « she replied. » You are a gracious host. But to finally answer your question, I went into the Crussh building and watched the mortals use these machines to make smoothies, and that is how I learned of them. « She considered her drink for a moment, and the crinkle appeared between her eyes again. » Do you not find this age to be horribly strange, so much of the sublime alongside the abominable? «
    » I do indeed, « I said as I poured some red slush into my glass. » It is fortunate that we remain to preserve the traditions of a better time. «
    » That’s what I have come to see you about, Atticus, « she said.
    » Preserving traditions? «
    » No. Remaining. « Oh, bloody hell. That did not sound good.
    » I would love to hear about it. But may I first offer you anything else by way of refreshment? «
    » No, I am perfectly content with this, « she said, wiggling her glass.
    » Then perhaps we can retire to the front porch while we talk? «
    » That will serve nicely. « I led the way, and Oberon followed us out and sat between us on the porch. He was thinking about hunting in Papago Park and hoping we would take him there. My bicycle was still in the street, to my relief, and I relaxed a little bit, until it occurred to me that Flidais had probably not walked here.
    » Is your chariot safely stowed? « I asked her.
    » Aye, there is a park hard by here, and I have bound the stags there until my return. Do not worry, « she added when she saw my eyebrows rise, » they are invisible. «
    » Of course. « I smiled. » So tell me, what brings you out to visit an old Druid long gone from the world? «
    » Aenghus Óg knows you are here. «
    » So the Morrigan tells me, « I replied equably.
    » Ah, she’s paid you a visit? Fir Bolgs are on their way too. «
    » I am well aware. «
    Flidais cocked her head and considered my air of unconcern. » And are you also aware that Bres follows them? «
    I spewed strawberry smoothie into my flower bed at that, and Oberon looked at me in alarm.
    » No, I suppose you had not heard that yet, « Flidais said with a faint smile, and then she chuckled, pleased to have elicited such a reaction from me.
    » Why is he coming? « I asked as I wiped my mouth. Bres was one of the meanest