Gunmetal Magic (Kate Daniels #5.5)(111)
Author: Ilona Andrews

Before we left on this fun trip, we had discussed our strategy, and I volunteered to take point. If Curran came in his official capacity as the Beast Lord, there would be formal greetings and ceremony and the whole thing would take much longer than needed. Besides, I knew the neo-Vikings better than he did, so it made sense for me to take the lead. Curran decided to go as what he referred to as a “redshirt.” Apparently it was the term for some sort of disposable attendant from some old TV show.

“Is that the jarl?” Ascanio whispered behind me.

“Yes.”

“But he’s Native American.”

“Choctaw,” I told him. “The Vikings don’t care how you look. They care how well you swing your axe.”

I headed down between the tables with my little entourage at my back. This would have been so much easier if I had come by myself.

About ten feet from the platform Ragnvald decided he couldn’t ignore us any longer. “Kate! Vestu heill! Long time no see.”

Not long enough. “Hello, Ragnvald. These are my associates.” There. I didn’t mention Curran by name. That should clue him in.

Ragnvald pushed himself off the chair. Upright, he was over six feet tall. He took a step off the platform and nodded to me. “I was just thinking of you.”

“It’s probably because you saw me walk through the door and then pretended I wasn’t here for the last couple of minutes.”

Ragnvald’s face split into a grin. “I just couldn’t believe my eyes. The alpha of the shapeshifters popping in unannounced. I’m shocked.”

Oh, you sonovabitch. He was still trying to turn this into some sort of spectacle. “I’m not here in that capacity.”

Ragnvald tapped his band. “This never comes off. Best to remember it now. But come on, we’ll talk business.” He raised his voice, shaking the nearby cups. “Someone bring drinks to our guests.”

Why did everyone have to be so damn loud all the time?

Ragnvald nodded to a side table. “Please.”

He took a seat and I sat across from him. Curran joined me. The vampire tried to follow but a large woman in chain mail barred his way.

A girl half my age swept by and slammed two giant tankards filled with beer on the table. Ragnvald held his up. I smashed my tankard against his. Beer splashed. We raised the tankard and pretended to take much bigger gulps than we actually did.

Curran drank his beer. Apparently, my taking the lead meant he went mute.

The young woman sashayed over to Ascanio and Derek and led them to a neighboring table. Judging by how hard her hips were working, she was open for business.

“So, what brings you to our mead hall?”

“I’m looking for Dagfinn.”

Ragnvald grimaced. “What has he done now?”

“Just got some weird runes I need him to translate for me.”

Ragnvald spread his arms. “We haven’t seen the man. You should talk to Helga about the runes.”

I had made some calls this morning. “We did talk to Helga. Talked to Dorte and old man Rasmus, too. They can’t help us. Dagfinn is our best lead for now.”

A huge older man staggered into the hall. Thick through the shoulders and slabbed with what my adoptive father had called hard fat, he moved in that peculiar careful way drunks do when they have trouble putting one foot in front of the other and don’t want to pitch over. His leather vest sat askew on his large frame, his face was ruddy from cold or too much booze, and his long graying hair hung down in two braids, tangling with a mess of a gray beard.

It’s all fun and games until the drunk Viking Santa shows up.

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Ragnvald drank a tiny swallow of his beer. “He isn’t here. We expelled him months ago.”

“Is that so?” Curran said.

“It is,” Ragnvald insisted.

The soused Saint Nick zeroed in on the vampire sitting on the floor by the table where the shapeshifters were looking at their beer. The drunk blinked his bleary eyes and shambled toward the vamp.

“I hear the Guild is having a meeting soon,” Ragnvald said.

“That’s what I’ve been told,” I said.

The older Viking pointed at the vampire. “What is this shit?”

Nobody answered.

Santa upped his voice a notch. “What is this shit?”

“Settle down, Dad,” a younger man said from the corner.

Santa pivoted to the speaker. “Don’t tell me to settle down, you stupid son of a whore.”

“You don’t talk about Mom that way.”

“I’ll talk about her…I’ll…what is this shit?”

“I also hear that the Pack has been called in to mediate.” Ragnvald looked at me for a long moment so I’d register that it was important.

“Aha.”

“We have fifteen full-time members in the Guild,” Ragnvald said.

I nodded. “I know. You put in what, eight years?”

“Seven and some change.”

Santa rocked back, took a deep breath, and spat on the vamp.

Awesome. “Are you going to do anything about that?”

Ragnvald glanced over his shoulder. “That’s Johan. He’s just having a bit of fun. About the mediation, Kate.”

“What about it?”

The vamp unhinged his maw. “Only a fool fights with drunks and idiots,” Ghastek’s voice said.

“Are you calling me an idiot?” Johan squinted at the vamp.

People at the other tables stopped eating and trickled over to watch closer. They smelled a fight coming and didn’t want to miss the show. This wasn’t going well.

The vampire shrugged, mimicking Ghastek’s gesture. “If a certain drunk spits on my vampire again, he will regret it.”

Johan leaned back, a puzzled expression on his face. Apparently, Ghastek had managed to stump him.

“Which way are you leaning?” Ragnvald said.

Nice try. “Where is Dagfinn, Ragnvald?”

“I’ve told you twice now, he isn’t here.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. His house is here, his mother still lives here, and his stallion is out in the pasture.”

“He gave him to his mother,” Ragnvald said.

“He gave Magnus to his mother?”

“Yes.”

“That horse is a bloody beast. Nobody can ride him except Dagfinn. The only reason Magnus hasn’t bitten Dagfinn’s hand off by now is because every time he tries, Dagfinn bites him back. And you’re telling me Dagfinn gave him to his mother? What is she going to do with him?”