Gunmetal Magic (56 page)

Holy shit.

The Viking strained, right leg forward, left leg back. Muscles rippled on his arms. Frost ate at Curran’s hand, but the axe didn’t move.

“Done?” Curran asked.

Dagfinn snarled.

Curran raised his left hand. His fingers curled into a fist.

“Not in the head!” I yelled. “We need his brain intact.”

Curran yanked the axe forward. Dagfinn jerked back, trying to regain his balance, and Curran swept his left leg from under him. Dagfinn crashed down like an oak chopped at the root.

Curran tore the axe out of his hands and tossed it aside. Dagfinn swung at him with his right fist. Curran leaned out of the way and sank a vicious punch straight down into Dagfinn’s gut.

Ow. I hurt just from looking. The shapeshifters watching on the wall made sucking noises.

Dagfinn curled into a ball, trying to gulp in a lungful of air, which was suddenly missing.

Curran pulled Dagfinn up, swung him over his shoulder, and carried the Viking toward me.

Oh, you crazy sonovabitch.

Curran dumped purple-faced Dagfinn by my feet. “Here is your expert, baby.”

The shapeshifters on the wall whistled and howled.
Why me?

“Thanks, show-off,” I told him. “Let me see the hand.”

“It’s fine.”

“The hand, Curran.”

He held it out. Blisters covered his right palm. Frostbite, probably second-degree. It had to hurt like hell. Lyc-V would fix it in a day or so, but meanwhile he’d have to grit his teeth.

“I said don’t touch the axe.”

He leaned over and kissed me. The shapeshifters on the walls cheered.

Dagfinn finally managed to remember how to breathe and swore.

I leaned over him. “He won. You’re going to read my runes now.”

“Fine,” Dagfinn growled. “Give me a minute. I think something’s broken.”

According to Doolittle, nothing was actually broken. Dagfinn treated the diagnosis with open suspicion, but given the circumstances, he decided to deal with it. Curran, on the other hand, got a plastic bag with some sort of healing solution tied around his hand. He liked it about as much as I expected.

“This is ridiculous.”

“With the bag, the hand will be usable in two hours,”
Doolittle informed him. “Without the bag, it may be usable by tomorrow. It’s your choice, my lord.”

Curran growled a little, but kept the bag on.

I put Julie’s drawing in front of Dagfinn.

He squinted at it. “Whoa. Was this on a weapon?”

“No, it’s on a gold necklace that’s killing a child. Looks like Elder Futhark, but not exactly. Is this a spell?” I asked.

“This isn’t Elder Futhark.”

“What is it?”

“It’s dvergr.”

I sat down into the nearest chair. “Are you sure?”

Dagfinn pulled back the sleeve of his tunic, displaying his tattoos. “Look here.”

The last two characters on his shoulder matched the last two characters on Julie’s paper. Dagfinn drew his fingers along the tattoo. “This says, ‘Wielder of Axe Aslaug, born from the blood of Earth shaped by the hands of Ivar.’” He tapped the paper. “This says, ‘Apprentice of Ivar.’ Yeah, I’m sure.”

“What is dvergr?” Curran asked me.

“Dwarf,” I told him. “Old Norse dwarf: magic, powerful, skilled with metalwork. Makers of weapons for the gods. They’re often portrayed as embodiments of greed—they lust after power, women, and most of all gold.”

“Hey now!” Dagfinn raised his hand. “Most experts believe this to be a later development. The dwarf myths probably take their root in nature spirits…”

“Dwarves like in Tolkien?” Curran asked.

I wish. I dragged my hand over my face. “One time, four dwarf brothers, the sons of Ivaldi, created some magical gifts for the gods. Two other dwarf brothers, Brokk and Eiti, became jealous of all the praise and bet Loki, the trickster, that they could make better gifts. He wagered his head. The dwarves won and then wanted to murder Loki. The gods wouldn’t let them do it, so Brokk sewed Loki’s lips shut with wire. These are not the jolly, drink-beer-and-go-on-an-adventure type of dwarves.”

“The one I met was a good guy,” Dagfinn said.

“You think the Ivar whose apprentice wore this necklace is the same Ivar who made your axe?” Curran asked.

Dagfinn nodded. “I was about fourteen or fifteen. I was wild back then, not like now.”

Curran and I looked at each other.

“So my uncle Didrik, he was a Viking, took me to the mountains to this valley. We met a smith there and my uncle talked to him and then left me there for the summer. It didn’t go well at first, but Ivar and me got along finally. I liked it there. When Didrik came to get me, Ivar made me this axe and put the runes on me. Right arm”—he slapped his right biceps— “controls the axe. Left arm is my oath. I can’t ever kill a defenseless person or force myself on anyone, or the axe will turn on me.”

“I heard you broke into the monastery looking for Asian ladies,” Curran said.

“Asian ale,” Dagfinn said. “I wasn’t looking to rape anybody. I was looking for the beer. None of them would talk to me, so I kept trying to grab them to make them hold still so I could ask where the beer was. I had a bit to drink that evening.”

The light dawned on me. “Dagfinn, they are Buddhists. They don’t brew beer. You needed the Augustine Brothers two miles to the south. You went to the wrong monastery, you dimwit.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Dagfinn growled. “Anyway, can I see this collar?”

We took him in to see the boy. Roderick shrank a little. “Don’t be scared,” Dagfinn said. He examined the collar for a little while and we returned to the other room. Dagfinn sat down in his chair, while Curran leaned against the wall, watching him and emanating menace.

“Could be Ivar’s work,” Dagfinn said. “I just don’t understand why. The dwarf I knew wouldn’t hurt a child.”

“What about his apprentice,” I asked. “What do you know about him?”

“Never met him, but it looks like this collar must have belonged to him or at least his apprentice. Maybe Ivar will know more, if we can locate him.”

“Can you find the valley again?” I asked.

He shook his head. “There is a trick to it somehow. I’d meant to ask Didrik about it, but he died. I’ve tried to find him on my own. I’ve been all over the Smoky Mountains and nothing.”

He was holding something back, I could feel it. “What are you not telling me, Dagfinn?”

He hesitated.

“It’s going to kill the kid,” Curran said.

“He might know,” Dagfinn said.

“He who?”

“You know.
He.
”

My heart took a dive. This was getting better and better.

“He who?” Curran demanded.

I stepped closer to him and lowered my voice. “The Vikings know of a creature. He’s been trapped on their land for a very long time. They don’t like to say his name, because he might hear and kill them at night.”

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about it,” Dagfinn said.

I spread my arms. “I’m out of ideas.”

“Kate, please tell me you haven’t been to see him before, right? Right?” Dagfinn asked.

“No. This will be my first time.”

“Why?” Curran asked.

“He catches your scent when you go to see him,” Dagfinn said. “It takes him a while, but once he learns the scent, he never forgets it. People who go to see him twice don’t come back. Their bones stay on that hill.”

“We’re going to need backup,” I said, thinking aloud.

“Don’t look at me,” Dagfinn said. “I like you and all, but I’ve been once. I ran like a little girl and barely got out. I can’t go again.”

“Backup won’t be an issue,” Curran said.

I shook my head. “We can’t bring anyone we can’t afford to lose.”

“She’s right,” Dagfinn said. “I hired a crew. Six people. I was the only one who got out and only because
he
ate them first. My advice, hire someone you don’t know and tell them up front it’s a fight to the death. They’re just flesh speed bumps for him.” He looked at me. “You need to talk to the Cherokees.”

“Yes, I know.” Thinking of going to see Håkon sent ice down my spine.

“Well, I’m out.” Dagfinn rose. “Thank you for the fight,
I had fun, we should do it again sometime. It was nice knowing you.”

Curran pushed from the wall. “I’ll walk you out.”

“I can find my way,” Dagfinn said.

“I’m sure you can. I’ll save you the trouble.” Gold rolled over Curran’s eyes.

Dagfinn sighed and they left.

I went up onto the roof. We had set up a small dining area there, two chairs and a table. Lately, every time we sat down to eat in our kitchen, someone would knock on the door with some bullshit emergency, so when we didn’t feel like being interrupted, Curran and I would go up to the roof and eat in peace. His Furry Majesty was threatening to drag a grill up there and “cook meat” for me. Knowing him, “grill” meant a giant pit and “meat” stood for half a deer.

I sat on the low stone wall bordering the top of the roof. It was late afternoon, and the sun was slowly rolling to the west. The stone wall was nice and hot under my butt. Summer was coming.

I sat, enveloped in warm air. It felt nice, but not hot enough to chase away the ice built up on my spine. I didn’t want to visit Håkon. Several people I knew had gone to see him. Only two had come back, and Dagfinn was one of them.

The world blinked. The magic vanished, snuffed out like a candle by a draft. A mixed blessing: as long as the magic was down, the necklace wouldn’t constrict Roderick’s neck any further, but we couldn’t see Håkon without it.

Voron, my adoptive father, had always warned me that friends would make me soft. When you cared about people, you forged a bond, and that bond made you predictable. Friends weren’t for me. Greg, my now-dead guardian, took that a step further and added lovers to that ban. When you loved someone, your enemies would use it against you.

Neither of them had predicted that being in love and being loved in return made you value your life much higher. I liked my life. I had a lot to lose now.

Curran emerged from the door, pulled the bag off his hand,
and tossed it into the garbage can we kept up here for the times we ate outside. He walked in complete silence, like a tiger stalking through the forest, quiet and confident. I liked to watch him, provided he didn’t know about it. His ego was threatening the ozone layer as it was.

Curran sat next to me and put his left arm around my shoulders and kissed me. There was a slightly possessive edge to the kiss.

“Through the Guild and no.”

“Hmm?” he asked.

“You were about to ask how I know Dagfinn and if we were ever more than friends. We never were friends, actually. I got suckered by the Guild into bringing him in twice. He was wanted for unpaid fines and destruction of property.”

Curran grimaced. “No, it never crossed my mind that you’d be with Dagfinn. He’s an undisciplined idiot. Give me some credit. I know you better than that.”

I shrugged and leaned closer against him. “This is fucked up.”

“Yes, it is. Can you think of any other way to find Ivar?”

“No. Maybe Doolittle can try removing the collar during tech?”

Curran shook his head. “I asked. He says it will kill the boy. He says we have thirty-six to forty-eight hours, depending on how long the magic lasts. There is a good chance the next magic wave will be the boy’s last.”

Two days before Roderick with his owlish eyes died, choked to death.

“Do you remember a few years ago a detachment of PAD disappeared? Eleven cops, armed to the teeth? It was in the papers?”

“Yes.”

“That was Håkon.”

“Is that his name?”

I nodded. “I didn’t say it in front of Dagfinn so he wouldn’t freak out. Whoever we take will die. If we don’t take anybody, the boy will die.”

“We explain it and ask for volunteers.” Curran drew me closer. “Those are the choices we make.”

“I’m tired of those lousy choices.” If you put all the people I’d killed together, their blood would make a lake. I was wading through it and I had no desire to make it any deeper.

We sat next to each other, touching.

If Curran asked for volunteers, the Pack would cough some up. I would have to look at their faces, I would witness their deaths, and then I would have to tell their families about it, assuming I survived. Assuming Curran survived.

The thought pissed me off. We’d do it. There was a child on the other end of that equation, so yes, we would grit our teeth and do it. But it made me so mad. I could’ve strangled Aurellia if I got my hands on her. She knew what the collar did, and she had deliberately chosen between her husband and her son.

“Can Håkon be killed?” Curran asked.

“No. The Cherokees have tried for years. All they can do is contain him on that hill. If he’s destroyed, he just reassembles himself.” I growled. “I don’t want to do this.”

“I know,” he said.

“Do you think less of me?”

“No.” Curran stroked my back. “Like I said, these are the choices we make, and sometimes every choice is bad, and then you sit by yourself and remember all the horrible shit you had to do and have done, and you deal with it. It will eat you alive if you let it.”

I straightened and touched his cheek. “Well, you don’t have to sit by yourself anymore. We’ll sit together.”

He caught my hand and kissed it. His eyes turned dark. His fingers curved into a fist. He looked predatory. “I wish I could rewind back to that second and crush her skull before she put the necklace on the kid.”

“I know. I wish there was a way to get to her.”

He looked at me. “I thought about it. If we approached Forney’s house at night…”

“Curran, we can’t break into the house of the DA. The fallout for the Pack would be enormous.”

“I know, I know.” Muscles played along his jaw. He hated to have his hands tied and so did I. “But if we use someone outside of Atlanta for the DA job…”

“It’s a bad idea. Even I know it’s a bad idea.”

He looked at me. He was still thinking about it.

“No,” I told him.

Curran swore.

Screwing with the DA would get us a witch hunt in a hurry. He knew it and I knew it. No, there had to be another way. Some way where the boy survived and our people didn’t die.