horned helmets despite all historical evidence to the contrary.
"Used to be?" Curran asked.
"They kicked him out for being drunk and violent."
Curran blinked. "The Norse Heritage?"
"Mhm."
"Don't you have to be drunk and violent just to get in?" he asked. "Just how disorderly did he get?"
"Dagfinn is a creative soul," I said. "His real name is Don Williams. He packs a lot of magic and if he could have gotten out of his own way, he would be running the Norse Heritage by now. He's got a rap sheet as long as the Bible, all of it petty stupid stuff, and he's the only merc I know who actually works for free, because he's been fined so many times, it will take him years to get out of Guild's debt. About two years ago, he got piss-drunk, took off all of his clothes, and broke through the gates of a Buddhist meditation center on the South side. A group of bhikkhunis, female monks, was deep in meditation on the grounds. He chased them around, roaring something about them hiding hot Asian ladies. I guess he mistook them for men, because of the robes and shaved heads."
"And why didn't anybody pointed the error of his way to this fool?" Doolittle asked.
"Perhaps because they are Buddhists," Curran said. "Violence is generally frowned upon in their community. How did it end?"
"Dagfinn pulled a robe off one of the nuns and an elderly monk came up to him and hit him in the chest with the heel of his hand. Dagfinn did some flying and went through the monastery wall. Bricks fell on his face and gave him a quickie plastic surgery. Since the old monk had raised his hand in anger, he went into a self-imposed seclusion. He still lives near the Stone Mountain in the woods. He was greatly revered and the monks got pissed off and went to see the Norse Heritage Foundation. Words were exchanged and the next morning the Foundation gave Dagfinn the boot. The neo-Vikings will know where he is. They kicked him out, but he's still their boy."
Curran nodded. "Okay, we'll take a Jeep."
"They don't permit any technology past fourteenth century AD in their territory. You'll have to ride a horse."
Curran's face snapped into a flat Beast Lord expression. "I don't think so."
"You can jog if you want, but I'm getting a horse."
A low rumble began in Curran's throat. "I said we'll take the Jeep."
"And I said they will put an axe into your carburetor."
"Do you even know what a carburetor is?" Curran asked.
I knew it was a car part. "That's irrelevant."
Doolittle cleared his throat. "My lord, my lady."
We looked at him.
"Take it outside my hospital before you break anything." It didn't sound like a request.
A careful knock echoed through the door. A young woman stuck her head in. "Consort?"
What now? "Yes?"
"There is a vampire downstairs to see you."
Chapter Four
The vampire sat on his haunches in the waiting room, a thin emaciated monstrosity. Vampires were midnight predators. Daylight burned their skin, but the People had recently gotten around it by applying their own patented brand of sunblock. It dried thick and came in assorted colors. This particular vampire sported a coat of bright lime-green. The sunblock covered the undead completely, every wrinkle, every crevice, every inch. The ffect was vomit-inducing.
The undead turned its head as I walked in, its eyes focusing on me with intelligence of a navigator sitting in an armored room miles away. The nightmarish jaws opened.
"Kate," Ghastek's dry voice said. "Curran. Good morning."
"What are you doing here?" Curran asked.
The vampire folded itself, perching in the chair like some mummified cat. "I have a direct interest in discovering the nature of that necklace. We have suffered great loses, we must account for them. Have you found a way to remove it?"
"No," I said.
"So the boy's life is still in jeopardy," Ghastek said.
Thank you, Captain Obvious.
"It's being handled," Curran said.
"I would like to be involved in that handling."
"I'm sure you would," Curran said. "It's hard
"Used to be?" Curran asked.
"They kicked him out for being drunk and violent."
Curran blinked. "The Norse Heritage?"
"Mhm."
"Don't you have to be drunk and violent just to get in?" he asked. "Just how disorderly did he get?"
"Dagfinn is a creative soul," I said. "His real name is Don Williams. He packs a lot of magic and if he could have gotten out of his own way, he would be running the Norse Heritage by now. He's got a rap sheet as long as the Bible, all of it petty stupid stuff, and he's the only merc I know who actually works for free, because he's been fined so many times, it will take him years to get out of Guild's debt. About two years ago, he got piss-drunk, took off all of his clothes, and broke through the gates of a Buddhist meditation center on the South side. A group of bhikkhunis, female monks, was deep in meditation on the grounds. He chased them around, roaring something about them hiding hot Asian ladies. I guess he mistook them for men, because of the robes and shaved heads."
"And why didn't anybody pointed the error of his way to this fool?" Doolittle asked.
"Perhaps because they are Buddhists," Curran said. "Violence is generally frowned upon in their community. How did it end?"
"Dagfinn pulled a robe off one of the nuns and an elderly monk came up to him and hit him in the chest with the heel of his hand. Dagfinn did some flying and went through the monastery wall. Bricks fell on his face and gave him a quickie plastic surgery. Since the old monk had raised his hand in anger, he went into a self-imposed seclusion. He still lives near the Stone Mountain in the woods. He was greatly revered and the monks got pissed off and went to see the Norse Heritage Foundation. Words were exchanged and the next morning the Foundation gave Dagfinn the boot. The neo-Vikings will know where he is. They kicked him out, but he's still their boy."
Curran nodded. "Okay, we'll take a Jeep."
"They don't permit any technology past fourteenth century AD in their territory. You'll have to ride a horse."
Curran's face snapped into a flat Beast Lord expression. "I don't think so."
"You can jog if you want, but I'm getting a horse."
A low rumble began in Curran's throat. "I said we'll take the Jeep."
"And I said they will put an axe into your carburetor."
"Do you even know what a carburetor is?" Curran asked.
I knew it was a car part. "That's irrelevant."
Doolittle cleared his throat. "My lord, my lady."
We looked at him.
"Take it outside my hospital before you break anything." It didn't sound like a request.
A careful knock echoed through the door. A young woman stuck her head in. "Consort?"
What now? "Yes?"
"There is a vampire downstairs to see you."
Chapter Four
The vampire sat on his haunches in the waiting room, a thin emaciated monstrosity. Vampires were midnight predators. Daylight burned their skin, but the People had recently gotten around it by applying their own patented brand of sunblock. It dried thick and came in assorted colors. This particular vampire sported a coat of bright lime-green. The sunblock covered the undead completely, every wrinkle, every crevice, every inch. The ffect was vomit-inducing.
The undead turned its head as I walked in, its eyes focusing on me with intelligence of a navigator sitting in an armored room miles away. The nightmarish jaws opened.
"Kate," Ghastek's dry voice said. "Curran. Good morning."
"What are you doing here?" Curran asked.
The vampire folded itself, perching in the chair like some mummified cat. "I have a direct interest in discovering the nature of that necklace. We have suffered great loses, we must account for them. Have you found a way to remove it?"
"No," I said.
"So the boy's life is still in jeopardy," Ghastek said.
Thank you, Captain Obvious.
"It's being handled," Curran said.
"I would like to be involved in that handling."
"I'm sure you would," Curran said. "It's hard
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