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.”