Gunmetal Magic: A Novel in the World of Kate Daniels

regret, it sang through me.
“Mate…”
    I wrapped my legs around him and whispered, “Make love to me.”
    When I awoke, three hours later, Raphael was gone. The mud from my ankles proved remarkably difficult to remove. It took multiple soapings and scrubbings with a washcloth and even a pumice stone, until finally it was all gone and the skin on my legs was bright red. The Lyc-V would fix it in no time at all, but it aggravated me to no end.
    I stalked out into the hallway and smelled English muffins. Crisp, just-out-of-the-toaster, generously buttered English muffins. The aroma grabbed my nose and dragged me down the hall, to a side room, where Kate sat at a long table, drinking coffee. Plates covered the table: heaps of scrambled eggs; hot, crispy hash browns; soft crepes, folded into quarters and drenched with melted butter; bacon, sausage, ham, English muffins.
    “Food!”
    “Yes!” Kate thrust a plate in my direction.
    I loaded my plate, and bit into the ham. Yum, yum, yum. Meat. Meat good. Andrea hungry. Andrea had spent too manycalories in the past forty-eight hours. I could do without sleep or food, but not both.
    “Have you seen my mate?” I asked.
    “He’s with his mother.”
    I rolled my eyes.
    “He was in here about half an hour ago, eating up a storm. Aunt B has graced us with her presence and she wanted him to explain things to her.”
    I ate the English muffin and got another. I could almost feel the energy flooding my body. As a shapeshifter, I could technically go without sleep completely, if I had to, but food was a requirement. I was going to stuff myself until I resembled one of those pigs they served at banquets in old movies.
    “Your favorite volhv showed up half an hour ago, complaining about his lack of sleep and stupid gods. He says he brought his Batman belt.”
    I stopped chewing for a second and caught my reflection in the shiny kettle. I looked like a chipmunk with my cheeks full of food. “So can he bind this draugr?”
    “He says so.”
    “That means we’re still on?”
    Kate nodded.
    Well. My day was finally looking up. About time.

CHAPTER 14

    The horses clopped down the dirt path. According to Kate the creature that had our scale-shield lived deep in the lands of Norse Heritage. The neo-Viking territory. The neo-Vikings didn’t care for technology within their borders.
    Unlike several other Scandinavian organizations, the Norse Heritage wasn’t interested in the preservation of Scandinavian culture. They were interested in perpetuating the Viking myth: they wore furs, braided their hair, waved around oversized weapons, started fights with wild abandon, and generally acted in a manner appropriate to people embracing the spirit of a pirating and pillaging barbarian horde. They took in anyone and everyone, regardless of ancestry and criminal history, as long as they demonstrated the “Viking spirit,” which apparently amounted to liking violent brawls and drinking lots and lots of beer.
    The Norse Heritage Hall was located a good way out of the city. Our small band clopped its way down the road, Kate and I up front, Ascanio driving a wagon with a bound deer on it, and Raphael and Roman bringing up the rear. The two men carried on a quiet conversation, which sounded surprisingly civil.
    I patted my horse’s neck. Her name was Sugar and she had come from the Keep stables. She was a Tennessee Walker, smart and calm, with high endurance. I liked her color too—she was a red roan of such a pale gentle shade, she almost looked pink.
    Kate smirked.
    “What?”
    “Your horse looks pink.”
    “So?”
    “If you paste some stars on her butt, you’ll be riding My Little Pony.”
    “Bugger off.” I patted the mare’s neck. “Don’t listen to her, Sugar. You are the cutest horsey ever. The correct name for her color is strawberry roan, by the way.”
    “Strawberry shortcake, more like it. Does Strawberry Shortcake know you stole her horse? She will be berry, berry angry with you.”
    I looked at her from under half-lowered eyelids. “I can shoot you right here, on this road, and nobody will ever find your body.”
    Behind us Ascanio chortled.
    The road curved, caught between dense, dark forest on the left and an open, low, grass-sheathed hill on the right. Outcroppings of pale rock marked the hills. Norse Heritage Hall sat on the west side of Gainesville, about fifty miles northeast of Atlanta. The massive spread of the Chattahoochee Forest had long ago swallowed