Gunmetal Magic: A Novel in the World of Kate Daniels

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