Hunted (The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Six)

loudly informed the room, in case they missed it, that he’d been shot. Upper-class squeals and calls for emergency personnel filled the restaurant, but I blocked that out and kept my eye on Frigg and Odin. It seemed insane to me that they would go through that whole charade of a dinner just to kill me anyway—especially since they didn’t have Gungnir back and didn’t know where it was—but I had to suspect they were responsible, because they had good reason to kill me and they were the only ones who knew I was here, apart from the Morrigan. I ruled the Morriganout as a suspect, because she could have killed me anytime she wanted to in the last two millennia without any witnesses. The only possible reason to arrange it like this would be to blame it on the Norse—but why would she have cause to do that?
    Still, she obviously had known the shot was coming, or she wouldn’t have known when to push me. She must have divined it and, in so doing, might have seen other things.
    “Who pulled the trigger, Morrigan?” I asked, watching the two Norse gods and keeping my back to the wall.
    She shrugged. “I don’t know. I foresaw the attempt on your life, but the assassin is shielded from my sight. Tracking him or her down should provide us some after-dinner entertainment and will aid digestion.” She calmly rose from the table and tossed her napkin down. “Shall we begin?”
    “No, wait,” I said. “How do we know they didn’t order it?” I gestured at Odin and Frigg. Odin was looking up at the ceiling rather than at me or anything else. It was an odd moment for art appreciation. Frigg spoke instead.
    “Of course we didn’t order it. Odin is sending the ravens now to follow the shooter.”
    “Well, then, Odin’s using magic, isn’t he? I’d like to use some to heal this poor guy, if it’s all right with you.” Our waiter and the maître d’ had crouched down next to the sommelier, who was telling his colleagues that, if he died, he wanted all his worldly goods to be given to his hamster. I didn’t think it would hold up; he wasn’t of sound body and might not be of sound mind anymore.
    “No, let me do it,” Frigg said, coming around to help the sommelier. Her necklace flashed in the light of the chandelier. “He’s one of ours. You three go find the assassin.”
    “Go find someone who wants to kill me accompanied by a god who wants to kill me?” I said.
    Odin tore his gaze from the ceiling and spoke. “I don’t want to kill you; I want you to die horribly in Ragnarok. But not until you tip the scales in our favor.”
    “He will,” the Morrigan said, but it was unclear whether she was speaking of tipping the scales or dying horribly. Or both.
    Frigg knelt down next to the sommelier and laid a hand on his forehead. His eyes rolled up, locked on her face, and he quieted. The maître d’ rose to attend to other matters; there were customers to calm and emergency services to greet. Our waiter remained next to the sommelier.
    Even if Frigg and Odin weren’t directly behind taking a shot at me, it had to be someone they knew. I sincerely doubted Odin had been careless enough to reveal this meeting in someone’s hearing, but if it hadn’t been a careless word, then the security leak had to have come from some other source. Before the Morrigan could stop me, I triggered the charm on my necklace that would cast magical sight. Through that filter, I saw the white nimbus of magic around Odin’s gray head. Two strong ropes of it wound away and through the ceiling, which I assumed were his connections to Hugin and Munin. The rest of his body looked completely human; he was doing nothing but communicating with his ravens.
    Frigg was another matter. Her entire body was suffused with a soft white glow, though at the moment it was concentrated in two places: her right hand, placed on the sommelier’s forehead, and around the necklace she wore. Her hand was clearly serving as a chill pill for the panicked shooting victim, but what was that necklace doing?
    I moved away from my position on the wall, figuring it was safe now and the Morrigan would slap me out ofthe way of any further shots. As I crouched down next to Frigg and the sommelier, a hint of annoyance crept into her tone.
    “I told you I would take care of him,” she said.
    “You’re taking excellent care of him,” I agreed. “I wouldn’t dream of attempting to do any better. I’m curious about your necklace.”
    Her left hand drifted