Kate Daniels 06 - Gunmetal Magic

a feeling she does only what is required of her, and talking to me or Amanda wasn’t required.”
    “What about the necklace?” I asked.
    Lawrence took several shallow rapid breaths.
    We waited.
    “It was a gift,” he finally said. “It arrived at the house one Christmas, addressed to Colin. He took it out of the box—itwas in a glass case—and tried to open it, and then Aurellia took it out of his hands. They put the necklace, still in its glass box, and displayed it on the wall in their foyer really high up. Amanda was about fifteen at the time. She loved it. She said she used to stand there and look at it all the time, because it was so beautiful. She was never allowed to touch it. They had a break-in six months ago. The burglars took some jewelry, money, and somehow got the necklace down and made off with it. She was really upset about it.”
    Lawrence looked at his hands. “I saw it at a pawnshop a week ago. I bought it for her. I…I killed her. She was so nice, so beautiful. She would sing little songs sometimes to herself when she was thinking about something or when she made coffee. And I killed her. She put it on and she just…she just died. I was right there and I couldn’t do anything…”
    We stayed with him for another ten minutes, but Lawrence was done.
    Ghastek waited for us in the hallway.
    “Please tell me he’s on suicide watch,” Curran said.
    “Of course,” the Master of the Dead said. “He is under the care of a therapist, he’s given access to the priest, and he is watched even when he sleeps. However, if he truly wants to kill himself, there is nothing any of us can do. It is unfortunate. He is nearing the end of his five-year journeymanship. We’ve invested a lot of money and time into his education.”
    Of course. How silly of me to forget: the People didn’t have employees, they had human assets, each of which came with a price tag attached.
    “I’ve examined your drawing of the writing on the necklace,” Ghastek said. “You said it appears to be a runic script of some sort but the characters are unfamiliar to me. How accurate is this drawing?”
    “As accurate as humanly possible,” I told him.
    He raised his eyebrows. “Are you familiar with the term ‘human error’?”
    Are you familiar with the term “knuckle sandwich”?
“The person who copied the runes from the necklace is an expert at what she does. Just because you don’t recognize the script doesn’t mean it’s not runic in origin. The Elder Futhark alphabet has undergone many modifications over the years.”
    Ghastek took out the copy of Julie’s drawing. “I’ve studied this subject extensively and I’ve never seen a rune like this.” Ghastek pointed to a symbol that looked like an X with a double left diagonal arm.
    Well, of course. He didn’t know it, therefore it couldn’t possibly be a rune. “Both Fehu and Ansuz runes have double arms. Why couldn’t this rune have one? If you tossed it into a collection of runes and told a layman to pick out one that doesn’t belong, he wouldn’t grab that one.”
    Ghastek gave me a condescending look. “The term ‘layman’ refers to a nonexpert by definition. Of course a nonexpert wouldn’t be able to single out this rune, Kate. We could throw stars and spirals into the mix and he would be unlikely to pick those out either.”
    You conceited ass.
    Curran cleared his throat.
    I realized I had taken a step toward Ghastek. No killing, no punching, no destruction of property. Right.
    “We’re taking this matter to an expert,” Curran said.
    “I think it’s prudent, considering the circumstances.”
    Oh, well, so good of him to give us his permission.
    “Where is this expert?” Ghastek asked.
    “At the Norse Heritage Foundation,” I told him.
    Ghastek wrinkled his face into a semblance of a disgusted sneer, as if he’d just stuck his head into a bag of rotten potatoes.
    “You’re going to see the neo-Vikings?”
    “Yes.”
    “They’re ignorant, loud buffoons. All they do is sit in their mead hall, get drunk, and punch each other when their masculinity is threatened.”
    “You don’t have to come,” I told him.
    Ghastek let out a long-suffering sigh. “Very well. I’ll get my vampire.”

CHAPTER 5

    I was riding a horse called The Dude. The Dude, who also answered to Fred if he was feeling charitable, was what the Pack stables had called a “Tennessee Walker Blue Roan.” The blue roan part was somewhat true—the horse