Ragnvald tapped his band. “This never comes off. Best to remember it now. But come on, we’ll talk business.” He raised his voice, shaking the nearby cups. “Someone bring drinks to our guests.”

Why did everyone have to be so damn loud all the time?

Ragnvald nodded to a side table. “Please.”

He took a seat and I sat across from him. Curran joined me. The vampire tried to follow but a large woman in chain mail barred his way.

A girl half my age swept by and slammed two giant tankards filled with beer on the table. Ragnvald held his up. I smashed my tankard against his. Beer splashed. We raised the tankard and pretended to take much bigger gulps than we actually did.

Curran drank his beer. Apparently, my taking the lead meant he went mute.

The young woman sashayed over to Ascanio and Derek and led them to a neighboring table. Judging by how hard her hips were working, she was open for business.

“So, what brings you to our mead hall?”

“I’m looking for Dagfinn.”

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.”