“When we get back to Merellä, I’ll talk to Calder and have him pull the books on the blodseider magick,” Elof said as we walked. He hadn’t changed much to go out—he’d been wearing a vest and tie, and he’d ditched the tie, unbuttoned his top shirt snaps, and left his vest open.

We walked to the bar by way of the rope bridge that connected to the lobby. It was a little wider than a sidewalk, made with wooden planks, and it was suspended from the treetops with an intricate netting made with rope and vines, presumably for safety and camouflage.

The dark water of the swamp was fifty feet below, and I watched it through the gaps between the boards and tried not to think about how it was only rope and branches preventing me from plummeting down into the alligator-infested waters below. Sun filtered through the canopy of leaves close above us, and the warm air was filled with sounds of birds and music from the bar.

“That probably is the best bet,” Pan said as we walked. “Doing more research when we get home.”

“Let’s make a deal,” Bryn said, just as we approached the entrance to the Vulture. Two driftwood vulture sculptures flanked the doors. “No talk about blood or family or conspiracies or work. For two hours.”

“That doesn’t leave us much to talk about,” Pan joked.

She stopped short, her expression as no-nonsense as her outfit—tank top with jeans—her hair left hanging wild and curly. “I just want nothing stressful for a couple hours.”

Elof smiled up at her. “It’s a deal.”

Inside the Vulture was an interesting mash-up of country and jungle safari. The ceilings were ten feet above us, supported by thick branches, and the floor was covered in sawdust, but that was only the entrance.

In reality, it was a sprawling bar with different-themed segments, with names like the Mudhole and the Dungeon. Last time I’d been here with Pan and Rikky, we’d gone to the Red Room, but this time Bryn bypassed it, and we settled on the Bridge. Its name was a real misnomer, since it was on the roof. But it was above the pathway that connected two trees, and it was outdoors, with only a vine trellis as a covering.

Bryn ordered us a round of shots. No sooner had she downed hers when she spotted the økkspill boards across the bar, mounted on the wall in the center of the roof patio. She asked how to play it, and after a cursory lesson, she was off to try her hand at it for herself.

Elof switched to drinking water and chatting with the bartender, but I decided to be more adventurous and followed Pan’s lead and ordered myself an Omte sangria. The shot of eldvatten had already made my stomach hot and bubbly, but the sangria left me pleasantly warm and relaxed.