I reached over and squeezed Curran’s hand. “Come on, you, me, a platter of barely seared meat, it will be great. If we see the navigators, we can make fun of the way they hold their forks.

Good morning, Ms. Daniels. I’m calling to inform you that Julie has left our premises.” Not again. Curran’s arms closed around me and he hugged me to him. I leaned back against him. “How?” “She mailed herself.

I can make some calls. There is a guy. Dagfinn Heyerdahl. He used to be with Norse Heritage Foundation." Norse Heritage Foundation wasn't so much about heritage as it was about viking, in the most cliché sense of the world. They drank huge quantities of beer, they brawled, and they wore horned helmets despite all historical evidence to the contrary. "Used to be?" Curran asked. "They kicked him out for being drunk and violent." Curran blinked. "The Norse Heritage?" "Mhm." "Don't you have to be drunk and violent just to get in?" he asked. "Just how disorderly did he get?

You said sloppy! Look, I didn't even use my sword; I hit him with my head, like a moron.

Cajun stomp?" "You heard me, swamper. And keep your hands to yourself.

When you walk a dog on a short leash, she's close enough to bite you.

What happened to the alpha-wolf?" "LEGOs." "Legos?" It sounded Greek but I couldn't recall anything mythological with that name. Wasn't it an island? "He was carrying a load of laundry into the basement and tripped on the old set of LEGOs his kids left on the stairs. Broke two ribs and an ankle.