I look over at Grim, wondering if I should ask to talk to Gunnar alone. I don’t want to embarrass him or get him in trouble. The blasé look on Grim’s face doesn’t give me any answer.
“You haven’t been doing your job, Berserker,” Grim states. I gape at him a little.
Gunnar turns his head slowly and examines Grim, who is seated in the chair directly across from me. “What did you say?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Gunnar,” I call his name before he can rail at Grim, who would probably be completely unaffected by Gunnar’s outburst. “The witch I ran into at the club—the male witch? He was dirty. Tasted like death.” I glance at Grim again. “No offense, because you don’t taste like death; you always bring me yummy treats.” Grim lets the tiniest grin slip over his mouth before he regains his stoic bearing.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Gunnar snaps at Grim.
“I’m talking about the dead Kappa whose soul I carried last week, and the Lämpmen the week before. It’s been happening for the last several months.”
Gunnar looks down, and I can see his eyes tracking from left to right. “How could that be? Where did this happen?”
“Far from here, but getting closer,” Grim divulges.
Calix comes strutting in through the door but slows once he assesses the mood of the room. “What did I miss?” He looks between us.
“I need to go,” Gunnar announces, standing. He faces me, his hands already balled up into tight fists, his shoulders bunched with tension. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Can you tell me about the witch from the club: his name, what he looked like, anything?”
I search my mind, but he was just another face. “He wasn’t one of the people Vanessa was having her meeting with or whatever. He was just a guy—nothing special about him except how he felt, and his aura, which was oily.” I grimace, wishing I could give him more.
Gunnar nods his head jerkily. “I’ll find out what’s going on.” With a swiftness I would expect from Calix, Gunnar leans down and steals a kiss from my lips. He’s gone in the next second, literally disappearing right before my eyes.
I blink several times, wondering if I somehow missed something. “You broke the no-touching rule!” Calix shouts into the air as if Gunnar can still hear him.
“Seems like we have a mystery afoot, Watson.” I rub my hands together, mostly to distract myself from wanting to touch my lips where Gunnar just planted one on me.
“Let’s hope the Berserker doesn’t get in over his head.” Calix frowns. “How did you cross paths with the witches?”
I curl up on the couch. “I went to the club to find Gunnar and ran right through a witch’s ward, apparently. I honestly never even knew they were real before that.”
Calix takes a seat near me on the couch, and his arm goes to the back as he turns his body toward mine. I like the way he gets close to me without demanding it. It’s almost subtle.
Grim is watching us from the chair, I can feel his eyes on me. “Would you recognize the witch if you saw him again, or the feeling he gave you?” Grim inquires.
“I would, now that I know what I’m looking for.” A slow grin builds on my lips. “Why, did you want to go to Rumors and see if we can find him?”
“The Berserker would hate it—we should go.” Calix doesn’t bother to hide the delight he would get from pissing off Gunnar.
“Youhavebeen using a lot of energy,” Grim comments.
I catch on immediately. “I am feeling rather peckish.”
“A girl’s gotta eat. Let’s go.” Calix pops up from the sofa and grabs my hand to bring me with him.
I look down at my yoga pants and slouchy t-shirt. “I need to change. I’ll only be a few minutes.” I take off upstairs to change, pulling my shirt off as I hit the third-floor landing. I want to look hot, but I don’t have a lot of time. Scanning my closet, I get an idea when my eyes land on a pair of black, calfskin leather pants. “Too easy,” I mutter, while unclipping them from the hanger.
Ten minutes later, I’m hopping down the stairs with a heavy pair of Doc Martens on my feet. “Ready!” I call out when I don’t see Grim or Calix. “They better not have left me.”
“Not a chance,” Calix announces, as he comes around the corner with what looks like a chicken leg gripped in his hand. His eyes scan my bright teal bra which shows beneath my mesh shirt, then move down to my low-rise leather pants. “Pretty, pretty bird.” He licks his lips before taking a huge bite out of the meat in his hand.
Grim walks in behind Calix and separates himself from the other man by stepping a few feet to the left. “Would you like me to get you a cloak?” His eyes scan my body, too, the little rivers of ember bleeding into the sooty ash color of his eyes.
I do a little spin. “Are you worried I’ll get cold?”
“Not especially,” Grim deadpans. I love how he can look and sound so completely unaffected, but his eyes tell an entirely different story.
Calix wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “It would be a sin to hide that beauty under a cloak, so keep the robes for yourself, Death.” Calix extends his elbow to me after pitching what’s left of the chicken leg into the trash bin. “I wanna show off my queen.”
