Page 68 of Viking Vengeance Cruise

I also think her poor friend deserves to know, but I think I’ll keep that to myself for now.

“Thank you.” She presses her lips together. “If you don’t mind, would you keep that away from the other book club members? I’m not exactly ready to out myself to the masses. I don’t think I ever will be. In fact, I’m shocked I told you so freely.”

“I won’t tell a single book club member.”

Those outside of the book club are another story. Not that I’m a gossip, but I am a sleuth with some serious intel to share with my fellow detectives. There’s a difference. Mine involves a body count. Gossips only wish they had my credentials.

A thought comes to me, and I take a breath, feeling bold and most likely stupid. Historically, those two feelings travel together in my world. They even split the gas money.

“Can I ask you something random?”

“Sure.” She blinks my way. “It can’t get weirder than what I just confessed.”

“Freya, have you ever heard of someone named Magnus Darkwater?”

Magnus gasps violently beside me, a full, theatrical, ghostly gasp that only I can hear.

Freya flinches back slightly. “Wow. That’s a blast from the past. Why are you asking about him?”

My pulse picks up speed. “Just curious. Someone mentioned the name.”

Magnus growls as loud as a jet engine, and it’s all I can do not to cover my ears.

“Magnus Darkwater was part of Astrid’s LARP group.” She says it casually, as though this is common knowledge and not earth-shattering information. “Live-action role play. They’d spend weekends dressing up as Vikings, acting out battles and feasts and whatever else Vikings did for fun. It was very immersive and very committed.”

“He was a LARPer,” I say faintly as I turn to look at the LARPing menace hovering to my left.

“Yeah. Astrid was obsessed with it for a while. Must have been ten, twelve years ago? She’d come back from those weekends with stories about epic quests and dramatic betrayals.” Freya smirks. “And Magnus Darkwater, this guy who was completely smitten with her.”

“Smitten,” Magnus mutters. “I was devoted. There’s a difference.”

“What was he like?” I ask, working hard to keep my voice at a normal human register.

“Total sweetheart, actually. Kind of geeky. Very into the role-playing aspect.” Freya tilts her head, thinking. “His real name was Eugene something. Eugene Pemberton?”

“Eugene?” Magnus looks personally attacked. “I would never.”

Magnus lifts a brow.

“No, wait. Gerald. Gerald Winklebottom. Something ridiculous like that.”

I nearly choke on my own tongue.

Winklebottom.

I glance over at the overgrown Winklebottom in question, and he winces.

“He was an accountant,” Freya continues, gloriously oblivious to my crisis. “Used to give book club members discounts around tax season. Very generous. Very boring in real life, but he absolutely committed to the Magnus Darkwater persona on weekends. Shirtless, wielding a spear, the whole nine yards. He used to wear these boots that added like a foot to his height. He was a hoot.”

Magnus growls once again and, oddly, grows taller by the moment. It’s clear he no longer needs the shoes.

I’m picturing the business cards. Gerald Winklebottom, certified public accountant. Pillaging by appointment only. Now accepting new clients and blood feuds.

“She makes me sound pathetic,” Magnus grumbles.

No comment. A wise woman knows when to plead the Fifth, and I’m pleading it so hard right now I could use a gavel.

“Astrid dated him for a minute,” Freya says. “But I think she got bored. He was too... earnest, maybe? Too devoted. Astrid liked a challenge, and Gerald, or Magnus, whatever, was basically a puppy following her around.”