The Grendel Affair: A SPI Files Novel (39 page)

Rolf’s sword. The family heirloom.

Ian had never used swords before coming to work at SPI. But he’d gotten plenty of training since then. Since we fought some old-fashioned monsters, like Rolf said, sometimes Old World weapons worked best. The creature had closed distance, and Ian had waited until the last instant to strike.

Rolf’s sword had cut into the thing like hot butter. If it’d been any other night than New Year’s Eve, all of Midtown Manhattan would have heard its screams.

The creature vanished, disappeared, ran back to whatever dimension it’d come from with its either figurative or literal tail between its legs.

Turned out that Rolf Haagen’s family heirloom was one of those swords that had a name.

Gram.

His ancestor had quite a name, too.

Sigurd.

Lars Anderssen confirmed the bloodline. Dang.

I didn’t know whether to be really impressed that I knew the descendant of a legendary hero of Norse not-mythology, or to be really worried for the safety and continued well-being of the Norse gods.

“Gram can kill dragons, right?”

Ian nodded. “The boss said she knew the moment Rolf brought it into the complex. Apparently that was one of the things Lars Anderssen was talking to her about when they first arrived. Letting her know it was here, and that he wouldn’t have allowed Rolf to bring it except that it’d proven to be effective against grendels.”

“And mystery ghouls.”

“Thankfully.”

“That makes two times you’ve hurt him bad,” I said quietly.

Ian shrugged. “I’ll just look over my shoulder more often.”

Ian’s tone was casual, but I knew he had to be more worried than he let on. The creature had been hungry for revenge after the first time. Now, vengeance had probably become its new life goal, if the thing even qualified as living.

“You can look over your shoulder,” I told him. “But I’ve got your back.”

His smile was warm. “Thanks, partner.”

Impulsively, I reached down and took his hand. He didn’t say anything else and neither did I. We also hadn’t said anything about the New Year’s Eve kiss, and that was fine with me, at least for now. Yeah, after my heart rate had returned to normal, I’d been a little embarrassed; okay, a lot embarrassed. I was sure it’d come up when the time was right—or the most awkward. I told myself that what had happened had happened, and there was no taking it back, not that I wanted to. It’d also been extremely nice, and I wouldn’t be opposed to it happening again—under circumstances that didn’t involve multiple near-death experiences.

We both tensed at the sound of heavy boot steps running toward the break room.

Calvin stuck his head around the corner. “We got a call.”

Ian stood. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I wasn’t a commando.

Calvin grinned and jerked his head at Ian, but spoke to me. “My man here says you’re ready for some on-the-job training.”

I froze. “On the job?”

Ian smiled. “Training.”

“We got report of a problem up at the Cloisters. Think I heard Roy say something about gargoyles. Fortunately, the museum’s closed today, so we don’t have to worry too much about being quiet.”

I smiled, slow and probably dangerous looking. Ian didn’t look like he minded.

I grabbed a handful of cookies. “Let’s go.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lisa Shearin is the national bestselling author of the Raine Benares novels, a series of six comedic fantasy adventures. Lisa is a voracious collector of fountain pens both vintage and modern. She lives in North Carolina—the land of barbeque and sweet tea—with her husband, two spoiled-rotten retired racing greyhounds, and a Jack Russell terrier who rules them all.

For more information about Lisa and her books, visit her at lisashearin.com.