The town centre nearest the Hudson estate looked much newer than the estate itself, and as we made our way through Michael explained that extensive damage in the early 1900s caused a redesign that unified the look of the place in the then-popular styles. Akshainie rode in the back seat, and when I glanced back to see if she was okay she made it clear she was fine aside from being bored by all the architecture talk. The Horn & Thistle was of a different era entirely. It was a mostly wooden structure, standing independent of the rows of buildings on either side of it, with a sign that had clearly been hand-lettered some generations past. It leaned slightly to the left, with a slate roof and small windows framing a crooked wall pierced by a narrow wooden door. The light from the windows was a warm glow in the fading evening light, and I found myself hoping for a cozy little fire in a quaint English pub. As we approached, however, the door flew open and a man was launched into the cobblestone walkway in the front, losing two teeth when he hit the surface, and an athletically-built dark elf appeared in the doorway.

“If I see your face round here again long as I live, Martin, I’ll slice it off!” she yelled. The man moaned without moving, so Michael stepped over him. “Mind what you bring to me today, Hudson,” she practically hissed, pointing at her new target. Akshainie smiled.

“He’s a priest, Aslaug,” Michael answered, gesturing toward me. “Surely you can behave yourself for a man of the cloth!”

“We’ll see,” she said, before turning around and heading inside. Michael turned back and shrugged, and Akshainie and I stepped over Martin and followed our host inside. The interior was actually much like I was hoping; there was a large hearth with a roaring fire off to the right, with booths lining the walls to our left and tables scattered around the room between us and the bar. The place was quiet, four men playing cards in one corner and one person at the bar. We took seats at a table near the fire.

“Good evening,” I said, when Aslaug brought us menus. Her eyes narrowed on me, then she slowly turned and stared at Akshainie for a moment. She grabbed another chair, sat down at our table, and leaned in.

“What’s the church doing with one of your ilk on their payroll?” she asked, leaning close to me.

“The people that know, trust me,” I answered. She smiled.

“But there are people who don’t.” She then turned to Akshainie. “And what are you doing here?”

“I’m with him,” Akshainie said, jabbing her thumb in my direction. “We have a mutual goal.”

“The Brood?” When we nodded, Aslaug grumbled and turned to Michael. “I told you to call the priest, I didn’t tell you to bring him here.”

“How did you know about me?” I asked.

“The Two told me to pass along a message.”

“But you knew he was an expert. Did these Two tell you that, as well?” Michael asked.

“That was someone else. You people eating or what?” She stood and put her chair back at the neighboring table. Akshainie and I picked up our menus to look them over.

“I’ll have my usual. If someone in your network knows about Benedict’s work, we would very much like to talk to them about what else they know.”

“Good luck with that.”

“You can’t put us in contact with them?”

“No better than Benedict can.”

“What makes you think that?” I asked. “The only people who know much about this work are in the Church, or Iravati, or…” I set my menu down. “Do you mean Tadzio?”

“The Iberian and I go way back. You pick something there?” She asked, tapping my menu. I nodded and ordered a shepherd’s pie and Akshainie ordered fish, and the three of us sat in silence while Aslaug collected the menus and slipped off to the kitchen.

“Who is this Tadzio?” Michael asked, softly, when we were alone.

“He’s a friend,” I said. “Human, but cursed with immortality for some five hundred years now.”

“There are surely worse curses.”

“That depends on what’s waiting for you on the other side.” Michael thought about that for a moment, then nodded slightly, before I continued. “He’s spent that time learning a great deal about the supernatural world, but he’s secretive and flighty. Sometimes I don’t hear from him for decades at a time, it’s always hit or miss whether I’ll be able to find him at all, and there’s no real way to know if he’s telling you everything when he does bother to show up.”

“So he’s useless to us, is what you’re saying.”

“Unless he shows up at the estate one day,” Akshainie said. “I’ve not known him long, but it seems his style.” Michael steepled his fingers and stared into the fire for a minute.

“We’re running out of leads,” he finally said.

​“Well,” I said, “if Matteson isn’t able to track the energy by then, we’ll slip into the spiritual realm tomorrow at the site and see if we can.” That seemed to satisfy him, and by the time Aslaug returned with our drinks we had shifted to more casual conversation. She was much more amenable to that, and we even got a couple stories about Michael out of her once the other patrons started slipping out. It quickly became a very pleasant evening, until Matteson called.

If any of our ancestors knew anything concrete about the Red Spiral, they didn’t write it or pass it down. I was going to have to seek alternative sources of information. So today, I made a stop off at The Horn & Thistle. It’s well known among the locals that the place dates back to the Danelaw; less commonly known is that the owner does, as well. She doesn’t hide it—hell, she doesn’t even try to look human—but people always seem to have some other explanation for her odd look and their aversion to the place. With her piercings and tattoos and white hair, the reigning theory for the last few decades has been that it’s a punk bar with a barkeep surprisingly fond of plastic surgery.

“Business or pleasure today, Mike?” Aslaug asked, fixing her solid black eyes on me as I sat down at the bar.

“Maybe a bit of both,” I answered. She snorted and leaned on the bar.

“I warned you, you’re no good doing both at once.” I chuckled.

“Then I’ll start with business.” She sighed and stood as another man sat down next to me.

“You at least planning to spend some of that money while you’re at it?” I nodded toward the bourbon, and she turned to fix my drink. As she drifted off to her task, the man next to me watched her go with a soft hum. He was clearly a few drinks into his day, which his breath confirmed as he turned to speak to me.

“You think she’s blue all the way down?” He asked with a waggle of his eyebrows. She is, of course. That’s just how her kind is when they aren’t trying to hide as human. The problem is that Aslaug is not a kind lover, and the places he wanted the conversation to go would be dangerous if realized. I still have an elbow that always knows when it’s about to rain.

“One of life’s great mysteries, mate,” I said, focusing my attention to getting the notepad from the inside pocket of my jacket. He either took the hint or got lost in his own reverie; either way, we were done discussing the bartender. She returned with my drink and took care of the other man as I waited. Once he was squared away, she turned back to me, and I laid my notepad on the bar.

“No,” she said, pushing it back toward me and stepping back to lean on the counter with her arms crossed.

“Oh, now you have to,” I said, flashing a smile that always gets me what I want around here, as I slipped the notepad back into my jacket. She growled, but after a minute gave a huff and threw her arms in the air.

“Fine. When I close to switch over for dinner.”

So I ordered some lunch and took a booth to wait. It was a couple hours and bourbons before she threw the last straggler out, locked the door, and slumped into the seat opposite me with a bottle of mead. Aslaug is a dark elf, native to one of the realms below Midgard. She doesn’t talk about how she got here, or why, but she did so alongside the vikings and then just never left. She’s a registered magical citizen, and part of that arrangement includes the occasional bit of information when the Hudson estate needs it. Her longevity and connections have made her contribution invaluable to us, but she’s well aware of what she holds over us and how much she can ask for it. So it was some surprise to me when, this time, she didn’t open with a demand.

“I hope you haven’t just been flashing that symbol around,” she said, before knocking back a large swig of her drink. I finished mine and slid the glass to the side.

“Would it be a problem if I started?”

“Not for me.” She glanced at my glass. “You want some?” I nodded, and she poured me a share before setting the bottle down.

“So what is this?”

“It’s called the Brood of Nachash. Very old cult, fancy themselves dangerous.”

“To who?”

“The gods.”

“Are they?” She considered the question a moment, then shrugged.

“Wouldn’t know. They’re not in my network.”

“Is that why we haven’t talked payment yet?”

“Oh, you’ll pay, Hudson. Just not me.” She reached into her bra and pulled out a small paper, with a phone number and a time written on it. “Some birds told me you’d be needing this.” I looked the paper over, then folded it and placed it into my pocket.

“And who will I be calling?”

“Catholic priest, one Father Benedict de Monte. He’s almost the closest thing to an expert walking the earth today.”

“Almost?”

“There’s one expert. If he wants you to find him, he’ll turn up. The priest is more reliable, and I know how you nobles love reliability.”

“Thank you, then. Do I happen to know these birds?”

“Everyone does. They just don’t all know it. But you’re on a schedule.” With that, she left the booth and went back to work. I knocked back the rest of my drink and let myself out.