Erik raced out of the museum, holding his earpiece with one hand. He could hear his partner, Gunnar, speaking rapidly.
“I’ve got a visual. She’s heading across the rooftops toward the east.”
“Copy that,” he replied. He shook his left hand, which still stung from the unexpected blast of burning magic it had received. “Is she alone?”
“Negative.”
Shit. “How many?”
“I count three.”
He made it to his rental car and threw it into reverse, barely looking to make certain that there was nobody in the way. He rubbed his hand over the wet blood on his slacks and scowled at the stain.
“Known quantities?” he asked.
“Yes,” Gunnar answered, sounding regretful. “They’re the brothers.”
Erik cursed in every language he could muster, spewing foul invectives to vent his anger. This was not supposed to happen, not now. The barrow had been plundered, and Hakon’s body was lying in that museum, just waiting. Now the brothers were in town.
His team had crossed paths with the brothers before. Ivar, Knut, Arne and Bjorn were formidable fighters and hired killers. They had been Erik’s particular enemies for years.
“I see you,” Gunnar coached from his over watch position. “Keep heading east three blocks. They’ve gone into the fourth building on the left.”
“Residential or business?”
“Residential.”
“Get Rolf and Magnus to guard the museum vault and meet me at the building.”
“They’re already on the way.”
He drove as quickly as he could in city traffic. The urgency of his need to intercept that sword made his heart race, and he gripped the steering wheel to calm himself.
Don’t panic, he thought. That won’t help.
He managed to make it to the building without killing himself or anyone else, which he counted as a victory. There were no parking places on the street, so he simply parked the car and turned on the hazard lights. Over the honking objections of the people behind him, he sprinted into the apartment building.
It was a surprisingly rundown place, with the smell of rats and urine in the entryway. He found the stairwell and took the steps two at a time, charging up toward the roof, hoping that he would meet the thief and her accomplices on the way down.
“I’m in,” Gunnar said in his ear. “Taking position to watch the exit.”
“There had better be only one way out.”
“I’ve got Hrothgar coming to mind the back.”
He heard rapid footsteps approaching, racing down the stairs toward him. He pulled his sidearm and pointed it up the steps, waiting.
Bjorn was the first one to appear. His name meant ‘bear,’ and it suited him perfectly. His eyes widened, and then he grinned, flashing long black fangs. Their tips were a stunning red.
“Huntsman!” he called to his fellows.
Erik shot him in the face.
The man’s big body tumbled down the stairs, and Erik stepped around it, heading up. He could hear one of the brothers shouting.
“Sigrunn! Give me the Sword!”
He proceeded cautiously, with his gun still aimed upward. Above him, the largest of the brothers, Ivar, leaned over the railing then ducked back, avoiding the silver bullet that Erik shot in his direction. The projectile clanged off of the metal beams supporting the stairs and ricocheted twice before it buried itself into the wall.
Another of the brothers, the youngest, Arne, leaped over the rails and landed in front of Erik. He slashed at him with his left hand, his fingers hooked into claws. Erik ducked, and the vampire caught a fistful of plaster from the wall behind him. He growled and tried again with the other hand.
This time when Erik shot, he didn’t miss. Arne’s body rolled down the stairs to join Bjorn’s on the landing below.
“Arne!” Sigrunn, the woman who had stolen the sword from the museum, screamed.
Erik charged up the stairs just in time to see the middle brother, Knut, dragging Sigrunn through a doorway and into one of the interior corridors. Ivar, the last brother on the stairs, whispered words of power and threw a handful of dust at him. In mid-air, the dust became an impassable wall of tangled branches, studded with long, glistening thorns.
He knew from past experience not to touch that wall. Cursing again, he raced back down the stairs to doorway on that level, heading into the interior of the building, as well.
He reached the corridor just as the elevator dinged to mark its passing. He activated his earpiece and spoke.
“Coming down.”
“I’ve got them.”
Gunnar sounded confident, but Erik was less sure. He went back into the stairwell.
He should have known that a single bullet, even a silver one, would not keep the Draugr down. Both Arne and Bjorn were struggling to sit up, recovering and healing as he emerged from the corridor. He didn’t have time to properly decapitate them, so he shot them each in the head once more. At least it would keep them quiet for a few minutes longer.
He ran down the stairs, hearing the sound of battle in the foyer as he approached. Shouts and the clang of metal led him like a beacon. He reached the bottom floor just as a brilliant flash of green light erupted, searing his eyes and making his ears ring with the hum of magic. Sigrunn was using the Rune Sword.
Ivar saw him coming and flung a hand axe at him. Erik dropped to one knee and fired, hitting Sigrunn between the shoulder blades. She screamed and turned away from Gunnar, who was lying on the ground, bleeding heavily.
Knut, the last brother, grabbed her. “Let’s go!” he shouted to her in their native tongue, Old Norse. He caught his brother by the arm, as well. “Go!”
Erik pursued them out onto the street, where the three Draugr took flight. He emptied his clip, trying and failing to bring them down.
“Damn,” he spat. Astrid would have his head for this.
He went back into the building and found Gunnar cradling his arm, which had been deeply wounded by Ivar’s axe. Erik knelt beside him.
“You’re lucky to still have that hand.”
“I know. Hopefully I’ll have it a while longer.” He glanced at the stairs. “Where are the other brothers?”
Erik grimaced. “Down, but not out. I’ll be back.”
He picked up the axe and went to finish the job his bullets had started.