Battle Bond: An Urban Fantasy Dragon Series (Death Before Dragons #2) - Lindsay Buroker Page 0,63

didn’t know if it was weirder that I had taken the online test and could answer this or that she nodded sagely, as if she now knew everything about me. “I stand up for injustice.”

By shooting people who caused it. Had the original books mentioned assassins? I couldn’t remember.

“I would have guessed Slytherin, but I don’t judge. I just knit scarves. In your preferred colors. You would look fabulous in a vibrant red.”

“Good to know.”

Slytherin. That was what I got for bribing her.

The grinding noise was much louder inside. Martina headed toward the man making it—he was cutting wrought iron rods to uniform length—but my gaze went to a tall, stout woman in the back who looked like the female version of Dimitri.

There was a hint of the magical about her, and I guessed her a half- or quarter-blood. But of what species? Dwarf? Like Dimitri? Her short white-blonde hair had a frizzy kink to it that looked untamable, and with those shoulders, she could have defended a hockey goal without need of pads or a stick. She reminded me more of a troll.

All around her, stacks of stakes and artistically bent pieces of iron rose, most of them oozing a faint magic. Nothing was as strong as my weapons, but for passive protection, they could work to convince thieves to wander off and try another target.

Martina tried to introduce me to the metalsmith, who looked at my ass and gave her a thumbs-up—maybe this meant I was an acceptable client—but after a hurried hello, I went straight to the big lady.

“Hi, I’m Val.” I stuck out a hand.

The woman had been hunched over a worktable, her hand resting on an ornamental disk that looked like it would be welded to a gate. She looked at me and straightened, towering six inches taller than my six feet. Definitely troll blood. That was interesting because they weren’t known for being natural enchanters or craftsmen, though their shamans put together some legendary potions that Zoltan would know all about.

“Inga.” Her deep voice matched her barrel chest. She started to lift a hand to shake mine but paused and dropped it. “I know who you are.”

That sounded ominous.

Martina had caught up to me. “Inga, this is Val. She’s a Gryffindor.”

Inga’s blonde eyebrows twitched. “Is that right.” It wasn’t a question.

“So the internet test told me.” I lowered my hand.

Inga eyed Fezzik and Chopper, clearly having no trouble seeing the weapons that were invisible to most.

“Do you have a couple of minutes?” I asked. “I’d love to talk to you about your work.”

“I can’t believe the Mythic Murderer is in the market for a fence.”

Usually, only full-blooded members of the magical community knew my nicknames—and held a grudge against me. Inga must have had ties to her kin.

“I’m in the market for information, and I’m willing to pay.”

Martina’s forehead furrowed as she looked back and forth between us.

I put a hand on her shoulder. “If I buy a scarf, will you leave us alone for ten minutes?”

“I will for another fifty dollars.”

And Willard wondered why I insisted on being paid in cash and could only afford a one-bedroom apartment with a view of a brick wall.

“Easier money than knitting, huh?” I pulled out another bill and gave it to her.

“It doesn’t require me buying yarn or paying the Etsy fees.” Martina winked and slid it into her bra with the others.

Inga looked disgusted.

“Be careful,” Martina whispered to her before leaving. “I think she’s really a Slytherin.”

“No doubt,” Inga grumbled.

Bribing her might not be effective. I would have to figure out what I could offer her that she wanted. Information rarely came free, especially from someone who knew my reputation and didn’t like it.

“I believe I’ve seen your work in the ammo boxes of a couple of werepanthers,” I said, getting straight to the point. “They’re trying to run my friend, Nin, out of the magical-weapons-crafting business, and I object to that. Any chance you’d like to give up your side gig working for them if I can help find you something more profitable?”

“I wouldn’t take a gig from you even if it paid three times what I get working here.”

“What about if it paid better than you get working for the Northern Pride?”

“I don’t work for them anymore. Any ammo you saw was old.”

“Oh?” I hoped that didn’t mean I was wasting my time.

Inga bent over the disc again, crimping a pattern into it with a tool as palpable magic flowed from her fingers