Taming The Hunter. Michele Hauf

standby seats for the flight to Hawaii. I’m so sorry, Mr. Winthur. You know how funerals are. Can’t plan for them.”

      “Of course. Well. Does not exactly mean no, not at all, or maybe, I might know where the dagger is?”

      “It means maybe, I don’t know where it is. I mean, I do know where it is, but I don’t have access to it. We were going to close the shop, because I’m not much for handling inventory and the finer items my brother stocks, but I do like to hand out my cookies to the locals. Help yourself.” The woman gestured to a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the counter that Dane hadn’t noticed before.

      Now that he did, his frozen senses thawed and the scent of sugar and chocolate teased sweetly. He picked up a cookie. It was warm, bless the cookie gods. Had he been annoyed about something? Who could remain angry when biting into chewy, warm chocolate and sugar?

      A funeral. He couldn’t possibly be rude and insist on anything, but he would nudge as best he could. “How long will your brother be away?”

      “Four or five days. The flight takes almost a whole day, so that’s two days of travel time right there.”

      “The funeral is in Hawaii?” A much better place—for a vacation or a funeral—than this Arctic tundra. “Lucky fellow.”

      “Ah? Hmm...” She tugged the plate back to her side of the counter.

      “Sorry. I mean, really sorry. For the, er, bereaved.” So he wasn’t a master at compassion. Feelings were so...complicated. “Did Mr. Stuart leave the blade in a safe or some such?”

      “Oh, he did, but it’s a newfangled fancy-doodle kind of thing that requires him putting his eye up to it to open.”

      “Oh. Biometric, eh? Quite a fancy-doodle thing, indeed.”

      Especially for a run-down little shop that currently offered a sale on 1970s disco balls, as displayed in the front window. After New Years Discount! Get Them Before They’re Gone! Had he stepped into the seventies?

      “I really do need to get my hands on that dagger,” Dane said. “The information I’ve collected about it states it once belonged to Edison Winthur. He was my father.”

      “Oh, my. That’s mighty interesting. He’s passed?”

      “Yes, when I was very young.”

      “I’m so sorry.” The cookie plate was pushed closer. “Harold should have left the dagger out for me to sell to you, but he’s always been so careful about the weapons he sells. High security, and all that fiddle-faddle.”

      “Fiddle-faddle can be a bother.” Dane crossed his arms high on his chest and fought to keep from asking if he could take a look at the safe. But it would be impossible to crack if it required the owner’s retinal scan.

      “The agency I work for has a penchant for tracking down weapons with a fantastical legend attached to them.” He never explained the Agency beyond that. What people didn’t know regarding the Agency, they didn’t need to learn. “I’m also a geologist. The metals used in ancient swords and blades fascinate me.”

      “I thought geology was rocks?” the old woman asked.

      “It is, but the cold iron used in the—” Dane winced and nodded. “Yes, just rocks. Uh, so your brother will be back...when?”

      “Friday.”

      And today was Monday. Must he stay here an entire week? In what closely resembled a storm-ravaged tundra? And the old man had insisted someone pick up the dagger in person. He hadn’t wanted to send it by post. A wise decision when it came to weapons that could possess a volatile nature. Of course, Mr. Stuart couldn’t know about that. Or could he?

      Hmm...

      Dane smiled at the woman through a tight jaw.

      “Will it be a problem for you to stay in our fine little town for a bit? There are hotels along Highway 10, not far from here. Oh! And there’s the Winter Fantasy Ball this evening over at the Bleekwood mansion. You might stop in. I suspect the local girls would love to marvel over such a fine, er, studious fellow as yourself.”

      Dane nodded appreciatively even as he felt the back of his neck heat. A geriatric flirting with him? It was sweet. But a week in this icebox? He wasn’t sure his sand-and-surf blood could manage that long without freezing.

      A biometric safe. Just his luck.

      On the other hand, he did favor a rousing adventure. Learning to survive in the icy tundra? Sign him up!

      He shoved a hand in his pocket, where he touched the comforting curve of a plastic Bic lighter. He always carried one with him. He wasn’t a smoker, but when he became agitated, he calmed himself by flicking it over and over.

      Hey, to each his own.

      He palmed another cookie and bit into it. “Tell me the best place to stay around here?”

       Chapter 2

      “Oh, Eryss! You look gorgeous!”

      Eryss Norling turned to spy her coworker Mireio Malory flouncing toward her in an eighteenth century ball gown, replete with a pink powdered wig and décolletage cut low enough to make promises without a single spoken word. Eryss hugged her and smiled at Mireio’s signature sugar-candy scent, then tucked a stray bright red curl up under her friend’s wig.

      “You must be Marie Antoinette?” Eryss guessed.

      “Natch,” Mireio said, with a flutter of her lush false lashes. “She’s my spirit animal, you know.”

      “I thought that was a mermaid.”

      “That, too! And in a poufy dress! But look at you, all silver and blue and looking like the Snow Queen herself. Love the wig.”

      Eryss adjusted the too-tight tinsel wig with a tug above her ear. She’d found it at the local costume shop just down the street from the brewery. “I wanted to get into the snow fantasy. Winter is my season.”

      “And you never feel cold. Always so warm.” She clasped Eryss’s hand and squeezed. “See? You’re warm as toast. And my tits are in desperate need of a nice warm sweater. Or I’ll take a handsome male head lying on them if I can manage that. The eligible bachelor pickings tonight are slim. Have you seen Valor?”

      “I think she headed to the kitchen to check the keg. We should have enough Iced Kiss for tonight, but there’s a lot of people here.”

      The ice beer they brewed had a high alcohol content—and a touch of wintergreen mixed with quartz gem elixir—and they served it in shot glasses shaped like icicles.

      The town’s annual Winter Fantasy Ball, held in the Bleekwood mansion every January, had been featuring The Decadent Dames’s microbrews for four years, as long as they had been in business in Anoka. Eryss was proud of their beers, but despite the rumors, she’d never confess that the four witches who owned the place also stirred in a bit of magic with each batch.

      “I’m heading home,” Eryss said. “Your eligible bachelor count is correct. Unfortunately. And I’m restless. I need to ground myself in the conservatory.”

      “Still having those dreams about the man? I thought you were going to cast the anacampserote?”

      “I did perform it on solstice eve. Haven’t had another dream until last night. I dreamed again of the great love I once lost. I can never see his face. It’s a portent, I know. But with the spell cast, I should be able to recognize his soul should he come into my life. Though, you know, it might not be today or tomorrow. For all I know, it could be thirty years from now.”

      “I don’t think so. You will find your great love when you are still young. Maybe you’ll get him for your birthday?”

      Eryss turned