Hammered (The Iron Druid Chronicles, #3)

by Kevin Hearne

But I’m here to tell you that they’re cute only so long as they’re small enough to step on. Once you’re facing a giant bloody squirrel the size of a cement truck, they lose the majority of their charm.

Those garden raiders would be stoppable at that size

“Of course that’s what the literature says,” I replied, “but that’s just the propaganda of the gods. The Eddas also tell you the truth of the matter if you read carefully. Ratatosk is the key to the back door of Asgard.”

every religion does this

The way I figure it, Ratatosk has to be an utter badass. Consider: Eagles normally eat squirrels, and malevolent wyrms named Nidhogg are generally expected to eat anything—yet neither of them ever tries to take a bite of Ratatosk. They just talk to him, never give him any guff at all, but ask him nicely if he’d be so kind as to tell their enemy far, far away such-and-such. And they say, ‘Hey, Ratatosk, you don’t have to hurry. Take your time. Please.’

That is a scary picture

The only reason we’ve never heard of anyone climbing Yggdrasil’s roots to get to Asgard is because you’d have to be nuts to try it.” “Right,” she said with a smirk. “And Ratatosk eats nuts.”

There’s a reason Bath & Body Works doesn’t have a line of products called Huge Fucking Squirrel.

The danger comes from the Romans. The Roman Fates, the Parcae, have sent Bacchus and his pards to slay the Norns, knowing that the Norns will not be able to see him coming.

So that should destroy one god who hates him

<It has been far too long since the gods have taken anyone’s nuts.> His euphemism startled me, until I remembered that I was talking to a squirrel; I confirmed through the images and emotions in our mental bond that he was using the expression to mean the defeat of an enemy, nothing more.

One scary squirrel

“I agree,” said imaginary Spock. “The additional intelligence might prove to be useful.”

I need too stop reading Spock in Logan's voice from Sander Sides

The source of my long attraction to Tahirah had been perfectly matched chemistry, of course, the same frisson that clearly existed between the Norse gods now snogging behind me. Her sharp wit kept up with mine, and her soft dark eyes soothed my restlessness and chained me willingly to her side. Her low musical voice entered my ears like new velvet, and her laugh was so pure that it struck a tuning fork against my bones and gave me shuddering chills down my spine.

Okay she certainly died

(I’m sorry, honey, but you can’t marry him. He’s the great-great-grandson of your brother, you see, who was born back in 1842).

Never stopped zues but sounds fun

That’s right, there’s free beer in Irish paradise. Everyone’s jealous.

And I learned that some people become distanced from humanity, severely troubled, and reclusive when they live too long. Sort of like vampires tend to do, only without the bloodsucking. If their minds aren’t trained like a Druid’s, they gradually collect neuroses over time, like sunbathers collect wrinkles. Immortali-Tea can’t fix batshit insanity.”

Another reason to worry about living longer

Your dream should be like a favorite old bone that you savor and cherish and chew upon gently. Then, rather than stealing from you a wasted sigh or the life of an idle hour, it nourishes you, and you become strangely contented by nostalgia for a possible future,

This is an uplifting idea

I had a girlfriend in San Diego in the early nineties who noticed that I was profoundly unfamiliar with modern junk food. One day as I dozed at the beach, she tested the boundaries of my ignorance by arranging an entire package of gummy worms across my body, assuring me when I opened an eye that these gelatinous cylinders were some sort of new spa treatment called “sun straws” with UV protection built in, and I gullibly accepted her explanation. I woke up with bright death trails of corn syrup crisscrossing my torso, silently and stickily accusing me of wormicide in the hot coastal sun. Even the mighty rinse cycle of the Pacific Ocean couldn’t wash them away; they clung to me like soul-sucking leeches. She wasn’t my girlfriend after that, and I moved out of San Diego that very night.

Sugar really is evil

The green cloth cover with gilt lettering and blind-embossed leaves finally got a reaction from Hal. “Is that … a first edition?” he asked. “Uh-huh. Extremely rare copy of Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. It

Sounds like a curious read

Hal shrugged. “Magic doesn’t scare me. Only silver.” I wondered what it would be like to be scared of only one thing.

So much that can kill us flesh bags

We had fought side by side and recognized that there was a patch of common ground between us, a sliver of ellipsoid in a Venn diagram of a witch and a Druid where we could meet—meet and pretend that the vast area of the spheres behind us was undiscovered country rather than our comfort zone.

Still prejudice I guess. But then again with so many witches out only for power it may be justified

“Thank you. Is there anyplace in particular I should look for you? I’d like to learn how to speak with a proper Polish accent.” She slung a smirk at me and said, “It’s safer if you don’t know.”

he had that coming

“Well, he’s a … he was … a squirrel.” “A squirrel!” the alpha spluttered. “You can’t trust a squirrel!” <I’m with the werewolf

Yet this one was valiant

“I destroy them.” Oberon spoke up. <Now, see, you can’t just drop a line like that without a little something extra. He should get Danny Elfman to compose a chilling soundtrack especially for him, so that when he says macho stuff he can play it back on one of those personal recorders and give the moment its proper melodrama. Or at least he could give us a “Mwah-ha-ha-ha!”>

The dog speaks the truth

“Say no more,” Leif interrupted. “I understand. I will simply have to kill them all myself.” <There he goes again. I’m telling you, Danny Elfman would love to get hold of those lines.> Not John Williams? <If you’ve got some hopelessly overmatched heroes fighting evil and some Imperial types marching, John Williams is your guy. You need a song to make people reach for a box of Kleenex, talk to Randy Newman. But if you want creepy atmospherics and spine-shivering chords to back up your casual death threats, you gotta bring in Danny Elfman.>

I love this dog

“No, I said squee.” “I am not familiar with this verb.” “It’s a relatively new exclamation. It’s a high-pitched noise of excitement one makes when confronted with a celebrity one worships.”

I am familiar with this sound. I make it when a character I like show up.

Authors aren’t huge celebrities to most people, but I’m a guy who appreciates a good story well told.

“No, Leif, that’s the honorary second name all celebrities are given by their fans. It’s not an insult, it’s a huge compliment, and he’s earned it. You’d like him. He dresses all in black like you. Read a couple of his books, and then when you meet him, you’ll squee too.”

True

“It properly flows? Are we having a pee pun party?” A slight tightening around the eyes was my only visual clue that Leif was amused. Otherwise his face remained impassive and his voice deadpanned, “If I do not aim carefully at my targets tonight, I might cause a big splash at the stadium.” “Oh, very punny. You will show them what yellow cowards they are,” I said. “Right after I flush them out of the crowd.” “You will rain down upon their porcelain skin a deluge of justice.” “Ugh! And I will have to wash my hands afterward.” I chuckled, and Leif’s face finally cracked into a grin. It felt good to laugh, but then I wanted to ask Leif if vampires ever peed. Since he’d never answer that, I asked him something else.

Now that is a party

Leif dismissed the point with a wave of his hand. “They will never admit the possibility. Science is so very sacred to them now, and scientifically vampires cannot exist, therefore we do not. Vampires are safe by this tautology alone. Any lab results they find outside the norm will be assumed to be contaminated.”

Once again this is just like the Dresden Files

and a line judge who’d thrown one too many flags and was “accidentally” knocked down by a “disoriented” player.

He had it coming! He had it coming! He ony had himself to blame

“I’ll give you a sensitivity point for noticing, though.” <And that brings your grand total up to one. Congratulations!> Oberon said.

<You’ve never done that for me! Why haven’t you done that for me?> Because I can’t. Bacon lattes don’t exist. <Untrue! Logically it must be so. Vampires exist, werewolves exist, and faeries exist. If all those impossible creatures exist, then so do bacon lattes! We could go get one at Starbucks right now.> Oberon, seriously, I don’t believe there’s any such thing. I was just making a point. <You can’t fool me! It has to be on their secret menu! That mermaid on the cup is smiling because she knows where the bacon lattes are!> Come on, Oberon, you’re being silly. <No, I’m not! What’s silly is paying five bucks for hot milk and flavored syrup! But now I see what’s really been going on all this time! They charge you all that money because they need it for the R & D! Somewhere on the outskirts of Seattle, there’s a secret facility with higher security than Area 51, and inside there are men with poor eyesight and bad haircuts wearing white lab coats, and they’re trying to make the Holy Grail of all coffee drinks.> The bacon latte? <No, Atticus, I already told you those exist! I’m talking about the prophecy! “Out of the steam and the foam and the froth, a man in white with poor eyesight will craft a liquid paradox, and it shall be called the Triple Nonfat Double Bacon Five-Cheese Mocha!”> Oberon, what the fuck?

Got this hound a sword for his quest

The crease deepened. “Hold on a moment. They sound like assholes.” I blinked, uncertain I’d heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon?” Jesus grimaced and pointed at his head. “It’s this tiny human brain—I have to have a filing system for all this information or I can’t keep track of it all. It sounds like these guys would be filed under Assholes Who Do Evil Shit in My Name.” “Jesus. I mean, wow. That’s the name of one of your files?” “One of my largest, unfortunately. But I have it broken down into subfolders. Here we are. Assholes Who Think They’re Entitled to Judge and Kill People in My Name.”

This is officially my favorite quote

The manager objected and gave chase. “Oi! Pay first, then run away screaming if you want!”

USA!!

“What Mr. Magnusson means is that maniacs drive like vampires,” Leif explained. “The esteemed leader of our law firm fails to give me proper credit.”

Empty night

“Oh noes, kitteh haz major angriez!” I said. I turned around to share a laugh with my companions and found them glaring at me. “What?” I asked. Leif shook a finger and said in a low, menacing tone, “If you tell me I have to talk like an illiterate halfwit to fit into this society, I will punch you.”

Poor ancient vampire

“I admit no such thing. They will blame fires on undetected flammable gases or fluids. And the coroner who suggests that those bodies are vampires or anything close to undeath will lose his job. Whatever they figure out will either be squashed or disbelieved by a public raised on a diet of science and skepticism.”

See Dead Beat by Jim Butcher

I reflected on the paradox of nature: Some people wanted to escape it and others couldn’t wait to get back to it, never realizing that it said more about their nature than about nature itself.

Always a fun idea to think about

I say “monster” only because that is what people tend to call creatures that could eat men like hors d’oeuvres. The surface boiled violently to herald its coming, and I sang of peace and conversation and the pleasure of knowledge won and knowledge shared, and then it erupted from the sea.

We do judge many things stronger than us to be evil

She—for the creature was female

See that Atticus

That was the attraction of the sirens: not promises of power or riches, but bewildering, tantalizing prophecies that made men leap from their ships to go ask the crazy bitches what the fuck they were talking about. Or, if that didn’t work, then they leapt when the sirens said they knew what would happen to the sailors or to the sailors’ families. Odysseus lost his shit and demanded to be freed from the mast when they sang their prophecies about Penelope and Telemachus.

I like this version

Recognizing the danger, I closed my eyes and began to sing: “ ‘The farmer in the dell, the farmer in the dell, hi-ho the derry-o, the farmer in the dell. The farmer takes a wife’—oh, bugger, that won’t do at all! Help me, guys, help me, I need a different song!” “What are you on about, Atticus?” Gunnar asked. “I need a vastly irritating, mind-numbing song to sing that will prevent me from reliving what I just saw. I have an intense need to forget it.” “Oh, excellent plan. I’m with you,” Gunnar said, every bit as disturbed as I was. “How about ‘El Paso’ by Marty Robbins?” “That’s good, it’s a catchy tune, but it won’t reduce us to catatonia quickly enough.” “I have it!” Väinämöinen said, unexpectedly chiming in. “ ‘It’s a Small World, After All.’ ” “That’s perfect!” I cried. “That’s just the tonic we need in a land of giants!

It's comedy scenes like this that keep me coming back for more

Suttung the frost Jötunn stared at us in perplexed silence, embarrassed at his faux pas and half convinced that we were all mad.

Only half?

The frost giants needed no convincing that Thor needed killing. He’d slain the family members or ancestors of everyone in the village, so once they were convinced they had a hamster’s chance in Hel of surviving, asking them to come along was like asking a starving man if he’d like a bucket of chicken.

Everyone really does hate Thor

Druid’s Log, December 3: “Hitching a ride on a frost giant’s back is both entertaining and eco-friendly.” First, the greenhouse-gas emissions are almost nil; you get to hear all about the many splendid beauties of Freyja; the wind noise is minimal, aside from the occasional graah; and since you don’t have to steer, you can simply enjoy the scenery from ten feet above the ground. On the downside, they smell like ice cubes made of sweat instead of water.

I slipped my wallet and cell phone into Väinämöinen’s pack, because rule number one of committing naughty shit is that you don’t take ID with you.

Always remember this on magical quests

That was calculated to make him throw his hammer at me. Leif and I knew from experience how the male psyche works: If one weapon doesn’t work, switch to something else and try to shove it sideways through an orifice far too small to allow for comfortable entry.

Like babies puting pegs in the wrong holes

It was an odd juxtaposition of images, but she was an odd deity, equal parts fertility, beauty, and war. I think the fertility and war must have appealed to the frost giants every bit as much as the beauty—and the influence of war, no doubt, colored her appearance somewhat. Her jaw was just a bit too square, too mannish, to be called truly beautiful in my eyes. She worked for the frost giants, though.

All beauty is subjective

He removed the fur to reveal another layer of fur underneath—his own hairy arms and shoulders sprouting from his thin sleeveless shirt. I grinned as I camouflaged his cloak on top of the coffins. Americans have a visceral fear of body hair—a fact exploited by hippies, bikers, and construction foremen—so Perun’s appearance would likely scare everyone in the bar, including the bikers.

This will be good

Perun took a few cold swallows and then set down the mug abruptly, shuddering as some of it dribbled down his beard. “Americans like this?” he asked. “They say they do. Bestselling drink in the States.” “Should I give them my respect or my pity?”

This is why i dont drink

Atticus has an expression that sounds a bit weird—“May harmony find you,” he says, and people look at him like he’s trying to say “May the Force be with you” and failing—but now those words make perfect sense. That is the joy I feel, the fulfillment, the purity of thought and deed perfectly matched, the grateful acknowledgment and acceptance of my place on earth: It is harmony.

A good state to occupy