Read Online Hammered [3] by Kevin Hearne - Free Book Online Page B

moment,” I said, and I exited the kitchen for the living room, where her laptop had access to Wi-Fi in the building. I Googled “salad spinner changed my life” and got more than six thousand hits. There was also a Salad Spinner Appreciation Society on Facebook. It wasn’t what I’d call a cultural revolution,but it had potential, and I was willing to find out more. I returned to the kitchen and said, “Sorry about that. Please explain how your salad spinner has changed your life.”
    “Oh.” Granuaile’s eyes flicked down, perhaps with a shade of embarrassment. “Well, when you wash lettuce it’s tough to get the leaves dry without wasting paper towels and spending all your time patting them dry. If you just leave them wet, then your dressing dilutes and alters the taste you’re aiming for. Oil and water don’t mix, right? But now,” and her voice deepened into a mockery of a Nitro Funny Car drag-race commercial on the radio, “I can use the raw unbridled power of a SALAD SPINNERRR!” Her voice rose at the end of the sentence in maniacal excitement. Her hand plunged down to the handle of her spinner and she worked it furiously, continuing in the same frenzied voice. “SEE the centrifugal force work its MAGIC on the WATERRR! Red leaf, green leaf, spinach, or arugula, it DOESN’T MATTERRR! Just put your wet greens in the spinner and crank that mother ’til ALL the moisture’s GONE! SUPER! DRY! SALAD!” Here Granuaile balled her fists at her sides and thrust her hips forward lewdly. “GET SOME!”
    That was when I lost it. Up to that point my mouth was hanging open in shock, but when she whipped out the pelvic thrust for nothing more than
a salad
, well, that brought on an epic fit of the giggles. Her performance began looping in my mind’s eye, and the absurdity of it kept tickling me so that I couldn’t stop. Paroxysms shook me until I fell off my chair, and that made it worse. Tears came to my eyes and I gasped for breath as I slapped the wood laminate of her floor. Granuaile’s face turned bright red and she sank down laughing too, laughing both at herself and at my reaction.
    Eventually we got around to eating that salad, but notbefore our stomachs ached from extended merriment. It was succulence itself: spinach and red leaf lettuce tossed with jicama, white onion, mandarin oranges, and candied walnut pieces. The dressing was a homemade citrus vinaigrette.
    This, however, was merely a side. Chef Granuaile MacTiernan set a broiled orange roughy fillet on top of a wild-rice pilaf, then placed on top of that a flash-broiled portobello mushroom that had been marinated in a Beaujolais red wine. Several spears of lightly salted asparagus drizzled with olive oil complemented the fish, and a bottle of pinot noir from the Santa Cruz Mountains did all those snooty and delicious things in our mouths that wine connoisseurs go on about.
    “Outstanding,” I said, chewing appreciatively. “Truly fantastic.”
    “I always settle accounts,” Granuaile said, and quirked an eyebrow at me.
    “That’s good to know. I’m the same way. There are a lot of people who would like to settle accounts with me, however, and we should probably speak of it.”
    “All right,” she said. She narrowed her eyes and pointed her fork at me, jabbing it forward to punctuate her words. “But if you’re going to try to convince me to give up being a Druid again, you can forget it.”
    I shook my head with a rueful grin. “You don’t have all the information yet.” She’d already heard about Ratatosk and Yggdrasil and I’d shared the general look of the plane with her, but I hadn’t explained what really happened other than that I’d successfully stolen an apple. Now I recounted everything.
    “So Hugin and Munin are looking for you right now?” she asked after I’d finished.
    “As we speak, no doubt. The only reason they haven’t found me already is that they don’t know what to look for. But if Odin ever suspects it