Gard axe

"No," Gard said sharply. "Look, Dresden, forget Marcone. This has nothing to do with Marcone. Today's my day off."
I stared at her for a moment, and only partly because the rain had begun to make the white shirt she wore beneath the suit jacket become transparent. She sounded sincere—which meant nothing. I've learned better than to trust my judgment when there's a blonde involved. Or a brunette. Or a redhead.
"What do you want?" I asked her.
"Almost the same thing you do," she replied. "You want the girl. I want the thing that took her."
"Why?"
"The girl doesn't have enough time for you to play twenty questions, Dresden. We can help each other and save her, or she can die."
I took a deep breath and then nodded once. "I'm listening."
"I lost the trail at the far end of this alley," she said. "Clearly, you haven't."
"Yeah," I said. "Skip to the part where you tell me how you can help me."
Wordlessly, she opened up the duffel bag and drew out—I kid you not—a double-bitted battle-ax that must have weighed fifteen pounds. She rested it on one shoulder. "If you can take me to the grendelkin, I'll deal with it while you get the girl out."
Grendelkin? What the hell was a grendelkin?

Side Jobs, Heorot, Page 121-122