“You’re sure you saw him yesterday?” I asked them as we stopped for a quick lunch at an out-of-the-way café.
“I am sure it was Nori,” Eirik said with a stubborn set to his chin.
“But you didn’t see him later on, after I went back to the Faire?”
“No.” He scowled at the waiter who brought our food, the latter hurrying away quickly when Eirik fingered his (still thankfully ammo-less) Walther P38. “We searched most diligently until it was time for our rape.”
I blinked at the word, thinking I must have misheard. “Your what?”
“Our rape. We went to a rape last night.” Eirik’s expression lightened when the waiter hastily brought him another mammoth stein of beer. “The music was loud and horrible. There were bright lights and much ale. We enjoyed it greatly, did we not?”
“You went to a . . . Oh dear goddess, you mean a rave, not a rape.”
Eirik shrugged. “It was good, no matter what you call it. There were many women. Finnvid rutted with five of them.”
My jaw sagged as I looked in horror at Finnvid, who smiled smugly and cocked a jaunty eyebrow at Eirik. “You had sex with five women in the same night?” I finally managed to ask in a stunned whisper.
“Aye. Not at the same time, of course.”
“Of course,” I said, shaking my head at the mental image that rose.
“Finnvid has always been more in favor of quantity rather than quality,” Eirik said, draining his gallon of ale. “I prefer women who desire a man more for his skill at planting than the size of his plow.”
“As do I,” Isleif said and nodded.
Both men looked at Finnvid, who smiled at me. “Can I help it if women love me for my rod, virgin goddess?”
“I suppose not, although you know, women today pretty much go with the whole idea of size doesn’t really matter.”
“Of course it matters,” Finnvid said, scoffing, and before I could change the subject, he rolled down the top half of the swimmer’s body suit that he wore and looked with pride at his groin. “Look upon my rod and tell me that it wouldn’t please any woman.”
I swear my eyes just about bugged out as my gaze, drawn against my will, took in all that there was to see. Quickly I rallied my wits and looked away, but not before I dredged up a memory of a time Ben was in the shower, and in a mentally sharing mood. I was somewhat relieved to note that he had nothing about which to feel insignificant, and changed the subject with a rapidity that I suspected fooled no one. “Put yourself back in your pants, Finnvid, before you get arrested. Right, so let’s go over the game plan for this afternoon. We searched north and west of the town this morning, so if we split up into two groups, we can cover the south and east sides. Then after that, we can . . .”
I stopped, realizing that the expressions the three Vikings wore matched my own dismal mood.
“What is it you wish us to do?” Isleif prompted.
I shook my head, staring glumly down at my plate of sausage. “We’re not going to find him by searching, are we?”
“No,” Eirik answered. “Loki is the trickster, virgin goddess. His son is the same and will not so easily be found. You must use cunning and wiles to bring Loki forth.”
“Then why did you let me spend half the day searching the town?” I asked, exasperated, and immediately contrite because I was snapping at Eirik. “I’m sorry. I have no right to be mad at you.”
“You wished to search the town, so we searched the town,” he said, making an indifferent gesture. “It is not for us to contradict you.”
“You want me to use the valknut, don’t you?” I asked, unhappiness filling my stomach. I pushed away my plate, absently noting that a few days spent with the Vikings might just lessen my resemblance to a line-backer.
“Aye, it would be best.”
“I’ll have to get it from Imogen.” I slumped against the back of the chair. “I guess I have no other choice. I had hoped that we could find some trace of my mother or Loki without it, but I guess you were right when you said I’d have to use it.”
“It is your Vikingahärta,” Isleif said, stroking the long braids of his beard. “Why do you not wish to use it?”
I was silent a moment, trying to put into words the feeling that the Vikingahärta brought me. “When I used it before to summon Loki, he swore revenge against me. I didn’t realize that because the Vikingahärta had been his, and was imbued with his powers, using it left me vulnerable to him.”
“Ah,” Eirik said, enlightenment dawning in his pale blue eyes. “You are worried about what curse he will lay upon you if you use it again.”
I flinched at the word “curse.” Those were nothing to mess around with.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Finnvid said, puffing himself up. “We will protect you from the god Loki.”
“Aye,” both Eirik and Isleif said.
I was touched by their devotion. “Thanks. It means a lot to me that you’re willing to stand by me when I need you. I guess I’d better stop wasting everyone’s time and go get it. If you guys are done, we can go back to the Faire.”
“You go back,” Eirik said, waving an airy hand. “We must locate a bowyer. The man at the ninja shop said that he thought there was one in Munich. We will take the train there to locate the Walther cross bolts.”
I was about to tell them it was a waste of time, but figured a little trip would be a good way to get them out of my hair. It wasn’t the Vikings I needed to help me use the Vikingahärta. . . . It was an ebony-headed vampire who I knew would keep me safe while I was forcing Loki into either giving up my mother—assuming it was he or his son who had seduced her—or banishing him so that I could focus on finding my mother’s love nest.
We agreed to meet up the next morning, and after I made sure they remembered the rules regarding pillaging and other forms of violence, I took a cab back to the Faire.
Imogen wasn’t in her trailer when I arrived to ask her for my Vikingahärta. I did a quick check for her in the common area, but didn’t see her there, either. I chatted briefly with some of the people I remembered from my time at the Faire, spending a little time with a Gypsy medium named Tallulah who both intimidated me and left me wishing that I had just a smidgen of her self-possession.
“I’m so sorry to hear about Wennie’s passing,” I said as I left her trailer after a quick cup of tea. “But I do appreciate you taking in Davide for Mom. I’d be happy to take charge of him again if you’re tired of his fussy ways.”
The cat in question sat on the top step of the trailer, his tail wrapped around his feet, giving me the most jaded look a cat could give.
“Not at all. He is a comfort to me,” Tallulah said, her hand making a little fluttering motion. For the first time I noticed tiny little age spots on the graceful hands. Other than that, she looked the same, her black hair with its white stripe lending dignity to an austere countenance that misled the casual observer to believe she was a hard, emotionless woman. “Sir Edward tells me I should look for a new dog, but I do not feel myself able to do that.”
“I’ve never known Sir Edward to be wrong, but I know how you feel. When I was fourteen, my old Lab died, and it took me years to get over her. In fact, it wasn’t until I got Tesla that I even thought about having a pet. Not that you can call a horse a pet.”
She smiled, and the faint air of mystery that always wrapped around her changed slightly. I had heard once that she was some sort of Romany royalty, and I could well believe it. The fact that she spent her nights contacting dead relatives of Faire patrons, and had a boyfriend who was a ghost, just added to the whole package. “How is Tesla?”
“Doing well, according to Mikaela. He had a little hoof problem, but they got that cleared up quickly. I hope to go see him soon. I’ve missed him.”
“As I’m sure he has you. Do not forget him in your quest for justice,” she said, making me blink in surprise.
“Uh . . .” She closed the door to her trailer, leaving me with a
question on my tongue. “I just really hate it when people do that to me.” I sighed, and headed across the Faire encampment to the trailer that housed Peter. Just as I got there, he and Imogen strolled from the direction of the cars.
“Are you certain?” Imogen asked him as I stopped in front of them, casting me a quick smile before turning back to Peter.
“I did not see him, but Karl did, and yes, I asked him. He’s certain.”
“Something wrong?” I asked, noting the frown on Imogen’s face. She normally didn’t frown, feeling it encouraged wrinkles to run amok.
“Karl says a lich has been seen around the Faire,” Imogen said, still frowning as she looked over my shoulder. “Around my trailer.”
“A what now?”
“Lich. I have no idea what interest one would have in me. Moravians pose no danger to liches, and I have not met a necromancer of late.”
“Have you met with any Ilargi?” Peter asked. “Or vespilloes? Both of those work with liches.”
“No, not at all. I would know an Ilargi.” Imogen looked aghast at the idea.
“Well, I will have the security doubled up, just in case,” Peter said, and hurried off to consult with Kurt and Karl, in charge of keeping everyone at the Faire safe.
“What’s an Ilargi? And for that matter, a vespillo?”
“They both have dealings with liches.”
“Do they, indeed. I hate to sound ignorant, but what’s a lich, other than something that sounds like it should be in my dad’s old Dungeons and Dragons book?”
“Come. I feel the need for some tea.” I followed her back to her trailer, sitting at the tiny table as she bustled around the kitchen area, plugging in the electric teakettle and pulling out a plate of pastries that she set before me. “Let me just check if Günter is back.”
She returned from the bedroom just as I was licking the last of the raspberry jam off my fingers. “That’s odd.”
“What is?”
She stood in a pose of indecision for a moment before slowly sitting down across from me. “He still isn’t back. I was sure he would be back today. He said nothing about going away for a length of time.”
“Your boyfriend is gone, too?”
“So it would seem,” she said slowly, then shook off her abstraction and claimed a piece of baklava. “A lich is a servant of a necromancer, or Ilargi.”
I sighed and collected the crumbs off my shirt to lay on the plate. “And what’s a necromancer?”
“Someone who raises liches.”
I started laughing. “I feel like I’m in the middle of an Abbot and Costello movie.”
She looked startled by my laughter, pinning me back with a long look that left me with the uncomfortable feeling she was seeing straight down to my soul. “You are not distraught.”
“On the contrary, I’m worried about where my mother has got to, and who her Lothario is.”
“Yes, that is true, but you are not in pain as you were yesterday. Then your aura was a dark, muddy gray. Now it is . . .” She considered me again. “Now it is indigo. What has happened to bring insight to you, Fran?”
I made a little pyramid of the crumbs, kept my gaze on them for a few seconds, then gave her a quick rundown of my talk with her brother.
A slow smile spread across her face as I finished. “You must love him very much to forgive his actions with the evil one.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know exactly what I feel, other than I’m willing to give us another chance.”
“This is good. You will not give up on him. You will destroy that she-devil Naomi.”
“Maybe not outright destroy, although I have to admit the temptation is pretty strong.” I laughed again. “And no, I’m not giving up on Ben. Not unless we find out that things . . . Well, we’ll let that go for now. For some bizarre reason that he feels he can’t explain, he’s pretending to be in love with Naomi. I don’t like it. I don’t like him keeping things from me. And I really don’t like her. But he asked me to trust him, and I’m trying to do that.”
“Ah, my dear friend, I cannot tell you how happy that has made me,” she said, tears shining in her eyes as she leaned across the table to hug me. “Benedikt has suffered so much these last few years waiting for you. I am happy to know that it was not in vain.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said, wondering if it was any use trying to explain to her my emotions concerning Ben, eventually deciding that where he was concerned, she really only heard what she wanted to hear. I hurried on at the distraught look on her face. “No, don’t apologize. I’m just teasing you. I’m well aware that Ben suffered a lot more than I could have imagined he would. I’m sorry for it, but there’s nothing I can do to change the past. I need to focus on the present. Which brings me to the inevitable: Can I have the Vikingahärta? I don’t want to use it, but I don’t see any other way to find my mother.”
She nodded and got to her feet, heading toward the bedroom. “I expected you would want it. I had Peter take it out of the safe for you yesterday. I’ll fetch it.”
“How long have you and Günter been together?” I called after her, successfully resisting the temptation of an orange ginger scone. “He seemed nice, the little bit I talked to him.”
Imogen appeared in the open doorway to her bedroom, her eyes wide. “Fran.”
“Hmm?”
“It’s gone.”
“What is?” A horrible thought struck me, sending goose bumps down my arm as I leaped to my feet. “Not the Vikingahärta?”
“Yes. I put it on the nightstand, but it is not there.”
I hurried after her as she returned to the room. “Maybe it fell under the bed?”
We searched there, in the closet, the dresser, and finally tore the sheets and blankets off the bed, just on the chance the small scarlet velvet case had gotten caught in a blanket. There was nothing, not so much as a scrap of velvet.
“Bullfrogs!” I swore as I sank onto the edge of the bed, my stomach an icy leaden weight at the thought of the lost Vikingahärta. “Holy cow, Imogen. What am I going to do?”
“I don’t know where it could be,” she answered, shaking a pillow in hopes of feeling the small hard box. “It was right here, I swear that to you, Fran. I put it right there, right next to the lamp.”
“Was it there this morning?” I asked, swallowing back a sudden rise of bile. If I didn’t have the Vikingahärta, how was I going to force Loki to tell me if he seduced my mother, let alone banish him?
“I don’t know,” she repeated, clearly miserable. “Günter didn’t come back yesterday, and I . . . Well, I’m afraid I was in town most of the night, looking for him in the clubs.”
The thread of pain in her voice penetrated my own sense of desolation. I gave her hand a little squeeze. “You can’t possibly believe he left you for another woman? Imogen, you’re gorgeous and funny and sweet, and a man would have to be stark raving mad to want someone else over you.”
“Perhaps,” she said mournfully, tears filling her eyes. “But the fact remains that he has left me without a single word.”
Something tickled the back of my brain. I sat very still for a moment and tried to let my thoughts dwell on nothing, as my mother taught me to do whenever I sought to concentrate on something. For once, it worked, and as the tickle blossomed into a full idea, I stared in growing horror at Imogen.
“What is it?” she asked, dabbing at her nose with a handkerchief. “Why are you looking at me that way?”
“What if he didn’t leave you as you think? What if he’s missing?”
Her honey blond brows pulled together. “I don’t understand the difference.”
“A whole lot of things have gone missing of late,” I said, a little chill running up my back. I ticked the items off on my fingers. “First, I lost my backpack with my keys and cell phone. That could have been stolen by someone passing by the house, but what if someone else took it?”
“Who?”
“Then my mother went miss
ing,” I continued. “Then the Vikingahärta, and now Günter.”
“It seems very coincidental to me,” Imogen said doubtfully.
“Yes, I agree, it seems that way, but what if we’re meant to think that? Remember Loki’s oath of revenge, Imogen.”
She pursed her lips. “He would take from you that which meant the most to you.”
“Which I thought at first was my mother, but . . .” I stopped, not wanting to put into words what I was thinking.
“But that’s not what you love the most,” she said softly.
“I don’t know if it is or not. I love my mom. But . . .”
“But there is Ben, and your feelings for him must supersede all others.” She patted my wrist. “I understand. But does that mean that Loki is behind everything? And if he is, why would he whisk away your mother on a romantic whim when it is Benedikt who means the world to you?”
“I don’t know.” I slumped onto my side, curling into a fetal ball of depression. “And I’m not likely to find out without the Vikingahärta. Oh, goddess of the endless night. Imogen, what am I going to do?”
She tapped a long finger on her chin for a few seconds. “You’re going to find the Vikingahärta.”
“How? We don’t know if someone stole it, or if it’s lost, or even if Loki summoned it to him, or something impossible like that.”
“I wonder . . .”
I uncurled myself and looked at her. “You wonder what?”
“The lich who was seen around here yesterday.” She continued to look thoughtful. “I wonder if he could have been sent to take it.”
“Sent? Are liches some sort of minion or something?”
“Not really.” She suddenly smiled and sat down next to me. “I’m sorry, Fran. I forget you have a limited experience with the Otherworld. A lich is a being who was once dead, but who has been raised and returned to life.”
“A zombie? A zombie took my Vikingahärta?”
“No, not a revenant. A lich is raised by a necromancer, you understand. Those are powerful mages who utilize both dark and arcane sources of power, and by the act of raising, they sometimes imbue magic into the lich.”
In the Company of Vampires do-9 Page 10
