Confessions of a Vampire's Girlfriend (10 page)

“Hey, Soren,” I said, pausing by the horse trailer. He was rubbing shiny stuff onto Bruno's hooves to make them pretty. I held out the pretzel.

“Thanks,” he said, wiping his hands onto his rumpled shorts before taking it. “You want me to feed Tesla with Bruno?”

I licked the last of the wurst juice off my fingers, frowning just a little. “That would be really nice of you, but you don't have to do it.”

He grinned and chomped off a big bite of pretzel.

I was instantly suspicious. “Okay, how come you're being nice?”

He glanced around, his grin deepening, “
Tante
told me you're supposed to be figuring out who has been stealing the money. I thought you might be
on the case.
”

“You watch way too much American TV,” I said, and pulled on both sets of my gloves. “Speaking of that, have you noticed anything suspicious about the safe?”

“Suspicious?” Little bits of dough flew out as he talked around his mouthful of pretzel. “What is suspicious about a safe?”

I did a little sideways head bob. “I don't know . . . someone hanging around it who shouldn't be, someone in the trailer when your aunt or dad puts money away, anyone who knows the combination, that sort of thing.”

He looked around quickly, then leaned in, tapping his chest. “I know the combination.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You do?”

“Yes, Papa wrote it down on a piece of paper because he was always forgetting it. He left the paper in the tent one day. I picked it up.”

My mouth hung open just a little bit until I realized that and got a grip on myself. “You mean to say that your dad left the combination to the safe out in the open where anyone could see it?”

“Not out in the open, no. It was in the tent a few weeks ago, when we were in Stuttgart, remember? It was on the dove case with some notes about towns we were going to. The only people who could have seen it were—”

“Anyone connected with the Faire, and that includes the band who ran out in the night. Jeezumcrow, Soren, anyone could be opening the safe! Did you tell Peter that you found the combination?”

He shook his head and stuffed the last of the pretzel into his mouth. “I put it back in the desk, so he wouldn't know it was gone. But I saw the number on it. I remember.”

I looked at him, really looked, the way Mom says you should look at people, to see past their outer surface and into their soul. I've never been able to see into souls, but she says it just takes patience and practice. I tried now. I cleared my mind of all the suspicions and worries and other stuff that was polluting my thoughts, and looked at Soren.

I saw nothing. So much for Mom's way.

“Cow cookies,” I snarled, and peeled off my gloves, touching his arm. He looked surprised at that, but I didn't pay attention. I was too busy trying to beat off all the things going on in his mind. Images of his dad smiling and laughing battled with Peter snapping at him, telling him he wasn't trying, that he would never be anything but an illusionist if he didn't put his mind to his work. There were also quick flashes of Absinthe yelling at Peter, pleasurable moments of time when Soren worked with the animals, taking care of Bruno, feeding the doves, even petting Davide. Most surprising of all, there were also images of me in his mind, confusing images that didn't make any sense because they were overlaid with a mixture of frustration and pleasure.

There was nothing of the quiet desperation I felt on the safe, however.

“Are you okay? You look funny, like you're mad and happy at the same time.”

I pulled my hand from his arm and gave him a half smile. “Yeah, I'm okay. Just trying something.”

He looked interested. “An experiment? A detective experiment?” His eyes opened wide. “Am I a. . . a . . . what did they call it . . . a perp?”

“Man, you really
are
watching too much American TV.” I laughed, glad for a chance to shake the creepy feeling I always got when I peeked into people's minds. “No, you're not a perp. Did you mean what you said?”

He dug through a canvas satchel and pulled out two apples, offering me one. I shook my head. “About what?”

“About bringing Tesla in for me. I have something to do at nine, so if you wouldn't mind doing it, I'd really appreciate it.”

He leaned close and asked in a hoarse whisper, “Are you going to be giving everyone the third degree?”

I whapped him on the arm with my elbow. “No, stupid, I'm . . . I'm going to meet . . . I'm going to . . . um . . .”

He just looked at me as I stumbled over my tongue.

“Ben's going to take me for a motorcycle ride, that's all. It's nothing, really.”

He froze, the apple halfway to his mouth as his eyes got small. “You've got a date with Benedikt?”

“It's not a date; it's just a ride on his motorcycle.”

Soren blinked. “Did Miranda say you could go? I thought you said she didn't want you being with him?”

“She did, but she changed her mind, and before you say anything else, you can just stop, because it's not what you think.”

“You don't know what I'm thinking,” he said quietly.

“You'd be surprised,” I muttered. “Thanks for taking care of Tesla tonight. I owe you. I'll see you later, 'kay?”

I hurried off before he could say anything else. It occurred to me that although I wasn't going on a date or anything, I didn't want Ben to see me in the same old grubby tee and jeans that Tesla had slobbered over. Mom was still in the trailer, just getting ready to go do her witch stuff. She stayed long enough to give me yet another lecture about going out with Ben (she insisted on thinking of this as a date, which it clearly wasn't, but no one else but me seemed to realize that), pressing her most powerful amulet into my hand.

“Let me see you put it on.”

“Mom! I don't need it. Ben's not going to do anything to me. He's nice. He doesn't want to do anything to hurt me.”

“He's a boy; that's enough. Put it on.”

I rolled my eyes and slipped the chain over my head. “There. Are you happy now? I look like a total geek.”

My mother's most powerful amulet consisted of the dried-up, leathery, nasty-looking leg of a chicken. She got it off a friend of hers who was a voodoo priestess. Mom said it had incredible powers of protection. I was sure it did. Anyone who got a good close look at the gross chicken foot would run away from the person wearing it.

“You just keep that on. And don't forget, I want to see you in front of my tent promptly at ten.”

“I know, I know. I'm not a kid anymore, Mom.”

“You're not the adult you think you are, either.” She scooped up Davide, then paused at the door, coming back into the room to kiss me on the forehead. “Have a nice time. But not too nice.”

I gave her a little hug, just enough to show her I loved her without either of us getting all mushy, patted Davide on his head (which he hates), and turned back to the three drawers that held my clothes.

“I wish I had some girl clothes,” I muttered as I went through my things. “Not that this is a date or anything, but still, I wish I had . . .”

A vision popped into my head. Not the kind of vision I get from touching things, but a memory of the first couple of days we were in Germany. We'd just arrived, and Mom had tried to cheer me up by taking me shopping. We each bought soft, lightweight gauze broomstick skirts, Mom's in peach colors, mine in dark blues and purples, along with matching silk peasant shirts. She joked at the time that we could dress up as Gypsies for Halloween.
Those
were girl clothes, and best of all, I didn't look quite so linebacker in them.

Fifteen minutes later, right on the dot of nine, I emerged from the trailer, twitching my skirt to make sure it wasn't tucked up in the waistband, feeling a bit obvious in my girl clothes. There was also the fact that I had a chicken claw under my shirt. . . .

I took three steps before someone loomed up out of the darkness. I shrieked and jumped a foot in the air.

“It's just me,” Ben said.

“Well, give me a heart attack, why don't you?” I gasped, clutching at my heart. He moved out of the shadow, into the pool of light cast by one of the nearby lamps. “Oh, I'm so glad you think it's funny. I just bet you won't be laughing when you have to explain my dead body to my mom.”

His smile widened. “I haven't seen you in a dress before. You look lovely.”

I tugged the neckline of the peasant shirt up, more than a little uncomfortable with the way he was looking at me. It was admiring. Don't get me wrong; I want to be admired, but it just didn't seem right that a guy who looked like him should be giving that look to someone like me. “Yeah, well, I'm a girl. Sometimes I wear girl stuff.”

He held out his hand. I hesitated only a few seconds before I took it. We started walking toward the car area. “I'm glad you do, although I hope you won't be too cold riding in a skirt.”

I stopped. “Oh. I hadn't thought of that. Maybe I should change—”

He tugged me forward. “No need. I'll make sure you're warm.”

I walked a few feet, waiting until we were past a group of people who were laughing as they shoved one another toward the ticket booth. “Um, Ben? You're not still . . . uh . . . hungry, are you?”

He paused, looking down at me. I couldn't see his face, since it was in shadow, but the lamplight shone on his hair, making it black and glossy as ebony. He had it pulled back in a ponytail again, and wore another silk shirt (this one emerald green) and black jeans.

In other words, he was gorgeous as usual. A couple of girls who were giggling at each other stopped to look at him. He ignored them, shifting slightly until I could see he was smiling down at me. “Would it make you feel better to know that I've had dinner?”

I smiled back at him. “Yes, it would.”

“Really?” he asked, letting go of my hand to pull his motorcycle upright. “I will take that as a positive sign.”

“Of what?”

He swung a leg over the motorcycle. “Our future. Climb on; we don't have a lot of time if I have to have you back by ten.”

I decided to let the “our future” comment go and grabbed his shoulder to steady myself as I got on behind him, tucking my skirt up under my legs so it wouldn't get caught in the wheels.

“No helmets?” I asked.

“Do you want one?”

“Mom would probably have a hissy knowing I went out without one . . .”

He glanced over his shoulder at me, one eyebrow cocked in question.

“It's not against the law, is it?”

“Not here, no. If you were riding with anyone else, I'd say you should wear one, but I will see to it that you come to no harm.” I weighed Mom's potential anger, and decided that just this once, I'd trust Ben. After all, I
was
wearing the horrible protection amulet. “Okay.”

“Put your arms around me,” he said, still looking over his shoulder at me.

“Uh . . .” I said, hesitating, wondering if I should show him the amulet in case he got any funny ideas.

“It's safer that way. I wouldn't want you to fall off.” He looked like he wanted to laugh at me, so I leaned into his back, wrapping my arms around his middle. He started the motorcycle, told me to keep my feet up, and off we went. My head rested against his shoulder, his hair right there under my nose. He smelled good, kind of spicy, not like the aftershave my dad uses that makes me sneeze, but nice. He smelled . . . Ben-ish. I smiled into the back of his neck, my hair whipping back as we bounced off the grass and onto the smooth road, the motor revving as we zoomed into the yawning blackness of the night.

“
D
o you . . to try . . . back?”

The wind snatched Ben's words away before I could hear them.

“What?” I yelled into his ear.

He waited until he was on a straight stretch of road, then turned his head toward me. “I asked you if you wanted to try driving before we have to go back.”

“Really? You'd let me? Sure! I'd love to!”

Ben pulled over to the side of the road, holding the motorcycle steady while I slid off the back. We'd been zooming around the countryside for about a half hour, down long, curvy roads, through a couple of towns, and past a big lake. We were out in the middle of the countryside now, in a rural area where there were no streetlights and only a few houses. Conversation had been limited to Ben asking me a couple of times if I was too cold, and yelling the town names as we approached them. Other than that we just rode through the night, me pressed against the warmth of his back, the rumble of the motorcycle beneath us, and the rush of the wind our buffers against the rest of the world.