Confessions of a Vampire's Girlfriend (14 page)

I stomped up the stairs, slamming the door to the trailer behind me. Davide looked up as I threw my bag onto the chair and stormed down the narrow aisle. “Stupid Ben. Stupid, stupid, stupid Ben. Oh, he's so friggin' tough, no one can kill him. Ha! Well, who needs him? I sure don't. If he wants to get himself killed, that's just peachy keen with me. Just means I don't ever have to redeem his soul, however you do
that.
He doesn't matter to me, not one little bit. Him and his long hair and his nummy body and the motorcycle and that wonderful way he kisses—none of it matters! Not one stupid iota!”

Davide made a face that looked remarkably like he was pursing his lips at me.

“And you can just stop looking at me like that! It's not my problem!”

I swear he raised his eyebrows at me.

I pointed my finger at him. “Not one word from you, cat. I tried to warn him. I told him flat-out that he was stupid to tangle with whoever it is who wants him dead, but he's all ‘I'm a Dark One. I can do anything' to me. Dark One—
Dork One
is more like it.”

Okay, so that was unfair—there was nothing dorky about Ben—but I wasn't about to admit that to a cat.

Davide stood up, arched his back in a stretch, then sat down and curled his tail around his feet while he gave me a yellow-eyed look that spoke louder than words.

“I did everything I could!” I said, yanking the closet open to get my pillow and blanket. “There's nothing else I can do!”

He just kept staring at me. I peeled off my gloves and threw them on the floor. “
Gah!
All right! Stop it! I'll go save Ben's butt. Are you happy? Everyone will probably find out about me because of this, and then someone will do a witch hunt on me, and I'll end up dead, and
then
who'll give you the good tuna, huh? It's on your head now, buster!”

I snatched up my keys and stomped out of the trailer, muttering to myself as I headed toward the loud pulse of music. This far out, the glamour was too diluted to work, and my original opinion about the band was justified. They really did suck.

The area outside of the tent was absolutely devoid of people, which was unusual even when a band was playing. Usually people wandered out to use the portable toilets, or to have a smoke, but not tonight. There wasn't a single person to be seen all the way down the main aisle; all the smaller tents were black and closed up. Even Tallulah's was shut down. A few chip wrappers and empty cups were kicked along the ground by the slight breeze, but other than that, nothing moved.

It was really very eerie.

I slipped into the back of the main tent, pressing against the canvas wall, trying to keep myself out of the way of the people, and as far away from the power of the glamour as was possible. What I really needed was a way to—

“Imogen!”

A few feet away Imogen stood swaying to the music, Elvis and another guy arguing violently next to her. That was a common enough sight—Elvis got really jealous when Imogen danced with other guys. Usually she ignored him. “Imogen!”

She turned and smiled at me. I motioned her over. “You're just the person I want to see.”

“Isn't that sweet of you, Fran! Why aren't you dancing?”

I waved her question away. Already I could feel the glamour working, making me want to drop everything and join in the happy dancing throng. “No time for that. Is there a ward that can protect you from a glamour?”

She smiled at the guy who was now threatening the much smaller Elvis with two big fists. “I hope he knocks him out; Elvis has been so persistent tonight. Yes, of course there is a ward; there is a protection ward for everything.”

“Can you show me how to do it? If it's not a Moravian secret, that is. Something I could use specifically against this glamour?” My toes started tapping against my will. My legs wanted me to plunge into the crowd.

She turned to me with a slight frown between her brows. “Why would you want to be protected against this glamour? It's not a harmful one, and the band sounds much better with it.”

“Please, Imogen, I don't have time to explain. Could you just show me the ward?”

She gave me a curious look, then turned so her body was blocking the view of anyone who might glance our way. I had a hard time paying attention to her instructions; the music was so persuasive that everything in me cried out to go dance, to have fun, to let it fill me and wipe away all my worries.

She drew the ward on me, then showed me how to draw it. The thing with wards is not actually in drawing the symbol correctly; it's the belief you put behind it. That's the way it is with all magic—believe, and it works. Doubt, and the power of the magic weakens. I had no doubt of my own abilities—such as they were—which helped me draw the ward. The second my finger traced the last curve, the symbol glowed into life in the air in front of me, a bright gold shimmering that immediately dissolved. The feeling of protection remained, however.

I had done it! I had drawn a ward, and it worked! “Ugh!” I yelled, and clapped my hands over my ears, “Man, they are so bad!”

Imogen laughed and turned back to the music, holding out her hands for the guy who stood over the crumpled form of Elvis. Evidently the guy had heard Imogen's wish, because he rubbed his knuckles before taking Imogen's hands and dancing off with her. I went over and prodded Elvis with my toes, but he didn't move. His chest rose and fell, though, so I knew he wasn't dead, just knocked out. “Sorry. I have more important things to do,” I told him as I turned toward the dancing crowd, skirting along the edges as I looked for Ben. For a moment my ward flared to life, an ugly black, but just as quickly the image of it dissolved. I figured whoever was making the glamour had added a little power to it, but as long as my ward held, it didn't concern me.

I hesitated as I watched everyone dancing, hating what I had to do, my mind squirreling frantically for another option, but there was none. Ben thought he could take on the person who wanted him dead, but I knew the truth. Whoever it was, man or woman, was cold with desperation, wholly committed body and soul to seeing Ben dead. You don't get that sort of determination in your average vampire hunter. At least, I didn't think you did.

“No pain, no gain,” I told myself and, taking a deep breath, plunged into the crowd. I let my hands touch everyone, not trying to guide them, just allowing myself to be jostled around randomly. People, images, objects, emotions, moments in time, thoughts, wishes, fears—everything that people carry around in their subconscious filled my brain until I thought my head was going to burst, pain lancing through my entire body with the effort to hold it all. I couldn't breathe; there were so many people pressing in on me, filling me, so many of them they pushed me aside and took over. There was nothing left of me, not one little bit left; it was all them. Just as I was sure my mind was fracturing, at the exact moment when I knew I was stepping over the line of sanity to insanity, blackness filled me, a soft, warm, velvet blackness. It shut out the voices, the images, the people who filled me. The blackness covered me, protecting me in a soft cocoon, slowly separating me from the crowd until I slipped into a long, dark, inky pool that seemed to welcome me with a warm embrace and a whisper that all would be well.

“
H
ey,” Soren said.

“Hey. Oooh, almond croissants?”

He nodded and plopped down beside me, waiting patiently for me to return the paper bag I'd snatched out of his hands. There were two things I really liked about being in Europe—castles (very cool), and the way everybody went to the local bakery every morning to get fresh-baked stuff. The bread was good, but the almond croissants . . .

“Mmm,” I said blissfully, allowing the featherlight flakes of croissant to melt on my tongue. “It's probably got a gazillion calories, but man, this is good.”

Soren tore off one of the two curved arms of a croissant and popped it in his mouth, chewing as he squinted into the morning sun. Bruno and Tesla grazed in front of us, throwing elongated, wavering shadows as they moved slowly across the edge of the meadow, chomping happily at the grass, their tails keeping a lazy rhythm as they switched at flies. I love this time of the morning. It isn't late enough to be really hot, but it's warm enough to make your spirits soar. A couple of blue-green dragonflies skimmed low over the grass, then headed off toward the trees, where a thin stream trickled.

“How do you feel?” Soren finally asked.

I finished my croissant before answering, wrapping my arms around my legs and propping my chin on my knees as I sucked the last sweet, almondy bits of croissant from my teeth. “I'm fine; why do you ask?”

“Why do I ask? You had some sort of panic attack last night and had to be carried out of the main tent. You don't normally do that. I thought you might be sick or something.”

“Carried?” I rested my cheek on my knee and looked at Soren. His nose was peeling from a sunburn he'd gotten a few days ago. “Who carried me?”

He picked at the grass, throwing a handful at the horses. “Benedikt.”

Drat with bullfrogs on it. Twice Ben had carried me, and both times I'd been too out of it to notice. I looked back at the horses. “Dr. Bitner said I could ride Tesla if I wanted, as long as I didn't take him out on the road, 'cause he doesn't have any shoes, and I shouldn't push him too far. He said I should start slow, and build his stamina up, but that he was so old he'd never really be able to be ridden a lot.”

Soren slid me a sidelong glance. “Why are you changing the subject?”

“That's what people do when they don't want to talk about something.”

He thought about that for a minute, then asked (just like I knew he would), “Why don't you want to talk about what happened last night?”

I picked a buttercup and held it under his chin. He batted it away. “If I tell you what happened last night, will you show me how to ride?”

He looked at Tesla. “Bareback?”

“I don't have a saddle.”

“You don't have a bridle, either.”

I shrugged. “Can't I use the nylon lead rope and his halter?”

He shrugged, too. “It won't have a . . . what do you call it . . .” He made a gesture across his mouth.

“Bit?”

“Yes, bit. But I will show you if you tell me what happened.”

“If I tell you, you have to swear not to tell anyone. Not your father, or anyone. Got that?”

His eyes widened. “Is it something to do with the theft?”

“No. Yes. No, not really. It's something to do with me. Do you swear?”

“
Ich schwöre
.” He spat on his hand and held it out for me to shake.
Ew
. I grabbed the very tips of his fingers and shook there. “What happened?”

“You won't believe me if I just tell you. What do you have in your pockets?”

He looked surprised, a little puzzled frown pulling his eyebrows together, but he stuck a hand into his shorts pocket and pulled out the contents. There was a small blue plastic comb, a few coins, string, a used bandage, a set of keys, and a tube of lip balm. I peeled my gloves off and plucked the keys from his hand.

“You've never shown me these keys before, have you?”

He shook his head.

“Right.” I separated one key from the rest and held it up, allowing the images the key conveyed to tell me about its use. “This key is to the big wooden chest your dad keeps his props in. The big props.”

Soren's eyes widened as he looked at the key; then he nodded. I picked out a second key. “Trailer.” His eyes widened even further. I held up a tiny little key. “This is to a violin case. I didn't know you played the violin.”

His jaw dropped. “No one knows except Papa and
Tante
. How do you do that?”

I help up another key. “This one unlocks the big box you keep the doves in. What's it called—a dovecote? Whatever, this key is new. You haven't had it long.”

I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head, so I wrapped up my show, setting the keys gently into his hand. “It's nothing special, Soren. I can feel things by touching them, that's all.”

“That's all? It is too special; it's very special!” He looked down at my hands like they were painted purple or something. I pulled my gloves back on. The sun was still shining, but all of a sudden I felt like a cloud had passed overhead. “I can't believe you can do that. Is that why you wear gloves? Can you do it with people, too? Can you read my mind if you touch me? Can you tell everything I'm thinking?”

I got up and walked over to Tesla, who paid absolutely no attention to me, having checked me over for apples earlier (I had carrots, which he graciously accepted). Tesla and Ben seemed to be the only ones who didn't care about my curse. How sad is that? “If I touched you with my bare hand, yes, I could tell what you're thinking, Kind of. More like what strong emotions you're feeling at the time.”