Confessions of a Vampire's Girlfriend (22 page)

“But how did he take the money, eh? How did he get into the safe without my knowing it?” Absinthe asked.

I took a deep breath. Mom and the other witches were sitting on the ground, clutching their amulets. Mom gave me an encouraging smile. It was kind of weird being the focus of so many people's attention, but at the same time, it felt good. Kind of like they accepted me, as though they valued what I had to say. It wasn't the same as when I tried to blend in at school, but it was . . . all right. Good, even.

“He didn't get into your safe,” I said, the final pieces of the puzzle sliding into place. The thing that had been bothering me all day finally came into focus. I turned to Peter. “You must have known that Elvis knew magic, right?”

“He knew sleight of hand.” Peter shrugged. “Close magic, yes. Card tricks.”

“Substituting one thing for another as part of a trick, right? That's what he did today at the hospital.”

“Yes, that is what sleight of hand is.”

I turned to Absinthe. “How would you put the money away for the night? That is, what would you do before you put it into the safe?”

Absinthe's eyes narrowed. She still looked at me suspiciously, but ever since I'd come walking back into the Faire with Ben's arm around me, she'd given me a wide berth. “I took the money from Peter and counted it, tallying it against the slips from each employee.”

“Where would you count it?”

“In my trailer.”

I glanced at Ben. He smiled.

“While you did that, were you alone?”

Her frown grew blacker. “No, sometimes Karl would help, sometimes . . .”

“Elvis?” I asked when she stopped.

She said something that even in German I understood. “That pig! I will roast his guts! I will cut out his heart and eat it! He stole from me!”

“Sleight of hand,” I said to Soren, who looked puzzled. “Elvis was a master at taking an item and switching it with another one. I bet he had some of those money pouches all made up with newspaper, so all he had to do was switch them when Absinthe was looking the other way. Then she'd tuck them away in the safe, never knowing that she'd been robbed.”

It was Peter's turn to swear. Everyone left a few minutes after that, Absinthe promising dark vengeance on Elvis's guts, Peter muttering about calling the police, Mom and her gang to hold another emergency circle to see if they couldn't bring down Elvis, or at least blight him with boils or a really nasty rash.

Soren gave me a pitiful look just before he followed his dad out of the tent. “You were supposed to let me help you find out who was the thief. I'm your sidekick.”

“Sorry—it just kind of happened. Next time you can be the detective and I'll be the sidekick.”

He glanced at Ben, then shrugged and limped off after Peter.

“Tomorrow we shall be on our way to Budapest, where I will be able to shop until I drop.” Imogen slid off the table she was sitting on, stretched, and blew a kiss to Ben. “I will need a new silver dagger. I shall buy you one as well, Fran. Thank you for what you did. I believe I will go and see if Jan is still here. He has many qualities I have not yet investigated. . . .”

She drifted off. I looked at Ben, gnawing on my lip. I'd kissed a vampire, survived Absinthe's attempt to get into my mind, and helped beat up a demon—surely I could do this, too. “So, um . . . are you . . . uh . . . you know, going to be hanging around with us in Budapest, or do you have to do stuff somewhere else?”

He stood up and cupped my jaw in his hands, pressing his lips to my forehead. Mom gasped in the background. “I must go hunt down Elvis, but once I have found him, I will return.”

He stared into my eyes for a second, then left. Just walked out of there and left. I stood there with my jaw hanging around my knees for a moment, then realized what he'd done.

I ran out of the tent, grabbing the back of his shirt as he strode down the center aisle. He ignored my tugging and marched onward. “Hey! Didn't we just have a talk about you being all macho and feeling like you have to save Imogen and me all the time? No one says you need to hunt down Elvis; Peter is going to call the police—”

“I am a Dark One. He is a threat to Imogen, and now that you have identified him as the thief, he is a threat to you. I cannot tolerate that threat.”

“Do you know what you are? You're just a great, big chauvinist pig; that's what you are. My mother's told me about guys like you.”

“You will not argue with me about this—”

“I will so argue about this, and don't you tell me what to do. I'm in charge of my life, not you—”

“You will stay with your mother and Imogen, and you will not endanger yourself again—”

“I never was in danger, you pigheaded boob! I had the ward to protect me. You were the one lying on the field with his guts spread out all over—”

“I am a Dark One. You are my Beloved. It is my right to protect you—”

“‘I am a Dark One; I am a Dark One. . . .' Of all the hooey! You are so full of it. You know what? My
next
boyfriend is going to think I can do anything. He's going to worship the ground I walk on.”

“I worship you—”

“Ha!”

“I do!”

“Double ha with frogs on it!”

You know, I have to admit, I'm kind of looking forward to the rest of the summer. I may still be Fran the Freak Queen, and I may still not fit in anywhere but with a bunch of fellow freaks, but somehow that doesn't seem quite as bad as it used to be.

Who knows, I may just survive this year after all. Stranger things have happened.

“
G
ood morning, Fran.”

“Morning, Tallulah. How's Sir Edward?”

Tallulah smiled a sad smile. “Still dead, alas.”

I nodded, not surprised at all by her answer. According to what Tallulah, a medium of Gypsy ancestry, had told me a couple of months before, Sir Edward had been dead for a few hundred years. It didn't stop him from being her boyfriend, but I didn't have the nerve to ask just what sort of a relationship was possible with a ghost.

I wandered down the line of trailers that housed the members of the GothFaire, musing on the fact that in a short time, I'd come pretty far.

“
Guten morgen,
Francesca.”

“Morning, Kurt.” It was hard to believe, but just two months ago, Mom had to drag me kicking and screaming to Europe to spend the next six months with her while my father had time to “get to know” his new trophy wife. What was harder to believe was that I would find an odd sense of companionship with members of the GothFaire . . . a stranger group of people I couldn't imagine.

“Ah, Fran. It is you.” A slight woman with spiky pink hair appeared in the trailer's doorway behind the big, blond Kurt (according to Faire gossip, both Kurt and his brother Karl had a thing going with Absinthe).

“Sure is. Morning, Absinthe.” I gave her a friendly smile that I didn't really mean, and hurried on my way before she could say anything else.

“Vait a moment! I vish to speaks with you . . .”

“Sorry—have to feed Tesla. Maybe later!” I called over my shoulder, silently swearing at the unhappy frown she fired off at me. The last thing I needed was to tick off the woman who ran the Faire, but no way was I going to let her pin me down again. Ever since she'd found out about my special power, she'd been after me to do a mind-reacting act . . . something I intended to avoid like the plague.

“Tja,
Fran.”

“Hej, god morgon,”
I answered politely. I figured since we were in Sweden, I should at least learn a little of the language. Tibolt stood outside his trailer in a tank top and a pair of sweats and did some stretches before his morning run. I stopped, unable to keep my feet moving. “Um.
Hur mår du? Allt väl?
”

Tibolt smiled, and I swear, the birds started singing louder. From behind me, I heard a loud gasp, then the sound of feet racing toward us. “I am fine, everything is good, and your Swedish is improving greatly.”

“Tack,”
I thanked him, trying to stop the inner Fran from squeeing like she always did at the sight of Tibolt. “What are you guys planning for tonight's show?”

Beside me, Imogen came to a screeching halt, her hair rumpled, her face without even a smidgen of makeup, a paper cup of latte in her hand.

“Good morning, Fran,” she said hurriedly without even looking at me. Since she was my best friend next to Soren and Ben, I didn't make a big deal about it. Besides, I knew she couldn't help it. All the women of the GothFaire seemed to be under the Tibolt spell, Imogen included. “Good morning, Tibolt. Isn't the day lovely?” she purred.

“Yes, it looks like the rain is gone at last. We should have a good turnout tonight.” He turned to me, adding, “We are doing the sword swallowing, I believe.”

“Oooh,” Imogen said on a heavy breath, just like she was sighing with happiness.

“Speaking of that . . .” Tibolt's head tipped to the side for a moment as he considered me for a few seconds before nodding. “You are going to your mother's circle tonight, aren't you?”

“Yeah, she likes me to be there. Why?”

“Ah. Good.” He glanced beyond us, distracted for a moment by the sight of one of the volunteers who worked the archaeology dig on the other side of the island. “What is going on there?”

Imogen didn't bother taking her eyes off Tibolt. “The dig people found an ancient grave early this morning, according to Peter. Have I told you how very much I admire your ability to sword-swallow?”

“Hmm?” He frowned as he looked across the big meadow and part of the beach that GothFaire and Circus of the Darned rented for the shows. We were near the causeway that connected the island to the mainland, which made it easy for people to attend the Faire. “I wonder if he is near. I feel his presence . . .”

“Whose presence?” I asked, rubbing the slight goose bumps that had suddenly appeared on my arms.

“No one important.” He smiled ruefully. “I apologize, ladies. I was thinking out loud. Fran, if you don't mind, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Favor? Sure.” I was flattered that he asked.

Beside me, Imogen tensed. “I would be delighted to help you any way at all,” she said, looking hopeful.

Tibolt flashed a smile at her that came close to making her fall down in a dead faint. “I appreciate that, but only Fran can help me with this.” He spilled a little of the smile on me, and my knees almost buckled. “It will be safe with you. You are not closed to the
Vikingahärta
.”

I stiffened my knees and made a confused scrunchy face. “The what?”

Tibolt pulled a dark gold chain from beneath his shirt. On it hung an old-looking gold pendant made of three intertwined triangles. “The
Vikingahärta
. It means ‘heart of the Viking' and is the name of this valknut.”

“A
Vikingahärta
valknut?” I wondered if it was some sort of Swedish tongue twister.

He nodded and slipped the necklace over my head. The pendant hung below my breastbone, warm from his body heat. I got a strange little thrill that was partly from the pendant, partly from Tibolt being so close to me. “That is it exactly. A valknut is the knot of the slain, a symbol of eternity and the afterlife. You see the nine points on it?”

I touched the three triangles. The pendant felt nice, kind of tingly, like it hummed with power of its own. “Yeah ”

“They represent the three Norns, the weavers of fates.”