Confessions of a Vampire's Girlfriend (30 page)

Ramon burst out of his trailer with one leg in his pants, hopping on one foot while he tried to get the other leg in, at the same time dodging peaches from the Viking at the catapult.

“Fran!” Absinthe shrieked, jumping up and down on the trailer as she pointed at me. “These ghosts are yours! Control them!”

“They're not mine—” I yelled back, pausing for a minute as Peter emerged from between trailers. He walked backwards, a two-by-four in his hands to parry blows from a long, heavy sword. The owner of the sword lunged toward him, sending Peter falling over a lawn chair. While the peach-throwing Viking's attention was focused on Ramon, Tallulah ran to her trailer. But she stopped in the doorway and sent me a look that raised goose bumps on my arms. Although her lips didn't move, I swear I could hear her voice on the wind saying, “This is your doing. Fix it!”

“Hey!” I bellowed, and threw myself off the trailer steps when I saw that the person about to gut Peter was Eirik. “Stop that! I said no killing!”

Eirik paused in the act of beheading Peter. “No, you didn't. You said you didn't have anyone you wanted us to kill for you. There is a difference.”

“No killing! No killing of anyone, anywhere! Is that clear?” I fell to my knees and hovered protectively over Peter, who watched with huge eyes as the sword tip waved back and forth over his face. “And while you're at it, call your buddies off my friends!”

Eirik frowned, giving me a blue-eyed glare. “You are a strange goddess. You do not want us to kill anyone in your name, and you will not allow my men a little fun . . . what is next? You will not allow us to have a
spritfest
and wench and gamble?”

“
Spritfest
?”

“Drinking party.”

“Ah, OK. I don't care about drinking and . . . er . . . whatever else you do so long as it's not trying to kill anyone,” I said, glaring back at him.

Eirik snarled something under his breath, but pulled back his sword. “As you command,” he said in a grumpy voice.

I blinked a couple of times, not sure whether he was kidding me or not, but it turned out he meant what he said.

“You're serious about this whole goddess thing, aren't you?” I asked, patting Peter on the shoulder to know he could sit up. He did so as I got to my feet. I helped him brush off the bits of dirt and dried grass.

Eirik shrugged. “You are a goddess. We are bound to you until you call the Valkyries to take us to Valhalla.”

“In that case . . .” I stopped brushing Peter's back and jumped onto the nearest picnic table. I put two fingers in my mouth to do the earsplitting whistle my dad was famous for. “Vikings!” I bellowed, and to my surprise, they stopped catapulting, fighting, climbing, and groping.

Mikaela kicked Finnvid in his happy zone. He doubled over and fell to the ground.

“Right, Eirik says you have to listen to me and do what I say. So, I'm saying knock it off! There will be no killing anyone! No hurling of fruit, peaches or otherwise. No climbing on any furniture in an attempt to get to someone.”

Finnvid writhed on the ground. Mikaela emptied her water bottle on him, and rushed over to help Ramon up from the mass of peach pulp.

“No picking up women.”

A huge Viking with long blond hair walked around the corner with Soren slung over his shoulder.

“In fact, no picking up anyone!”

“Hail, Ljot,” Eirik called to his buddy. “The goddess is giving us orders.”

“Oh?” Ljot, the giant Viking, turned to face me, a happy smile on his face. Soren's legs kicked feebly. “Who do we kill?”

“Sheesh, what is it with you guys?” I asked, slapping my hands on my thighs in exasperation. “Don't you know how to do anything other than fight and kill people? And put down Soren—he doesn't look like he's breathing.”

The Vikings, every single one of them, looked thoughtful. Ljot the friendly giant plopped Soren into a lawn chair. “We wench well,” one of them offered.

“Aye, that we do, Gils,” Eirik agreed, and all the Vikings nodded (except Finnvid, who was struggling to get to his knees, his hands clasped over his groin). “And we can outdrink anyone, even a Finn.”

The Vikings yelled their war cry. I squatted next to Soren and asked him if he was OK.

“Yes, I'm fine. Just a little windy,” he said, rubbing his ribs.

“Winded, I think you mean. Windy means something else.” I stood up again and looked at the Viking ghosts, my hands on my hips. “All right, so we need to have some ground rules—”

“I can geld stallions with just one hand,” one of the Vikings said. The others looked impressed.

“Ew!” I said, giving him a glare. “I don't know who you are—”

“His name is Isleif,” Eirik said helpfully, strolling over to stand next to me.

“—but that's just gross. Moving on . . . you're all going to have to behave yourselves, or else I'll . . . I'll . . .”

Eirik raised an eyebrow. “You'll what?”

“I won't call the Valkyries to take you to Valhalla,” I said “So everyone had just better straighten up, OK?”

“What is she talking about?” one of the shorter Vikings asked another.

“We're supposed to be good,” the second Viking answered with a disgusted look on his face.

“That sucks,” the first answered.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Sucks?”

“Just because we're dead doesn't mean we don't keep current on what's going on in the world, goddess,” Eirik answered. “Would you like to see us line dance?”

“No!” I shuddered to myself. “Just . . . behave, OK? I'm working on getting you to Valhalla as soon as I can. I just need to figure out how to summon the Valkyries first. Hopefully, that'll be before tomorrow night.”

The Vikings looked disapointed, a couple of them pouting, but they did as I asked.

“Why tomorrow night?” Eirik asked as his men started cleaning up the mess they'd made. Peter gave Eirik a wide berth as he went to check on Soren.

“That's when I have—” Everyone, and I do mean everyone—from Absinthe climbing down off her trailer to Ramon, who was helping Mikaela pick off sticky blobs of peach—stopped what they were doing and looked at me. It was like a TV commercial or something. “Er . . . I have a thing I'm doing.”

“A thing?” Eirik frowned, scratching his chin with the handle of his sword. “What sort of thing?”

“Kind of a date,” I said as quietly as I could. I may have to live and work with these people—the ghosts aside—but they didn't need to know every little thing about me.

“A date?” Eirik asked in a voice that could probably be heard in Denmark. “You have a date? You mean with the Dark One?”

“You're going on a date with Benedikt?” Soren asked, limping over, an odd expression on his face. Peter went to check on his sister and the others. “A real date? Not just hanging around with him?”

I sighed. “Yes, I'm going on a date, a real date.”

“The kind where you—” he waved his hands around vaguely—“do things?”

“How do I know? I've never been on a date before!” I said, just wishing everyone would leave me alone. Honestly, it was just a date!

“You've never been on a date before?” Eirik asked, pulling up a chair. “You need advice.” He said something in what I assumed was ancient Viking to the others. They stopped what they were doing and made a circle around me. “The goddess is going on a date. Her
first
date.”

“Ahh,” the Vikings all said, looking at me like I was a boar about to be roasted.

“A first date. That is very important,” the one named Isleif said. He was just as tall as the rest, but really big around, as well. Unlike most of them, he also had a beard, the sides of which were done up in a braid. He plopped down on another chair and put his hands on his knees. “I will give you the same advice I gave my daughter Anna.”

“This I
have
to hear,” Soren said, his arms across his chest as he gave me a belligerent look. I wanted to tell him to knock it off, too, but I didn't. I've never had a crush before—Ben aside, and he wasn't exactly a crush—but I imagined it wasn't a good feeling if the person you were crushing didn't feel the same way about you.

“I appreciate the offer for advice, but I don't really think I need—”

“‘Anna,' I told her—you understand this was close to nine hundred years ago, but you girls never change—‘Anna,' I said, ‘you are twelve now, ready to be wed. Your skin is the color of the richest curd, your teeth are strong enough to tear a leather thong, and your breasts are like two little apples, ripe for the plucking.' Then I told her—”

“Twelve?” Soren interrupted, looking shocked.

“OK, no plucking stories,” I said, waving my hands for Isleif to stop. “Dating advice from a Viking ghost I can just barely survive, but no apple plucking! I don't want to hear anything about your daughter's boobs.”

Isleif looked insulted. “They were very nice. High and firm and—” I started to walk away. Isleif yelled for me to stop. “I have not finished! As I said, I told Anna the time was right for her to be wed. I had always intended that she marry Ljot's son, but he went and got himself killed by a mad boar. Ljot had another son, but he was a bit light in the head.”

“Daft.” Ljot nodded. “No brains whatsoever. He got that from his mother.”

“Anna insisted she be allowed to look around for a husband,” Isleif continued. “But she didn't know how to proceed with the one she'd chosen. So I told her—and this is the wisdom I'm passing along to you—the best way to catch yourself a husband is to rip his clothing off, and have your way with him.” Isleif sat back, a pleased look on his face like he'd just explained the greatest mystery of the universe.

“Um,” I said, not wanting to insult him. The other Vikings were nodding their agreement.

“That's how my second wife caught me,” Finnvid said. “She followed me to the lake one summer morn, wrestled me to the ground, stripped me naked, and sat—”

“Thanks for the advice,” I said really loudly, giving Finnvid a look that he evidently didn't get, because he just grinned at me. “I'll . . . uh . . . take it into consideration.”

“You're not really going to rip Benedikt's clothes off, are you?” Soren asked a few seconds later as I was walking back toward my trailer.

“Of course not! I'm brand-new to this whole girlfriend thing. There's no way I'd attempt as advanced a technique as clothes-ripping-off.”

Soren shot me a questioning look from the corner of his eye. “You're joking,
ja?
”

“Yes, I'm joking.” I stopped at the steps to the trailer. “Honest, Soren, it's not a big deal. Ben and I are going out on a date, just a date. Probably dinner and a movie. No biggie at all.”

Soren didn't say anything, but his eyes were troubled. I didn't know what I could say to him that was the truth and yet would help him get over the crush, so I didn't say anything. I socked him on the shoulder and told him he could help me find Tesla.

“I thought you and Benedikt already looked for him?” he asked, socking me back.

“We did. But I was thinking last night—here we are in a fair full of people with all sorts of freaky powers, and I'm not using any of it.”

“You touched the hobble,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but that didn't tell me much. I'm going to see if Tallulah can tell me anything.”

“She's a medium, not a diviner. What you need is someone who can tell you where to find Tesla.”

“Tallulah has Sir Edward. She says he can see everything from the Akashic Plain.”

“The what?” Soren's nose scrunched up in confusion.

“Akashic Plain. It's kind of like limbo. Imogen told me about it last week. I'm going to see Tallulah later. You want to come?”

“Sure, if I have my chores done.”

“No prob. My mom should be back any minute, and then I'm going to have to spend some time dealing with leaving her circle last night. I'm lucky she didn't slap the itching spell on me this morning.”

Soren trotted off and I used the next half hour to wash and get dressed, taking a few minutes to scarf down some green tea, toast, and two apples. I felt a twinge at the last one, since I automatically set one aside for Tesla. “Poor old boy. I hope you're all right,” I said just as the door opened and my mother came into the trailer.

“Oh good, you're up,” she said, a glint in her eye warning she was going to read me the lecture of a lifetime for leaving her circle before she'd broken it. She plopped down her bag of Wiccan stuff on the table, along with a familiar nylon object. “I found this halter in the clearing. I assume it was Tesla's.”

I burst into tears. I know what you're thinking, but it wasn't an attempt to distract Mom from the lecture—just the sight of seeing the halter I'd bought him before we left Hungary broke my heart, driving home the point that some stranger had my horse. “I don't know where he is,” I said in between sobs as Mom tried to comfort me, murmuring things about it being all right. “I don't know who has him, or if he's hungry, or in pain, or being made to walk too much—you know he's not supposed to get anything but a little gentle exercise! He's too old for a lot of running around. He could be dead and I wouldn't . . . wouldn't . . .” I couldn't go on. It was too horrible to think about.

“Aw, honey, I know it's hard, but you really can't believe the worst. If this Lars Laufeyiarson person wanted Tesla enough to offer you so much money for him, he's not going to be abused or mistreated.”