Confessions of a Vampire's Girlfriend (33 page)

“No, I don't think so,” I said, smiling.

“Ah? Why not?”

“Because evidently he's working on an all-over tan.” Soren blinked at me in confusion for a moment. “You know, nude sunbathing?”

“Oh!” His eyes got big as he nodded. “No, you do not want to disturb him. I'm surprised that Imogen isn't with him.”

My smile turned to a grin. “Evidently Desdemona beat her to it. Imogen had a couple of really interesting things to say about that, but in the end she decided to go shopping rather than duke it out with Desdemona.”

“Ah.”

“Anyway, Mikaela said Tibolt would be back around supper time, so I can catch him—oh, there's Imogen. Let's get this over with.”

“I thought most girls liked to shop?” he asked as we followed Imogen to the parking area.

I tipped my chin up so I could look down my nose at him, doing my best to sound like Tallulah. “
I
am not most girls.”

He snorted as we approached Imogen's white car. “You can say that again.”

I punched him in the arm.

“Goddess! Where are you going?”

I stopped and glanced over my shoulder at where Eirik was yelling at me. He and Finnvid and Isleif were squatting around a small fire, roasting something that looked like it had once been a cute little bunny. I decided I really, really didn't want to know, so I kept my eyes on Eirik. “Shopping with Imogen.”

“Shopping?” He frowned for a moment, then said something to the other two. Finnvid jumped up immediately, Isleif waiting before he pulled the dead thing off the makeshift spit before following the other two. “We will come with you.”

“Um,” I said, not wanting to offend them, but not particularly wanting an audience of Vikings while I tried on dresses. “Imogen's car is kind of small.”

“Not that small,” Finnvid said with a knowing smile. I figured that was just something else I didn't want to know.

Imogen raised her eyebrows as we approached. “You gentlemen are all coming with us?”

“Yes. We wish to shop.” Eirik took the front seat. I guess he figured that as head Viking, he got to ride shotgun. “There are many things we need.”

“Er . . . I don't think there's enough room for everyone,” I said, looking at Soren, Finnvid, Isleif, and the backseat.

“You may sit on me,” Isleif said. “You are big, but I am bigger.”

I bit my tongue, fighting back the urge to snap back something mean about his “you are big” comment.

“Soren will sit on Finnvid,” Eirik said, playing with the air conditioner. “He is small, and Finnvid won't mind.”

“I am not sitting on anyone!” Soren said, backing away as Finnvid tried to grab him.

“You can sit up front, between Eirik and me,” Imogen told him, pushing him toward the front seat.

“There, you see? Everyone fits. Let us go,” Eirik said. “Are we going to McDonald's again, as well? Last night Isleif ate ten Big Macs. I will show him that I can eat eleven.”

I sighed, wondering, if anyone else ever got stuck with Viking ghosts that were addicted to McDonald's. I climbed onto Isleif's lap, apologizing to Finnvid when I inadvertantly kicked him in the knee. I didn't mind sitting on Isleif because he had a daughter my age—or he did at one point, several hundred years ago—but it was a tight fit getting the two big Vikings and me into the back of Imogen's car.

“What exactly—oh, sorry again, Finnvid. My foot was cramping—what exactly do you guys want to buy?” I asked as we crossed the causeway over to the mainland. The town of Benlös Vessla was just a few minutes away, a nice enough place with a couple of streets of shops, suburbs, even a couple strip malls.

“Finnvid wishes to visit Kärleksgrottan,” Eirik answered, leaning back as the air-conditioning blew on him.

“Kärleksgrottan?” I asked.

“Yes. It means love grotto. Finnvid has heard of something called a motion lotion, and wishes to try it.”

I peeked at Imogen. She was blushing faintly, but kept her eyes on the road and said nothing. I added Finnvid's quest to my Too Much Information list.

“I wish to get a new bow,” Isleif rumbled behind me. “I have seen pictures of modern bows in a catalog. I want one with a laser sight. No moose would ever escape me then!”

“Er . . . I don't think hunting is allowed now,” I said, crossing my fingers because I had no idea whether or not that was true. I just didn't want to see Isleif hauling in the corpse of a moose some morning.

“It isn't? What is this country coming to?” Isleif grumbled under his breath for a few seconds. “Then I will get a new hunting knife. A sharp one, with a compass in the handle.”

Soren turned around just enough to raise his eyebrows at me. I shook my head slightly, telling him it was useless to get into a lecture against hunting with guys who spent their entire lives doing it.

“And I wish to get a Game Boy,” Eirik said, his eyes still closed, a look of bliss on his face as he wallowed in the cold air blowing from the front vent. “I have seen many tourists with them. I wish to blow up tiny little people as they do.”

Soren snickered.

“It sounds like you guys will be busy for a while buying all your stuff.”

“Buying?'” Finnvid asked. “We do not buy. We are Vikings! We pillage!”

“Pillaging is also outlawed now,” Imogen said, winking at Finnvid in the rearview mirror. “You must buy things or the police will lock you away in a very small room. It is not pleasant.”

“You don't have any money?” I asked Eirik, who was sitting up now, looking around the town as Imogen drove us down the main street.

He frowned. “No. We will barter.”

“Barter what?” I asked, chewing on my lower lip. I didn't want the ghosts glommed onto me forever, but neither did I want to see them end up in jail for shoplifting.

“We have gold and silver,” Finnvid said nonchalantly, rolling down his window in order to stick his head out of it.

“Oh. Well, that should do. OK, so you guys do your bartering thing while Imogen and Soren help me pick out a dress, and then we'll all head back to the Faire in time for the opening.”

“A dress?” Eirik asked, his head swivelling around to look at me.

“For your date with the Dark One?” Finnvid asked.

“Yeah, but—”

“We will help you pick out a dress. This date, it is important to you.” Eirik pointed out an empty space in the parking lot. “Vikings have good taste. You will trust our opinion.”

“I will?” I asked, unfolding my legs to get out of the car. My left foot had gone numb, causing me to do a little pins-and-needles dance. “Uh . . . Imogen has had a lot more experience picking out clothes, and she said she'd help me first, so it's only fair—”

“Bah,” Eirik said, grabbing my arm and hustling me down the sidewalk. I have to give the people in Benlös Vessla credit—they didn't bat a single eyelash at the sight of three Vikings walking around town. Imogen was giggling with Finnvid behind us as I was marched between Eirik and Isleif to a ladies' clothing shop. Soren rolled his eyes and followed. “Imogen is a woman and thus does not have as much good taste as we do. In this, we are superior. We are Vikings!”

“That's what you said about killing people and stuff,” I said, resisting as best I could even though I knew it wouldn't do me any good. I was right. Isleif and Eirik just pushed me into the shop.

“We are superior in all things,” Eirik said, looking around the store. Soren wandered in, found himself directly in front of a table mounded high with panties, gawked at them with a horrified look on his face, and ran to the other side of the store.

“Finnvid, fetch the slave—”

“Sales assistant,” I corrected, spying a middle-aged lady in the back of the shop that I took to be the owner or a salesperson.

“—to attend the goddess. We will pick out something for you. You sit until we're ready.”

“I don't
think
so,” I said to their backs as they went over to a rack of dresses. A few seconds later, I had to apologize profusely when Finnvid plopped down the saleslady he'd picked up and carried from the back of the store. “I'm so sorry. My . . .
friends
. . . are a little enthusiastic. Do you speak English?”

“Yes,” the woman said in a heavy accent, her eyes huge as she looked from Finnvid to Eirik and Isleif. Luckily, there wasn't anyone else in the shop. “Yes, I do. Er . . . you wish to buy something?”

“These are charming lace panties,” Imogen said, coming up with a handful of underwear. “Do you have matching bras? I do like my undergarments to match.”

“Yes, behind you,” the woman said, nodding toward the chair into which Soren had slumped. He looked even more horrified as he followed the woman's gaze and turned his head to find a wall of bras next to him.

“I'll be outside,” he said quickly, dashing for the door.

“Sales slave! Do you have nothing with ermine or squirrel?” Eirik called, holding a horrible slinky purple disco dress.

“Er . . .” the saleswoman said, her mouth hanging open slightly.

“I've found it works best if you just ignore them,” I told her quiet voice. “They really do mean well, but they can be a bit much if you let yourself think about them.”

“Er . . .”

“The goddess has a date with a Dark One. She must be dressed according to her station,” Finnvid said, holding up a pair of moss green linen capris to his waist as he checked his reflection in the mirror.

“Eh . . .” The saleslady looked like she wanted to bolt.

“Fran, you must come look at these lace bras. They are extremely well made. I'm sure if you were to wear one of them you'd feel much more confident. Oooh! Strapless!”

“I found something,” Isleif said, pulling a pink maribou baby doll nightie from a rack. He fondled the maribou feathers. “This is very goddess-like. It's short, and it will show her breasts well.”

“Let me see that,” Eirik said, tossing aside a taffeta promlike dress. He groped the maribou, too, for a few seconds before holding the nightie up against himself, smoothing it down this chest. “Yes, this is good. I like it. Do you have bearskin boots? Ones that lace up the thigh?”

“Erm . . .”

“The goddess Fran will need an ax, too,” Isleif told her. “A nice little ladies' beheading ax with matching baldric. And a skinning knife to tuck into her boot, for emergencies.”

Imogen shoved a periwinkle blue bra into my hands. “Wireless underwire. Truly one of the seven modern miracles of man. Is that a negligee Eirik has? Where did he get it? Oooh, they have it in peach!”

The saleslady made an
eep
ing sound, and started backing toward the door. Imogen hurried past Isleif to pounce on the rack of nighties.

“Good point, Isleif,” Eirik said, nodding. “She must be protected. Sales slave! I have gold Arabic coins. I will give you two of them for this goddess dress, and one more for the beheading ax and skinning knife.”

That turned out to be the straw that broke the sales slave's back. The lady ran for her life as I slumped down into the chair Soren had so quickly vacated, wondering if I was going to go through the rest of my life accompanied by twelve Viking ghosts, clad in a feathery pink nightie.

It was beginning to look like I was.

“
T
here you are,” Ben said, giving me a long look as he stood next to where Imogen had parked her car. “I thought you were going to be back early. Your mother has been looking for you. You only have a few minutes before the Faire opens.”

GothFaire is a popular show even though it goes to most places just once a year. People come to it from all around the countryside, which is why we tend to stay parked for a week in smaller towns, sometimes two weeks in big ones. So I wasn't surprised to see that the parking area was already filling even before the Faire was officially open, although it was a bit embarassing having an audience as we all piled out of Imogen's car.

“It looks like a clown car,” Mikaela said as she strolled past swinging two chain saws.

I had to admit, she was probably right. As Isleif, Finnvid, and I tried to squeeze our way out of the back, laden with packages that didn't fit in the trunk of Imogen's car, I just knew the people waiting in line for the ticket booth to open were getting a good show.

“Goddess, you are on my hand—”

“Sorry. Isleif, my shirt is caught on the edge of that bow. Can you—ow! That was my head!”

“Who has the french fries?” Eirik asked, peering out from beneath a mound of packages. The Vikings were not content with their success at the dress shop (although they pouted over the skirt and top I finally picked out, claiming they were lacking in both the feather and breast-presentation departments), and had spent another three hours going to just about every store in Benlös Vessla. We might have been able to stop them after just a couple shops since the shopkeepers didn't take ancient gold coins, but then they spotted a coin dealer who bought precious metals, and all bets were off. “Soren, you are spilling my McShake. If it stains my new silk suit, I will gullet you and hang your intestines to dry in the sun.”