Confessions of a Vampire's Girlfriend (34 page)

“I hear eating,” Isleif said behind me. He shifted and the huge hunting bow (with laser sight) smacked me in the head again. “Finnvid is eating our Big Macs!”

“I told you boys, no eating in the car,” Imogen said. As the driver, she alone was not laden with packages, but she had been wedged in pretty tightly next to Soren and Eirik. She yanked open the car door behind me, sending me spilling out with my bag containing my date outfit (including a new pair of shoes, nylons, and a froufrou undie set Imogen insisted I have), two bags of men's clothing, a box containing five different flavors of fudge, a Game Boy box and several cartridges, and a cup of Diet Coke. I fell onto the grass with Isleif not far behind me.

“Aha! I knew it! Finnvid is eating our Big Macs!” Isleif shouted as he got to his feet. Finnvid looked guilty with a french fry hanging out of his mouth, but he didn't wait around to explain why he was scarfing down the Vikings' dinner. He threw down all the packages but the seven McDonald's bags, and bolted.

“
Tors vänstra tånagel!
” Eirik erupted from the car, bags and boxes and packages scattering all over the place as he ran after Finnvid. He almost reached him when Finnvid suddenly turned invisible. Eirik shouted again, then did the invisible thing himself. Isleif grunted as he got to his feet, fading away to nothing.

The line of people waiting to get in applauded, evidently believing the Vikings dematerializing was part of the show.

“
Tors
what?” I asked, brushing off myself as I stood.

“
Vänstra tånagel
. It means ‘Thor's left toenail.'” Ben handed me one of the bags that had fallen with me.

“Oh. Thanks. You speak Swedish?”

“Yes. You're late,” he said again.

“We were delayed by the Vikings,” Imogen answered for me, coming around the car with her arms laden (she did as much shopping as the Vikings did—it's a wonder even half of it fit in the car). She kissed Ben on the cheek and hurried off toward her trailer, calling for Soren to bring her things quickly. He limped past me carrying the remains of Imogen's shopping, giving Ben a dark look as he went by.

“So was it Swedish Mr. Laufeyiarson was speaking to you the other night?”

Ben looked surprised for a moment. “Yes, it was. Why?”

“I'm curious why he was talking to you when he knew I was Tesla's owner. What did he say to you?”

It took a few seconds for him to answer. I knew for some reason he didn't want to tell me, but I was less worried about offending him than finding Tesla. “He asked if you were my Beloved. I told him you were. That is all.”

“Hmm. You look better,” I told him, heading for my trailer. I had just enough time to drop off my things and get my palm reader's clothes on (basically, a Gypsy outfit that I'd bought in Hungary).

Ben walked beside me, holding himself stiffly, as if he still hurt. “I told you I would be fine.”

“Was that before or after you died?”

“Fran.” Ben stopped me, sighing. “I'm sorry I frightened you, but you of all people should know it takes more than a little blood loss to kill me. You overreacted to the situation. Despite appearances, I was not near death.”

I shook his arm off and reached for the trailer door. “Oh really? Is that why you didn't answer me when I did the mind thing with you?”

He blinked but said nothing. I gave him a knowing look and ran up the steps to the trailer to change my clothes.

During the summer, GothFaire ran from six at night until two in the morning, which seems like a weird time to run a fair, but given the bizarre nature of the attractions—most popular were the piercing booth (couldn't get me near that with a ten-foot pole), aura photographs, and my mother's potions and spells—the fairgoers liked that we were open so late. I only worked four hours, from the Faire opening until ten. After that I was free, although the rest of the Faire was going full blast.

 

How is it going?
a voice asked me a couple of hours later.

I looked up from the hand I was reading, smiling at Ben standing next to the line of three people waiting to have their palms read.
Are you checking up on me?

I thought about it for a moment as I explained to the man in front of me what his lifeline showed.
That depends. Are you checking up on me to see if I need anything—like a break, or a drink, or something like that—or are you checking up on me just to see what I'm doing?

I smiled.
I wanted to know if you're all right.

Hmm.
I finished the reading for the man before me, smiling when his girlfriend, who was next in line, told me she liked my lace gloves.
I think that's pretty much a lost cause, don't you? We both looked last night; then you looked some before you went all mysterious and almost got yourself killed.

No. I don't think searching is going to find them.
I spent the next few minutes simultaneously reading a woman's palm, and telling Ben what happened with Tallulah.

Sir Edward didn't say what sort of being the thief was?
Ben asked when I was finished.

Ben gave me a look.
Being a Dark One is not synonymous with omnipotence, Fran.

Ben laughed into my head and did something he'd never done before—kissed me. Mentally. Or rather, he remembered what it felt like for him to kiss me. I gasped as the sensation filled my head of just what he felt when we kissed.

“Are you all right?” the girl in front of me asked as I grabbed a palm-reading flyer and started to fan myself.

“Just a little hot.” I made a face at Ben, then turned my attention back to the girl's hand. “Let's see, we were on the Mound of Venus, weren't we?”

An hour later I folded the midnight blue velvet cloth that I used to read people's hands (“Make your space your own,” Mom always said), counted out the money, putting it into the GothFaire bag before tucking it away in a lockable metal box I'd picked up in Berlin.

Soren was giving Bruno a last-minute check to make sure the horse's harness was clean. I waved at him as I hurried to drop off the cash box at the trailer. “Have you seen Tibolt?” I asked, stopping for a moment.

He pointed past me. “They just finished their act.”

“Thanks!” I popped into the trailer, stashed my money box in its usual place, hurriedly gave Davide some cat food and told him that no, he couldn't go outside when the Faire was open, and hurried out to find Tibolt.

Circus of the Darned people didn't have trailers like the Faire folk. Tibolt had a sleek black RV with a satellite dish clamped onto the top. Ramon and Mikaela had a silver RV, and the three people who worked behind the scenes for them—I never was quite sure of their names since they didn't speak much English—all shared a third RV, much more battered than the other two. I knocked on Tibolt's door, a little surprised when Mikaela answered it.

“Hullo, Fran. Have you come to see Tib?”

“Yes, if he's not busy.”

“Sure. Tib? Fran is here for you.”

I climbed into the RV, making a mental note that this was what Mom and I needed if we were going to stay with GothFaire. The interior was done in black and red, with gold trim on the black wood paneling. Overhead, a long light hung from the ceiling, while a full couch, two recliners, and a TV made up the living room part. Tibolt was stretched out on the couch, sipping a drink while Ramon sat at the table going over a map of Europe.

“Hi, everyone,” I said, feeling a bit out of place in all this opulence. “Tibolt, I came to give you back your pendant, and also to ask if you wouldn't mind using it to get rid of the Vikings. I like them and all, but they pissed off Absinthe this morning, and raised a bit of hell in town, so I think it's best if they were sent to Valhalla.”

Tibolt waved his drink at me. “The pendant is yours now. I meant to tell you that earlier, but forgot.”

“Mine? I don't think so,” I said, pulling the chain over my head. “It's gotten me in enough trouble.”

“Regardless, the
Vikingahärta
is dead to me now. It has forsaken me for you.”

“Dead?” I looked at the pendant in my hand. It vibrated slightly, as if it was charged with power. “It doesn't feel dead. It's kind of . . . humming.”

“Yes. Let me see it.” He held out his hand for it. I plopped it onto his palm. He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them and shook his head, offering me the pendant again. “No, it's as I thought—the
Vikingahärta
has no power for me. It can serve me no purpose now, so you may have it.”

“I don't want it!” I said, protesting when he sat up to shove it back into my hands. “It looks valuable and really old. My mom would freak if she found out you gave it to me.”

He made a funny little half smile. “Then your mother must understand that in this, we have no choice. The
Vikingahärta
cannot be used by just anyone—the bearer must be sympathetic, open to its abilities. It has chosen you to act through, which is why I said earlier that only you can get send the ghosts to Valhalla. I can do nothing.”

“But—I don't have the slightest idea what to do to get them there,” I said, my heart sinking. I'd never be rid of the ghosts without help!

“Tib, there has to be something you can do,” Mikaela said as he stood and stretched. I narrowed my eyes for a moment, wondering again why the Tibolt magic seemed to have faded. Ever since he'd given me that pendant . . . hmm. Unobtrusively, I set it down on the back of a chair.

“No, and I'm tired of you nagging me about it. Isn't it enough that I'm being unfairly punished by the master?” Tibolt snapped, turning to scowl at me. My knees almost melted at the sight of him—he was gorgeous, so very gorgeous even when he was mad. I wanted to run over and throw myself on him . . . eek! Quickly I grabbed the pendant, sighing in relief when Tibolt's attraction faded into normalness.

Clearly he'd cast some sort of glamour on himself to seem irresistible. I wondered if a bit of that had wonked up my mom's invocation, or if it was the valknut that had thrown her off?

“You're being punished for your own folly,” Mikaela said, frowning just as much as her cousin was. “You have no one to blame but yourself for what happened, so blaming Loki or anyone else for your troubles is just denial.”

“I know that, you stupid witch!”

Mikaela gasped. Ramon stood up and said, “You will not talk to her that way.”

“Don't tell me what to do!” Tibolt yelled as he went toe-to-toe with Ramon. “I'll call her whatever I like!”

“Er,” I said, uncomfortable. I had a feeling I was indirectly the source of the argument—or rather, the pendant was—and I would be better off elsewhere. I tried to edge around the two men but they blocked the aisle to the door. “I think I should probably leave now. If you'd let me past . . .”

“You're lucky I am a priestess and not the witch you claim, because if I were, your ass would be so cursed!” Mikaela said, poking Tibolt in the chest and ignoring me just as the other two did.

“You have no powers over me,” Tibolt answered, narrowing his eyes at her. “I am a mage of the fifth level.”

“And I am the high priestess of Ashtar,” she snapped back, giving him another poke in the chest. “Your magic has no effect on me.”

“Um, guys? Can I get by, please?” I asked.

“Magic is wasted on the ignorant,” Tibolt said as he slammed down his drink and started toward the door. His insult made Mikaela gasp in surprise again.

“Tibolt—” Ramon started to say, but stopped when Tibolt snarled something in Swedish and slammed his way out of the RV.

“I'm sorry,” I said quietly, slipping the pendant over my head and scooting past a black-faced Mikaela. “See you guys later.”

Mikaela muttered a few things in Swedish, stopping suddenly to call me back. “No, Fran, wait! I will help you with the ghosts.”

“You will?” I climbed back into the RV, hesitant because I didn't want to cause any more problems.

“Yes, I will. Tibolt is not the only one in the family with powers, and since he is to blame for the situation, and he refuses to help you, I will.” She looked at Ramon, who nodded. “And so will Ramon. We will help you send the ghosts to Valhalla.”