Confessions of a Vampire's Girlfriend (40 page)

I fought down the urge to touch my face. Sullen? Me? I wasn't feeling sullen. Tired, yes; wary, oh yes. But sullen? Nope. Not this girl.

“However, I believe one good thing came out of that ugly scene—I know now the depths of your feelings for Benedikt.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that I didn't think she did, because not even I knew how I felt for Ben, not in the way she meant, at least. My feelings for him were still confused and more or less up in the air. Oh, I liked him. I liked how he shared himself in the shower. I
really
liked kissing him. But anything beyond that was still unknown territory.

“As for your accusation that I don't trust you—” Mom paused a minute and frowned at me.

So much for not talking about the fight.

“—I want you to know that I do trust you. If I didn't, I wouldn't allow you to go on this date.”

My back straightened up at that “allow” business, but I decided to let it go. A fight now would only piss us both off even more. “Good,” I said at last, figuring she'd get snarky if I kept up the Ben-trademarked silence.

She took another deep breath and used the knuckles on one hand to rub her temples. “As a woman and a mother, however, I know what sort of trouble you can get into placing yourself in a position of weakness with a man. Any man—I'm not speaking specifically of Benedikt here. Going off with a man on a date is one of the times when you are vulnerable to assault: sexual, physical, and mental.”

“I've already told you,” I said, deliberately keeping my voice calm. “Ben and I aren't going to have sex. He's not going to physically or mentally assault me because I'm his Beloved. That means he pretty much can't, even if he wanted to, which he doesn't.”

Mom flinched at the word “Beloved” but didn't say anything about it. “There are such things as date rape, honey. There are drugs that men can give girls to knock them out so they can rape them.” I started to open my mouth to protest Ben's innocence in anything so ridiculous, but she raised a hand. “No, hear me out. I know you don't think that any of this will ever happen to you, and Goddess only knows I pray that it doesn't. But I want you to be prepared for any sort of attack on you, no matter whom it's from.”

I bit my lip to keep from telling her I could take care of myself. She reached behind and grabbed a small bag, pulling a couple items from it.

“This,” she said, holding up a small black canister, “is pepper spray. It won't cause any permanent damage, but it should slow down anyone who attacks you.”

I took the pepper spray without comment. I had actually kind of wanted some before, but never had the need for it.

“This is a Green Tara amulet.” Mom held up a chain with a small stone amulet hanging from it. She slipped it over my head. I held the stone amulet up so I could see it—it was a woman who sat lotus style, kind of like a female version of Buddha. “It is warded and spelled for protection. It should keep you safe from any being from the dark powers. Keep it on you at all times. And last . . .” She pulled out of a long leather case a big herkin' knife. “If the pepper spray and Green Tara aren't enough to stop someone, this should. I don't condone violence against others, as you know, but self-protection does not fall under those precepts.”

“OK,” I said, pushing the knife away when she shoved it at me. “The pepper spray I'll take because it's cool. The green Buddha lady I'll take too, because it will make you happy. But I am not going to walk around with the equivalent of a sword on me!”

“Fran, it's for your own—”

“I know,” I said, standing up. “And I appreciate it. The first two are fine. I won't let Ben slip me any pills, not that he would. I won't go into a dark alley with anyone. And I won't get in any strangers' cars, OK? Are you done? It's almost six, and I have to get changed for the palm reading, so I can end early and get ready for my date.”

She wasn't done, of course, but I didn't wait for her to finish before I got dressed for my time at the palm-reading table. She continued to warn me right up to the moment I left the trailer.

“Mom, it's just a date, one little date, not the end of the world,” I said as I opened the door and started down the stairs. She stood in the doorway giving me the same worried look she'd been giving me for the last half hour. “Stop worrying. Everything is under control, OK? Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“Women and children to the hills!” Finnvid yelled as he raced by, clad in his original Viking outfit of leather and wool, his huge shining sword in one hand as he ran for the beach. “
Anfall! Anfall!
Every man to arms—we're under attack by the Vangarians. To Valhalla!”

“Except, of course, if the Vikings Eirik called for help attack us instead,” I said with a lame smile.

Mom just stared.

“
H
ow bad is it?”

Eirik looked over his shoulder at me. He was half-hidden behind a rock, shouting orders to his men as they took up defensive positions. “Goddess Fran, you should not be here. Go back to your camp.”

“Weren't these guys supposed to be helping you with Loki?” I peered over the rock at the five boats that were bobbing up and down on the waves, about twenty yards offshore. “Are those whatchamacallit . . . dragon ships?”

Eirik rolled his eyes for a moment before snatching up a walkie-talkie and barking an order into it. “You have seen too many movies. Those are longboats, traditional Viking ships. Yes, we called the Vangarians to help us, but evidently they were jealous when they heard how you took us shopping, and now they wish to pillage our many fine possessions.”

An arrow whizzed past us with an odd humming noise.

“Arrow,” Ljot said helpfully as he trotted past us, an air horn in one hand, a paintball gun in the other.

I closed my eyes for a minute. “Please tell me you're not going to let them get past you to the Faire.”

“No, of course not,” Eirik said, shooting me an irritated glance. “There are only twenty-five of them. We will take them easily.”

The walkie-talkie came to staticky life again. Eirik listened intently for a minute, then answered in Swedish.

“Good, because if there is one more incident, I don't think Absinthe is going to be very happy. Crap, I'm late. I'll check on you later to see how things are going.”

“Enjoy your date. We will be here with Loki when you return,” Eirik said, sticking a knife between his teeth as he grabbed his sword and leaped over the rock to race down to where the longboats were landing.

I shook my head and hustled back to the Faire, wondering for the umpteenth time why things never seemed to go easily for me.

An hour later I was in the middle of explaining to a woman that I was not responsible for her hand saying she was going to have three kids when a man jumped up on my reading table and cut off my head.

Or rather, he tried to.

“Hey!” I yelled as the sword swung straight for me. I threw up my hands to protect myself, only realizing as he started a second swing that I could partially see through him. I narrowed my eyes at the Viking. “I don't recognize you. You're not one of Eirik's men, are you? I bet you're one of those Vangarians he called. Will you stop swinging that sword through me? It's annoying!”

There were three people in line behind the woman seated at my table. All four people stared in amazement as the Viking ghost turned toward them. He was dressed similarly to Eirik and his men in that he had a bare chest, wore a bit of fur strapped around his back, and had cloth pants tied on with leather leggings, but unlike my Vikings, he was partially translucent. I took it to mean he wasn't grounded the way the local ghosts were.

The people in line gasped as the Viking ghost flung himself off the table to race into the crowds wandering up around the Faire. A couple of people shrieked as he tried to behead one person, disembowl another, and hack to bits a Goth guy and girl with matching face piercings, but most people applauded. Just like with Eirik and his men the previous day, the visitors thought the Vikings were part of the GothFaire performers.

“I'm sorry. I'm going to have to close early,” I told the people waiting for me to read their palms. “We're having a bit of a problem with our . . . er . . . Vikings. Sorry. I should be here again tomorrow night.”

Two more strange Vikings raced down the aisle, screaming what I assumed were Viking war cries, trying to kill as many people with their phantom swords as they could.

“Fabulous special effects,” I heard one guy say in an English accent. “Straight out of Hollywood. Are they holograms, do you think?”

“Have to be,” his friend answered, watching curiously as one of the Viking ghosts stabbed a sword into his body a couple of times. “Bloody good ones, too. I wonder where the projectors are?”

“Top of the light poles,” I lied, pointing to the nearest tall stand of lights that lit the aisle.

“Ah.” Both men nodded. I spied a familiar, much more solid-looking Viking, and ran to intercept him. “Isleif, what's going on? I thought you guys were going to hold your buddies at the beach?”

“They're not grounded,” he answered, slinging his bow over his shoulder. “We are. We can't stop them any more than they can hurt us.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake . . . what are we going to do?”

“Ref and Gils and I are trying to round them up. Once we have them together, Eirik can tell them about our plan to battle Loki. They'll like that. We'll summon Loki then, and hold him for after your date.”

My date was beginning to look like it would never happen. “How are guys who can't interact physically with us going to help you with Loki?”

“He's a god,” Isleif said, yelling something and pointing in the direction of the last two Viking ghosts as Gils ran by. “Gods have a presence in both the spirit and mortal worlds. An ungrounded ghost can touch him.”

In the distance, a horn sounded.

“Oh, great, now what's that?” I asked, glaring at a ghost as he paused long enough to try to cut off my legs.

Isleif tipped his head to the side as he listened to the fading horn blast. “More Vangarians.”

“More? No! We have enough!”

“I'd best go help Eirik,” Isleif said, spinning around. “Things could get ugly if everyone decides not to cooperate.”

“All right, all of you, stop it,” I yelled, clapping my hands together in hopes the ghosts would pay attention to me. It was hopeless. “You there, in the leopard skin—knock it off! Stop stabbing people.”

Desdemona burst out of her booth directly in front of me, her eyes wild. The leopard print ghost looked at her as she went racing off toward the trailers.

“Well, OK, you can stab her. But leave the tourists alone!”

The Viking grinned and dashed off after Desdemona.

Ben!
I yelled, desperate for some support.

He didn't answer for a couple of seconds.
What's wrong, Fran? Is your mother giving you another lecture?

I'll talk to Eirik,
he said.

“Francesca!” a familiar female voice tinged with a German accent bellowed. I twitched.

I was having dinner
, he said wryly. I had a moment of squirminess as I realized what that meant, but his choice of food wasn't of concern at the moment.
I'm on my way to help you.

“Vhat is going on with your ghosts?” Absinthe demanded as she stormed toward me. “Did I not tell you to make them stop these behaviors? They are bothering the customers!”

“I'm sorry. These aren't really my ghosts. They're . . . uh . . . friends. We're trying to get them contained, but—”

At that moment, a pack of women on motorcycles roared onto the fairgrounds. They didn't stop at the parking area; they went right through it and into the center aisle.

“Fran!” A woman riding double on the first motorcycle leaned out and waved. Imogen wore a helmet, but I recognized her even through the smoky faceplate. She plucked the helmet off and smiled broadly. “Look who I found for you!”

The first motorcycle came to a stop directly in front of Absinthe and me. The woman riding it nodded at me. “I understand from Imogen that you need some help with lost warriors?”