Confessions of a Vampire's Girlfriend (25 page)

The man slid a look toward Ben before answering me. “Palm reading? No. Not unless . . . no. I am Lars Laufeyiarson. The young man taking care of the Andalusian gelding told me that the other horse belongs to you. Is that correct?”

“Tesla? Yeah, I guess he belongs to me.”

His forehead wrinkled. “You guess? You are not certain? Are you not his legal owner?”

“Yes, I'm certain. My mom made me get a receipt from the guy I bought Tesla from before we left Hungary. I'm his legal owner. Why do you want to know? Tesla hasn't been loose, so I know he couldn't have done anything, or gotten into any trouble—”

“I wish to purchase him,” the man said abruptly, sliding Ben another wary look. “I will pay you one thousand dollars American for him.”

I
swear my jaw just about hit my feet when Mr. Laufeyiarson offered a grand for Tesla. A thousand dollars! For a horse!
My
horse? Something was definitely not right.

“You want to pay a thousand
dollars
for Tesla?” I asked, thinking maybe he was offering me a thousand of some other currency, something that sounded big, but really only meant ten bucks.

Mr. Laufeyiarson nodded. “Yes, one thousand dollars American.”

Maybe he had the wrong horse? Maybe he thought Bruno was Tesla? Bruno had to be worth a ton of money; he knew all sorts of moves and special tricks, but Tesla? Tesla was just an old horse who like to snuffle people for treats, and occassionally allowed me to ride him around a field at a slow pace. “I don't want to sound insulting, Mr. Laufeyiarson, but are you sure you're talking about Tesla, and not Bruno? He's Andalusian, and very valuable—”

He shook his head. “No, the Andalusian is a gelding. I'm interested in the Lipizzan stallion.”

I slid a confused glance toward Ben. He stood next to me, his arms crossed over his chest, watching me with dark oak eyes with pretty, sparkly gold flecks. “Um . . . that's really nice of you, Mr. Laufeyiarson, but I don't think I could sell Tesla. I kind of promised a girl in Hungary that I'd take care of him.”

“I understand. You have received another offer, yes? I will match the offer. How much do you want?” He pulled out a big leather wallet. My eyes bugged at the amount of money he had stuffed into it. “I brought fifteen hundred in cash, but if the offer was for more—”

“No!” I yelped, holding up a hand as he started digging out the wad of money. “There's been no other offer, honest. I just don't want to sell Tesla.”

He frowned at me, a kind of puzzled look in his eyes that cleared as he looked at Ben. He said something in a language that wasn't English. Surprise flickered across Ben's face for a moment, and then he answered in the same language. A few seconds later, Mr. Laufeyiarson gave me a long, considering look, then inclined his head. “I see. I regret you could not accommodate me. If you change your mind, you may reach me at any time.”

I looked down at the card he pushed into my hand before he walked off, leaving me to wonder just what was going on, what Ben had told him, and why he thought I would change my mind. Time for some answers.

“All right, what did all that mean?”

“All what?” Ben didn't wait for me to reply. He grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the area where the trailers were parked, stopping when we were hidden by shadows.

“All that he looked at you, and you looked at him, and you both did that secret guy-talk thing that males do, and then Mr. Laufeyiarson left. Hey! You can't kiss me again!”

“I can't? Why not?” Ben pulled me into his arms and I stood for a moment, queen of indecision. Part of me—the girly part—wanted to swoon up against him and breathe in that wonderful Ben smell that was part leather jacket, part woodsy outdoors, but the other part of me—the brainy part—reminded the rest of me that he had disappeared for the past three weeks without any sort of an explanation, without even a good-bye.

“Because you already had your welcome-back kiss, and now it's time to start explaining a few things, like where you've been, and why you went away without saying anything to me or Imogen, and who Mr. Laufeyiarson was, and why would anyone want to pay a thousand dollars for an old gray horse?”

“Tesla's a Lipizzan. I told you he was valuable,” Ben said, ignoring the more important questions. At least he let go of me so I could step back and get a little distance from him. “Obviously this man recognized his bloodlines, and thinks stud rights are worth the money despite the stallion's age.”

“You didn't say Tesla was valuable,” I said, frowning. Stud rights? Someone wanted Tesla to get busy with a mare? My old creaky Tesla who had to walk around for a couple of hours to work out the stiffness in his joints? Valuable? “Do you think he was, like . . . oh, I don't know, stolen or something? Maybe I should write to my friend in Hungary and ask her how her grandfather got him.”

Ben shrugged. “I meant to look into Tesla's past while I was in Hungary, but I was . . . er . . . sidetracked.”

“By what?” I asked, my attention immediately yanked away from the mystery of Tesla.

Ben just looked at me. I made an annoyed sound and stripped off both gloves of my right hand, scratching an ichy spot on the back of it before placing my palm against the patch of skin exposed above the neckline of his black T-shirt. Ben was one of the few people who could close off his mind to me so I wasn't overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions. Now all I felt was a deep, burning red hunger.

I sighed and pulled my hand back. I didn't really want to, but I knew if I continued to stand there touching him, I'd end up kissing him again, and I really wanted some answers. A little spot on the side of my head tickled. I scratched it and said, “You know, you don't have to shut off all your emotions. A few would be helpful.”

Even in the darkness of the shadows I could see his teeth flash white in a quick grin. “If you knew everything, then there would be no mystery to keep you coming back to me.”

My nose itched. I scratched it as I answered. “Any more mystery and I'm going to start thinking a less annoying boyfriend is the way to go. So you were in Hungary after we left?”

My cheek itched. Ben said nothing as I scratched my cheek.

“What exactly were you doing in Hungary? Something to do with this job you have that you won't tell me anything about?”

The back of my neck almost twitched it itched so badly. I scratched it with both hands, mentally cursing the fact that Ben couldn't lie to me. Not that I wanted him to lie, but I'd found out that it was more annoying to have him refuse to speak than to try to decide whether what he was saying was true.

“And what happened to your cross? You're not wearing it anymore. You haven't suddenly gone all vampy about it, have you? You told me you could wear crosses and go into churches and all that stuff—has something changed?”

“No, nothing has changed,” he said, his eyebrows pulling together as I reached behind me with both hands, yanked up the back of my shirt, and scratched like mad at a really itchy spot on my spine. “Have you picked up fleas from Tesla?”

“I don't have fleas!” I said, outraged, as I leaned against the trailer and rubbed my back on a protruding bit of metal. The itch wasn't appeased, but figured it couldn't hurt to try. “And neither does Tesla!”

“Then why are you hopping around like you are covered in itching powder?”

“It's my mother. It must be time for the circle to form. This is her subtle way of telling me she wants me.”

His black eyebrows rose. “She torments you when she wants you?”

“It's just a simple itching spell,” I said over my shoulder as I started toward the clearing beyond the Faire area where the circle was going to be held. “Nothing harmful, only really irritating until she stops it. You want to come to the circle?”

He shook his head. “Most witches don't care to have one born of the dark powers diluting their purity.”

I debated telling him that Mom didn't think of him as evil just because he was a vampire, but seventeen different spots on me itched like mad, which meant my mother was upping the wattage in her spell. “Come on, no one will mind.” I grabbed Ben's hand and hauled him after me as I jogged toward the flat area behind the main tent where my mother was holding her circle.

“Fran—” Ben dug in his heels and stopped.

“What? Oh, the sun! Sorry. Is it light enough to bother you?”

“Not so long as I remain covered,” he answered, tugging his hat so it shaded his face.

“Good.” I pulled on his hand. “Come on. Please? I missed you. I want to hear about what you've been doing, and tell you about all the interesting things I've been up to since we left Hungary.”

He gave in, giving my hand a little squeeze before letting it go to wrap his arm around my waist. I went a little squidgy at that, but didn't have time to analyze just what that feeling meant—and what I should do about it—before we burst out into the circle.

“There you are,” Mom started to say, stopping when she saw Ben with me. She held a sword in her hand, the sword she used to draw circles. The other ladies in the circle—there were five of them, including two members of GothFaire—gasped as a group, like they were shocked that Ben was there.

“I will leave,” he said quietly.

I tightened my hold on his hand. “If you're not welcome, then I'm not staying.”

“Fran . . .” Mom frowned for a moment, looking where I held Ben's hand hidden against my skirt so he wouldn't get sunburned, then to his face, thrown into shadow by the brim of his hat.

Mom sighed. “Very well, you may stay, Benedikt. But please do not interfere with the proceedings.”

“We won't say a word,” I promised, moving aside to stand with the others. Mom had evidently just completed drawing the first circle, the one cast in the sight of the gods. She did that by drawing a circle on the ground with the sword.

Have you ever been to a Wiccan circle?
I asked Ben as he scooted over behind me. I turned so I'd block him from the weak sunlight peeking over the horizon.

Mom held a sword at waist level and walked the boundaries of the first circle she'd drawn.

Ah.
Mom walked the third circle with the sword held over her head.
Interesting. I had imagined there would be some sort of invocation or words spoken.

Desdemona, GothFaire's time-travel counselor, stepped forward into the circle. Mom anointed her on the forehead with a drop of oil. Desdemona bowed her head as if she was honoring my mother, but I saw her sneaking a peek at Ben. I moved a smidgen closer to him, doing my best to convince myself that I wasn't jealous.

I like it best when she uses wine to welcome everyone to the circle
, I said, smiling into Ben's mind. He smiled back as I followed Mikaela into the circle. A rich, pungent, spicy scent curled up as my mother touched my forehead and murmured a few words of what I knew was a blessing. I sniffed happily. She was using frankincense and myrrh oil, my favorite anointing oil. I took that as a sign that good things were going to happen, a thought that soured somewhat when I noticed Desdemona was still watching Ben.

Navy, a nice woman who was really, really preggers (she was the wife of Armand the demonologist), entered the circle next. She went to sit next to Mikaela and one of the local Wiccans. Mom hesitated a moment when Ben, the last person remaining, stepped into the circle. Everyone else held their breath for a moment, but once my mother decides to do something, she does it. She touched Ben on the forehead with the oil, saying the standard blessing.

Something within the circle changed at that moment, though, something I'd never felt before in a circle. It was like something had awakened from a long sleep. The pendant I wore beneath my shirt hummed to life, glowing with a warm heat.

Fran? What's wrong?
Ben asked. I could feel his concern wrap around me like a soft velvet blanket.