In the Company of Vampires (6 page)

“A what?”

“Nothing. I guess there’s nothing for it but to try Imogen, if you’re sure you don’t mind me using your phone again.”

“Knock yourself out. I’ve got to write a letter to my nana. She doesn’t do e-mails, and her ninety-ninth birthday is next week.”

“Thanks.” I stared at her cell phone in my hand, my stomach tight with the thought of talking to Imogen.

“Something wrong?” Geoff asked.

I made a face. “Not really. It’s just that Imogen and I were really close friends. Ben is her brother, and when I decided to leave the Faire and go to college . . . Well, it was kind of ugly.”

“Ugly how?”

I was silent for a moment, the memories all but swamping me with grief.

“How can you be so selfish?” Imogen had asked me nearly five years before, tears trembling in her blue eyes, her face mirroring the pain I felt in my heart. “You know what you have to do. Stop fighting your destiny and just do it!”

“Is it so wrong to want some time to just be myself before I have to become an extension of Ben?” I stormed back at her.

“You should be happy to be his Beloved! How can you say you love him, and yet refuse to do what’s right?”

I had turned on my heel and walked out of her trailer at that. Three days later I left GothFaire and Europe.

The memory of that time was fresh even now. “Ugly in that Imogen felt I was betraying Ben by refusing to tie myself to him.”

“You were only seventeen, right?”

I nodded.

“Man. Talk about pressure,” Geoff said, her face filled with sympathy. “Just because you didn’t want to date her brother?”

“It goes a bit deeper than that,” I admitted. “There was . . . Ben and I had a . . . for lack of a better word, a sort of chemistry thing going on. Everyone said we were meant for each other, and I was expected to fall in with him whether or not I wanted to. Only my mother was on my side.” I choked to a stop.

“It was the right thing to do,” Geoff said softly.

“I know. I had to have some time to think about things, and at first, Ben was okay with that. But later . . . well. No sense beating that particular dead horse. It’s Imogen I’m worried about now. If she’s still angry with me, she might hang up before I can explain what’s going on.” I picked up the phone to dial a well-remembered number.

A man’s voice answered Imogen’s phone. For one brief mind-constricting moment I thought it was Ben, but the accent was wrong. Ben spoke with a slight accent that I found out was Czech; this man sounded German. “Hallo?”

“Hi. Is Imogen there?” I ordered my heart to start beating again.

“Ya. Who is?”

“My name is Fran. She . . . uh . . . knows me from a few years ago.”

A brief muffled conversation was held before the phone was handed over, and a familiar lilting voice greeted me. “Fran? Can this really be you?”

“Yes, it’s me. Hi, Imogen. It sounds incredibly lame to say long time no talk, but . . . well, it’s been a long time.”

Geoff gave me a thumbs-up, and gathered up a duffel bag filled with laundry, mouthing she’d be back shortly.

“It has been forever,” Imogen said, her voice rich with sorrow and regret that made my eyes burn painfully. “Oh, Fran, I have missed you so much. Can you ever forgive me for trying to force you and Benedikt together? I was so angry, but then I realized that you were right—you needed to have time to grow up and be who you were meant to be. I just wanted so much for you and Benedikt to be happy together—”

“I know you did. And I really wish it could have worked out. But before we get all maudlin, I’m trying to locate my mom. Is she there?”

“Here with me? No, she went to Heidelberg for the weekend to do some shopping.”

I frowned at my feet. “But it’s Tuesday. Shouldn’t she have been back by now?”

“Yes, she should be back . . . one moment. Günter, my love, would you mind terribly going out and seeing if Miranda is about? You remember her, don’t you? She’s the Wiccan who has those lovely good luck charms I bought for you. Günter is checking, Fran. Now, you must tell me how you are, and what you have been doing, and oh, everything. I wanted to talk to you so many years ago, but Benedikt said we must give you space, which just sounded silly to me, because we are best friends, are we not? But he insisted, and so I abided by his desire, and let you grow up. You have grown up, haven’t you?”

I laughed at the wistful note in her voice. “Yes, I’m a big girl now. Well, bigger, which is pretty awkward, considering I’m six feet tall and built like a—”

“Brick oven,” she finished, snorting a little. “Are you still worried about your appearance? I’ve told you many times that you are a lovely girl—woman—and just because you’re not petite like Miranda doesn’t mean that men don’t find you attractive. Not that it matters what any of them think except Benedikt, but still, it’s nice to know one is admired, is it not?”

“Er . . . yeah.” A sense of horror filled me. Had Ben not told her that I’d broken off with him?

“And so you will be returning to us soon? Benedikt says that you have completed your education and that you are working making Web sites.”

The horror grew. “He knows what I’m doing? I hadn’t realized he was keeping track.”

“He has abided by the rules you set down for him,” she answered softly. “He has not contacted you outside of the designated periods you allowed, has he?”

“No.” I didn’t want to tell her, but honesty compelled me to make sure she understood the truth of what had happened between us. “I just wasn’t aware that he knew what was going on in my life. Imogen—”

“You are his Beloved,” she interrupted. I ground my teeth. Why could no one ever look past that fact? “You
are
life to him. It has not been easy for him to do as you asked, but he is a man of much honor.”

My shoulders slumped. “Has he . . . I haven’t talked to him in a while. Has he been okay this past year?”

“He misses you, naturally. But yes, other than that, he has been very busy.”

A smidgen of relief filled me. Although I knew it was the melodramatic imaginings of my deranged mind, I had wondered if Ben had suffered because of my decision. That he hadn’t was proof I had made the right choice.

So why didn’t I feel better?

Before I could think of anything to say, I heard a male voice in the background.

“How very odd,” Imogen said after a moment. “Miranda doesn’t appear to have returned from Heidelberg.”

“Son of a pus bucket,” I swore, the fear that gripped me driving away the misery about Ben. Had Loki gone after my mother once he had failed to grab me? “Where are you, exactly? I mean, what town?”

“Brustwarze.”

“I beg your pardon?” Did she just say breast warts at me?

“Brustwarze. It means nipple.”

“You’re in a town named for nipples?”

“Yes. It’s near Heidelberg.”

Oh goddess, it was true—it had to be true. Who else would want to kidnap my mother but Loki, who had sworn vengeance on me the last time we’d met?

Well, that was pretty much all she wrote. I couldn’t sit here and let Loki do who-knew-what to my mother. I had to save her. I had to go to Germany, go back to the GothFaire.

Ben. Was he there? He frequently visited his sister. Would I be able to cope having to see him again?

Did I have any choice?

“I hate it when life does this to me,” I snarled, shocking Imogen.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s nothing important. I’m catching the first plane I can to Germany.”

“What?” she almost shrieked. “You’re coming out here? Now?”

“My mother’s missing, and I have a nasty feeling I know who’s behind it,” I said, logging into a travel Web site. I punched up flights to Germany, bile rolling around in my stomach. I didn’t want to go, but there was no one else who could tackle Loki. Besides, it was my responsibility. Loki had threatened vengeance against me because of actions I took, no one else. It was only right I should be the one to face his wrath.

St. Fran the martyr. What a depressing thought.

“But, Fran, I’m sure your mother is fine, just fine. Maybe she told Peter she was going to be away for longer and he didn’t mention it to anyone.”

“You can check on that, but I doubt it. It’s not like my mother to ignore her cell phone. Looks like I can be out there in about twelve hours, if I get cracking. It’ll eat up a big chunk of my new apartment money, but that can’t be helped.”

“Twelve hours . . . oh, but Fran! What about Benedikt?”

“He’s there?” Excitement shimmied down my arms before I told my Inner Fran to get with the plan. I was
not
excited about the thought of seeing Ben again.

“Yes, but, Fran, I think you should—”

“I know, I should have a long talk with him. And maybe I will. But right now, I have to find my mother.” My gaze fell on the clock. “Crap. Gotta get moving or I won’t make the airport in time. See you when I get there.”

“But, Fran!” Imogen sputtered something, but I didn’t have time to argue with her. I said good-bye, hung up, then quickly punched in Eirik’s cell phone number, trying to calm my wildly excited nerves. Part of me was panicking at the thought of Loki having my mother, the other was focused on the idea that I would see Ben in just a few hours. I hadn’t seen him in almost five years. Would he make a scene when I showed up at the Faire? Would he try to persuade me that I was meant to spend the rest of my life with him?

“This is Eirik Redblood, Viking warlord, left hand of the goddess Freya, and right hand of the virgin goddess Fran.”

“Oh, for the love of . . .” I took a deep breath, deciding to hold off the argument about the Vikings’ latest name for me. “Hi, Eirik. It’s Fran. How fast can you guys get to the airport?”

Silence answered that question for the count of five. “We are going after Loki?”

“You’re darned tooting we are. He’s taken my mother, and no one—
no one
—messes with my family!”

The sound of murmuring answered that, followed immediately by ear-piercing Viking battle cries. “Command us, virgin goddess!” Eirik declared happily.

“I don’t have enough money to get you guys tickets, so you’ll have to use your weasel money to buy them.” I gave him information on the flight I had booked myself. “Oh, man, passports—”

“We have them. The goddess Freya had them made up, and gave them to us with the weasel gold.”

“Excellent. I hope you boys are all geared up and ready to kick some serious booty!”

“Our enemies will fall!” I heard Finnvid yelling in the background. “We will not fail you, virgin goddess Fran!”

“We will cleave his head from his shoulders!” Isleif growled.

“Normally I’d say I’m not up to cleaving anything, but at this moment . . .” My eyes narrowed as I thought of all the things I wanted to do to Loki. “At this moment, I might just take a swing at him myself.”

The Vikings cheered, and promised to meet me at the airport in time for the flight to Germany.

Geoff came back just as I was stuffing clothing into my suitcase. “What’s going on? I thought you said you were staying for a couple more weeks?”

“That was before my mom was kidnapped.” I smiled grimly at her look of stupefaction. “If he’s so much as touched her, I’m going to open the biggest can of Vikingahärta whoop-ass Loki’s ever seen!”

“To yo ta ho,” a man told us as we stepped off the train at the tiny little town of Brustwarze. He was dressed in a horned helmet, metal breastplate, leather pleated skirt, and had two long blond braids. He also held a trident.

“What in the name of a three-legged toad is going on?” I asked as I stared in confusion at the mass of people streaming onto the train. Over half of them were dressed in bizarre costumes, everything ranging from mermaids to guys wearing big shields and long, dramatic capes.

Finnvid, who had been studying a sign on the wall of the train station, said, “It says there is a competition being held for the next week to decide which town will become the new home to Wagner’s operas. The mayor has directed everyone in the town to participate, showing the town’s worthiness.”

“What is opera?” Isleif asked, dodging a woman in a long marigold medieval gown who almost poked out his eye with her gigantic spiky headdress, complete with glittery veil, as she wheeled twins in a baby stroller. Both babies wore tiny little winged helmets. One had on a pair of Groucho glasses, as well.

“You remember—we saw it on Odin’s television. Opera is women singing high enough to suck up your stones right into your body.”

“That’s not opera,” Eirik said with a dismissive gesture. “That’s
America’s Favorite Idol
. Odin loves that show,” he added to me in an aside.

“Er . . . okay. Town competition or not, we have to get to where the GothFaire is parked. Finnvid, you seem to speak German—can you ask where they are?”