In the Company of Vampires

Chapter 4

“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?”

Twenty minutes later we managed to pull Finnvid away from two young women evidently dressed as medieval dairy maids, both of whom seemed to be encouraging him to do wholly inappropriate things in public.

“They told me I could pretend they were cows and moisturize their udders,” Finnvid protested as I dragged him by the ear over to where Eirik and Isleif stood. His hands were covered in honeysuckle-scented body lotion.

“No woman in her right mind would ever refer to her breasts as udders,” I grumbled, releasing his ear as I stopped in front of the taxi Eirik had snagged. “Rub that lotion into your arms or something so you don’t get it everywhere.”

“Well, that is what I thought the word meant,” he said somewhat ruefully as he complied with my demand.

“I just bet. Did you find out where the GothFaire is?”

“Aye, virgin goddess. It’s about twenty minutes to the north of town.” He held out a piece of paper. “They wrote it down for me.”

“That looks like a phone number,” I pointed out.

He grinned and turned the paper over. On it were two words. “They also gave me their phone number.”

“Do they have friends?” Eirik asked as I hustled them to the taxi.

“You guys can pick up dates later. Right now I need you to focus on finding my mother.” I leaned forward to show the address to the driver, who was dressed in a pretty gauzy gold gown, with matching blond braids, and a flowery wreath on her head. The face that turned to squint at the address had a goatee and mustache.

“Er . . .” I blinked at him a couple of times. He nodded and said something that I assumed meant he knew where that was. At least I hoped that’s what he said.

Half an hour later I paid off the Wagnerian cross-dressing driver and stood looking at the large open field before us. It must have been a grazing pasture, because it was perfectly flat, surrounded by low stone fences on three sides and a modern wooden fence that ran parallel to the road. The big double gates were open, and tire marks on one side of the field indicated that it was used for parking. But it was the colorful flutter of bright cloth that caught and held my eye.

“GothFaire,” I said, drinking in the sight. Somewhere in that collection of trailers and tents, Ben was sleeping. He usually stayed with Imogen unless she had a boyfriend with her, which it sounded like she did, and that meant he could be anywhere, most likely holed up with one of his friends at the Faire.

“Eirik, I will need to use your iPhone later, to call Sabeine and Siglinde,” Finnvid said, examining the paper that he’d retrieved from me. “They said the day’s competition would be over by sundown.”

“Quiet. The virgin goddess is having a moment,” Eirik said in a hushed voice, nodding toward me before suddenly looking thoughtful. “Did they say I could moisturize their udders as well?”

“Aye, there’s plenty there for both of us,” Finnvid answered with a knowing leer.

I gazed at the Faire, unable to keep from remembering the year and a half I’d spent there, remembering the good times with Ben . . .

“Good. I like a woman with large—” He made squeezy motions at his chest.

. . . Remembering Ben’s kisses, and the way his eye color changed, and how he seemed to like me in the gypsyesque outfit that I wore when reading palms, the one he said made him want to kiss me senseless.

“You can have Siglinde, then. She was bigger than her sister.”

I smoothed down my blouse and wondered if Ben thought I was large in the breast department, then told myself it didn’t matter what he thought, and that I really needed to stop thinking about him and focus on what was important.

“You examined them?” Eirik asked, looking somewhat put out.

My skin began to tingle, all of me, as if just being in the same town as Ben had electrified the air, especially my breasts, which badly wanted his attention. I stopped that thought dead in its tracks, glaring at the Vikings. Damn their talk of breasts.

“Of course. That’s the first thing I do with a woman I’m considering for bed sport. What sort of moment is the goddess having?”

“One that has been invaded by the mental image of you two oiling up those buxom ladies,” I said with a little glare at the two of them. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to indulge in soul-searching insight with people yammering away about breasts?”

Isleif looked righteous. “I did not yammer, virgin goddess.”

“Oooh, oil.” Finnvid’s eyes went a bit glazed.

“Stop that. We have things to do,” I said, frowning at his twitching fingers.

“But oiled breasts . . .”

“No breasts for you!” I ordered, feeling a bit like the Breast Nazi. “Can we move past that subject?”

“Aye, we can. Our apologies, virgin goddess.” Eirik narrowed his eyes on me. “Are you finished having your moment?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s over. Come on, let’s see who’s—What in the name of all that is bright and glittery is that?”

We all turned to face the road. I had been aware of the faint sound of singing, assuming someone at the Faire had the radio on. But the volume was growing, and at last I realized that the noise was coming from the road, where a group of about ten young men clad in ragged cloth pants, bits of wool wrapped around their feet with leather thongs, and torn tunics jogged past us, singing as they went.

“This is Tuesday, yes?” Finnvid said, pulling out a pamphlet. He looked at his watch. “Ah. The schedule says they are the Brustwarze High School Athletic Pilgrim’s Chorus.”

We watched the track team as they sang their way past us. I applauded politely. A couple of them managed a bow in midjog before they continued off into the distance.

“What was I saying?” I asked Isleif once they were far enough away that we could speak without shouting.

“Something about seeing someone?” he asked.

“Ah! Yes, we will see who’s awake at this time of the morning.” And then I would find out where Ben was, so I could brace myself for what I knew would be a somewhat emotional meeting.

We marched across the large open field until we were up to the ticket booth, sitting on the fringe of the Faire.

“It looks just the same as it did before,” Isleif commented, eyeing the long U shape that was created by a big tent at one end and two rows of vendors and Faire performers.

I stopped for a moment, the sense of déjà vu so great it was almost as if the last five years had never happened. “It certainly does,” I mused. “There’s the aura photography booth. There’s Desdemona’s personal time travel tent. That’s where Tallulah talks to the dead. And there’s my mother’s booth.”

I walked over to the small canvas and wood tent that served as booths for the Faire folk, familiar with every inch of the structure. They were easily set up and taken down, each with brightly painted designs. Mom as the resident Wiccan offered to counsel people who wanted to get in touch with the goddess and god, provided products like do-it-yourself love potion kits, and benign spells and potions that she felt made the world a better place. The flap to the tent was laced down now, concealing the long table that was no doubt set up behind it with rows of tiny bottles of happiness, understanding, generosity, luck, and even forgiveness.

A little pain contracted around my heart at the thought of the years I had spent helping her dry the herbs and flowers that had gone into her potions and spell kits. Once I would have given anything to have a normal mother, but now I just wanted her back, with all of her irritating, irrational ways.

“We’ll find her,” Eirik said, obviously reading the distress on my face as I touched the bright red and orange tent. The other Vikings murmured their agreement. “We will force Loki to give her back.”

“I know we will, and thanks, guys. I really do appreciate your help with this. Well, I suppose I should find Imogen and see if there is any news of Mom.” Now that there was nothing but a short distance between Ben and me, my palms were suddenly sweaty. I had to stand firm. I had made my choices, and I would stick to them, no matter how annoying my breasts were in their demand to be placed in Ben’s hands. And mouth.

I moaned slightly at the thought of his mouth on my flesh.

“Virgin goddess?” Eirik asked. “Is all well?”

“Yes.” My voice came out hoarse. I cleared it. If Ben was staying with Imogen, then the sooner I got a meeting with him out of the way, the better it would be for everyone. “Perfectly fine. This way.”

We moved off past a group of people standing in front of the aura photography booth. It wasn’t yet noon, and the Faire wasn’t due to open for another two hours, but I remembered from my time working the palm reading booth that there were always a few early folk who liked to stroll around and eyeball the various offerings.

A big blond man with a very square jaw strode by, calling something in German to the clutch of people. They answered and moved off, evidently having seen the wisdom of waiting until the Faire opened. The blond man started to turn around, then paused, casting a glance back toward me. His step faltered. “Fran? Is that you?”

I smiled and ruffled my now short hair. “Hi, Kurt. Er . . . Karl. No, Kurt?”

“Kurt is right,” he said and laughed, and before I could say anything else, he embraced me in a bear hug that just about squeezed the breath out of my lungs. “You are back now? You are done with your schooling?”

“I’m done with college, yes, but I’m not here to stay. My mother hasn’t returned, has she?”

His eyebrows rose. “I haven’t seen her in a few days. Is something wrong?”

“Possibly.”

His eyes slid past me to the Vikings. They bugged out a bit (his eyes, not the Vikings). “Those are . . . those are . . .”

“Those are the Vikings that I inadvertently raised almost five years ago in Sweden, yes.” I smiled at his look of shock. “You have to forgive their choice of clothing. They were in Valhalla until a couple of days ago, and they went a little nuts at the outlet mall.”

Eirik brushed his hand down his navy blue muscle tee and adjusted his white-framed sunglasses. I squinted a little as the sunlight glared off the brilliant yellow of his tight clam diggers, white belt, and matching white shoes. “You do not like our new clothes, virgin goddess? I noticed you did not comment about them at the airport, where others were clearly envious of them.”

I bit my lip for a moment. “Your clothes are just fine.”

“A woman on the plane told me she had never seen anything like them before,” Isleif said with obvious pride, grabbing either side of his neon blue-and-white-striped plus four pants and pulling them out to maximum fluffiness. He wore a scarlet angora sweater that he had decided was too hot, so he pulled off the sleeves and cut a strip from the bottom, leaving him with his arms and belly button exposed.

Kurt gurgled a little. We both turned to look at Finnvid. He wore what I had assumed was a swimmer’s full-length body suit, the tight spandex clinging to his body like a second skin, leaving little, if anything, to the imagination. Luckily, he had also donned a black and white polka-dot knee-length knit coat, and a black fedora that he wore tipped at a rakish angle.

I sighed and smiled at Kurt. “The Vikings have been sent to help me with a little situation. They won’t cause any problems with the customers. Right, gentlemen?”

“We have sworn to not slay anyone you do not authorize us to slay,” Eirik said with a frown. “Although I dislike you binding us to such an oath, virgin goddess. It makes us feel helpless.”

“You guys are anything but helpless, and you know it. Is Imogen up yet, do you know?”

Kurt blinked. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her this morning. Did he say virgin goddess?”

“No, he didn’t,” I said loudly, narrowing my eyes at each and every one of the Vikings. They grinned at me, the rats. “She knows I was coming, so I’ll just go say hi and get my Vikingahärta from her.” And get the meeting with Ben out of the way.

Inner Fran could not help but wonder if he missed me.

I hurried toward the gold and white trailer decorated with scarlet hands and runes that was Imogen’s home when she was traveling with the GothFaire, ignoring both Inner Fran and my suddenly rapidly beating heart.

Kurt called something after us, but I was suddenly frantic to see Ben. Imogen! Not Ben, but Imogen! I didn’t want to see Ben at all. In fact, I’d pay good money to have someone haul him away so I wouldn’t accidentally run into him.

Inner Fran told me it was the purest folly to lie to oneself. I gritted my teeth and told her to go do something rude to herself. As we walked to Imogen’s trailer, I stopped and turned to the Vikings. “Uh . . . guys, would you give me a few minutes alone with Be . . . er . . . Imogen?”

Eirik looked suspicious. “If you command it, virgin goddess. What should we do while we are waiting for you?”

“It would be really helpful if you could scout around the area and see if there are any signs Loki was here.”

His suspicion turned darker. “We are not scouts! Vikings do not scout! We are above such things!”

“Well . . . what do you do?” I asked.

“We pillage,” he answered quickly. “We plunder.”

“We kill,” added Finnvid. “A lot.”

“Don’t forget drinking. We drink a lot, as well.”

The other two nodded.

“It’s too early to drink, I don’t want anyone killed, there will be no pillaging, and since I know one or the other of you is bound to add this to your list, no oiling of breasts, either. At least not out in public. What you do in private is thankfully your own business.” I filled my expression with as much pathos as I could pack into it. “But if you don’t want to look around for signs of Loki, and where he might have gone, I’ll have to find someone else to do it.”

Eirik’s nostrils flared. “We were assigned by the goddess Freya to aid you! You will have no others. If you desire us to scout . . .” He shuddered. “Then we will lower ourselves to scouting.”

“Think of it as being Viking ninjas.” I leaned in and lowered my voice to a conspiratorial level. “Stealthy and covert.”

“Stealthy,” Finnvid said thoughtfully.

“Covert?” Eirik glanced at the others. “Have we ever been covert?”

Isleif shook his head. “No, but I watched a movie about ninjas. They were most deadly and feared by all. Just like us. We will be ninjas, virgin goddess. Viking ninjas.”

“The best kind,” Eirik agreed.

“Sounds good. You go be stealthy, covert Viking ninjas”—really, I deserve an award for being able to say that without so much as one titter or a twitch of my lips—“and I’ll meet you guys back here in a couple of hours, okay? You remember which trailer is my mom’s?”

They nodded.

“We must go shopping again,” Isleif commented as they headed off. “The ninjas in the movie had special armor. We will need the same.”

“Aye.” Eirik’s voice drifted back to me. “We will find the local ninja store, and use the weasel gold to buy everything they have. . . .”

“Heaven help the local shops,” I murmured before eyeing Imogen’s trailer and taking a deep breath.

I was ready. I knew this day would have to come sometime. I lifted my chin and reminded myself that my mother needed me to be strong, and by the goddess, strong is what I would be.