In the Company of Vampires (15 page)

“Was it there this morning?” I asked, swallowing back a sudden rise of bile. If I didn’t have the Vikingahärta, how was I going to force Loki to tell me if he seduced my mother, let alone banish him?

“I don’t know,” she repeated, clearly miserable. “Günter didn’t come back yesterday, and I . . . Well, I’m afraid I was in town most of the night, looking for him in the clubs.”

The thread of pain in her voice penetrated my own sense of desolation. I gave her hand a little squeeze. “You can’t possibly believe he left you for another woman? Imogen, you’re gorgeous and funny and sweet, and a man would have to be stark raving mad to want someone else over you.”

“Perhaps,” she said mournfully, tears filling her eyes. “But the fact remains that he has left me without a single word.”

Something tickled the back of my brain. I sat very still for a moment and tried to let my thoughts dwell on nothing, as my mother taught me to do whenever I sought to concentrate on something. For once, it worked, and as the tickle blossomed into a full idea, I stared in growing horror at Imogen.

“What is it?” she asked, dabbing at her nose with a handkerchief. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“What if he didn’t leave you as you think? What if he’s missing?”

Her honey blond brows pulled together. “I don’t understand the difference.”

“A whole lot of things have gone missing of late,” I said, a little chill running up my back. I ticked the items off on my fingers. “First, I lost my backpack with my keys and cell phone. That could have been stolen by someone passing by the house, but what if someone else took it?”

“Who?”

“Then my mother went missing,” I continued. “Then the Vikingahärta, and now Günter.”

“It seems very coincidental to me,” Imogen said doubtfully.

“Yes, I agree, it seems that way, but what if we’re meant to think that? Remember Loki’s oath of revenge, Imogen.”

She pursed her lips. “He would take from you that which meant the most to you.”

“Which I thought at first was my mother, but . . .” I stopped, not wanting to put into words what I was thinking.

“But that’s not what you love the most,” she said softly.

“I don’t know if it is or not. I love my mom. But . . .”

“But there is Ben, and your feelings for him must supersede all others.” She patted my wrist. “I understand. But does that mean that Loki is behind everything? And if he is, why would he whisk away your mother on a romantic whim when it is Benedikt who means the world to you?”

“I don’t know.” I slumped onto my side, curling into a fetal ball of depression. “And I’m not likely to find out without the Vikingahärta. Oh, goddess of the endless night. Imogen, what am I going to do?”

She tapped a long finger on her chin for a few seconds. “You’re going to find the Vikingahärta.”

“How? We don’t know if someone stole it, or if it’s lost, or even if Loki summoned it to him, or something impossible like that.”

“I wonder . . .”

I uncurled myself and looked at her. “You wonder what?”

“The lich who was seen around here yesterday.” She continued to look thoughtful. “I wonder if he could have been sent to take it.”

“Sent? Are liches some sort of minion or something?”

“Not really.” She suddenly smiled and sat down next to me. “I’m sorry, Fran. I forget you have a limited experience with the Otherworld. A lich is a being who was once dead, but who has been raised and returned to life.”

“A zombie? A zombie took my Vikingahärta?”

“No, not a revenant. A lich is raised by a necromancer, you understand. Those are powerful mages who utilize both dark and arcane sources of power, and by the act of raising, they sometimes imbue magic into the lich.”

“Oh, lovely. Magical zombies have stolen my valknut.” I wanted to laugh again, but had a nasty suspicion it would have a hysterical tinge to it.

“It won’t be easy finding the lich,” she mused. “If they are raised by a master necromancer, they are almost indistinguishable from a mortal. Except for their eyes.”

“What’s wrong with their eyes?” I had an image of bloody eye sockets and dangling optic nerves.

“They are black.”

“Big gaping black holes, you mean?”

“Black as in the irises are the same color as the pupils. All liches have black eyes. Well, most do. I have heard there is an exception, but that doesn’t concern us.”

“Oh? What’s the exception?”

“Dragons.”

I stared at her for the count of eight, then said, “Moving on.”

“Yes, I think that’s best. Well. We shall have to find the lich, I believe, and he will tell us who sent him to steal the Vikingahärta.” She got to her feet and started changing her clothes into a black leather cat suit.

“I suppose we could,” I said slowly, not convinced that the lich was the answer to the problem. “Although I can’t help but wonder about Mom. I never thought I’d say this, but if she’s just off on a romantic fling with a normal guy, then fine. But if Loki has seduced her somehow, is she safe?”

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Imogen gave me an impatient frown. “You’re not thinking, Fran. It must be jet-lag. If Loki seduced your mother just so he could harm her, then he would have done so by now. Either he’s seduced her in order to use her as bait to draw you in, or she’s off with a mortal. Either way, she is most likely unhurt and in love, as Absinthe told you.”

“I guess so. Back to the lich . . . we don’t know for certain that he took it. Forgive me, Imogen, but maybe Günter . . . ?”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t think it likely. If Günter wanted to steal the Vikingahärta, why send a lich?”

She had me there. “Good point. Where do we start?”

“Go change your clothes. Wear something tough. Leather is best, if you have it.”

“Er . . . will jeans do?”

“If that is all you have. Wear something you don’t mind getting dirty. I will meet you at my car in”—she consulted her watch—“half an hour.”

Seeing no other option, I agreed, saluted her, and headed off for my mother’s trailer.

I had just stepped into the darkened trailer when a big black shadow rushed me, smothering me in a cloying, sickening smell that sent me sliding into a dense abyss of nothingness.

Sounds, thick and heavy, like they were wrapped up in thunder, rumbled in the distance, slowly, ever so slowly sharpening until I realized I was hearing two men talking.

“—you told me not to hurt her doing it, so I used chloroform,” one man said.

“Where the hell did you get chloroform?”

I frowned to myself. I knew that voice. It resonated within me. Through the dense fog in my brain, an image rose.

Ben! It was Ben.

The floor beneath me rocked. I cracked an eye open to see what was going on, and found myself held in Ben’s arms. “You got your cross back,” was the first thing I said, touching the Celtic cross he wore.

He smiled, his eyes so beautiful, so warm and sexy I just wanted to lick them.

“Drugged? Hrr?”

“Let’s sit you up. Maybe that will help.”

The world wobbled around quite a bit but finally settled into a familiar orientation, and after a few minutes to clear my head, I had enough wits to realize I was sitting on the ground, leaning against a smooth boulder, Ben squatting on one side of me while another man knelt on the other. Two camping lanterns sat next to them, casting a thin white-blue light around us. It was dusk, the sky a deep indigo, with just a smidgen of the moon starting to come up.

“Hello,” the man said, smiling broadly when I looked at him. He had kind of a singsong accent, something I hadn’t heard before. It sounded almost English, but wasn’t quite. It was a nice voice—not as intriguing as Ben’s, but nice. The rest of him wasn’t bad, either. He had a squared chin with a little cleft in it, very pale blue eyes, like polar ice, and reddish blond hair that made me think of the word “russet.”

“Hi. Are you the one who put a bag over my head and drugged me?”

“Yes.” He grimaced a little. “Well, it was a blanket, but yes, that was me.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” I made a fist and slammed it into his nose.

He fell over backward with a squawk. Ben, who quickly righted me when I tipped over from the momentum of punching the man, laughed loudly. “I told you she wouldn’t take kindly to that sort of treatment.”

The man sat up, gingerly feeling his nose, his eyes crossing as he tried to look at it. “Next time I’ll take your word for that. I’m sorry if you’re feeling any after-effects of the chloroform, Fran. I assumed that since you were a Beloved, you wouldn’t suffer any of the normal unpleasantries that mortals might.”

“Well, I’m not a Beloved, so don’t do it again. Who are you?” I asked, taking advantage of my wobbliness to lean into Ben.

“Benedikt’s blood brother. And I’m delighted to meet you at last. He talked about nothing else for so long, I was beginning to think he was mad. But now I see why he did so.”

“You’re . . . uh . . . Daffy?” I asked, racking my brain for his name.

Ben laughed even harder as the other man pulled a face. “David Kneath, actually.”

“I’m sorry.” I rubbed my forehead. “I could have sworn Ben wrote me an e-mail about you and your name was Daffy. I must be punchier than I thought.”

“It’s spelled Daffyd, but pronounced ‘dav-ith’ actually. I’m Welsh, you see.”

I didn’t see what that had to do with anything, but nodded.

“If it makes it easier, just call me David. Most people do.”

“Thanks. Would you mind terribly me asking why you kidnapped and drugged me? And where we are? And what you’re doing here?” The last question was asked of Ben.

“I told you that the secrets I had were not mine to share. They’re David’s,” Ben answered, his voice seeming to skitter along my skin. I shivered and rubbed my arm, trying to pull my mind from all sorts of thoughts about Ben so I could focus on what was important.

His eyebrows rose.

That didn’t quite come out the way I hoped it would,
I admitted, feeling pretty trashy.
I just meant that I like you well enough to have sex without formally declaring that yes indeedy, you are Mr. Right Forever. And while we’re on the subject, stop eavesdropping on my smutty thoughts about you.

He chuckled.

David shot him a startled look.

“My apologies. Continue, David.”

“Benedikt told me that you’d come here to Join with him, but the work he’s doing for me has interfered with that,” David said slowly, his face suddenly grim.

David sat down next to me, his elbows on his knees as he looked out into the gathering night. “There are not enough ways to apologize for messing up what should have been something wonderful between you, so instead of even trying, I’m going to explain to you what’s going on.” He glanced over at Ben. “People’s lives are at stake, Fran, so I’m going to ask you not to repeat anything we say here.”

“Of course I won’t, not if it’s that important.”
He looks sad, Ben.

“Benedikt has been assisting me the past six years to uncover who is behind the disappearances of my pride members. It took us until this year to finally pinpoint the group we believed was behind it all, and Benedikt, in an attempt to infiltrate the Agrippans, connected with Naomi. He got her a job at the Faire, since he knew that would give him a cover to travel with her.”