In the Company of Vampires (37 page)

Ben asked Tallulah, “Is he nearby? Is Miranda with him?”

“Yes. And yes,” she said, her gaze still locked on the smooth surface of the water in the bowl. She was silent for a moment, then added, shaking her head, “He has too much power for Sir Edward to see more details. He says that this man is gathering forces to him, dark forces.”

Tallulah suddenly took a big gasp of air, then sat back, her eyes once again on us. “That is all we could see. The man sensed Sir Edward’s interest, and would have attacked him had Sir Edward not retreated back to the Akasha.”

“De Marco can attack ghosts?” I asked, incredulous at the idea. I knew ghosts in corporeal form, such as the Vikings and those that had been grounded, could be interacted with physically, but Sir Edward had never, in the time I had known Tallulah, had a solid form.

“Yes. He is an Ilargi, a reaper of souls.” Her eyes held sympathy as she reached across the table and tapped Ben on his wrist. “You must guard well, Benedikt. He desires to add you to his forces.”

“Well, he can just desire all he wants, Ben is mine,” I snorted, immediately regretting the show of possession.

Why? I enjoyed it,
Ben said with a smile.

Ben laughed in my head, and took my hand. We thanked Tallulah and Sir Edward for their time, after which I took Davide back to Tallulah’s trailer, making sure to pat the cat on his head since I knew he disliked it. Kindlier instincts prompted me to pull out a little bowl of chopped chicken that Tallulah said she was saving for him. He looked like he wanted to bite me as I gave it to him, but decided instead to adopt a righteously indignant expression meant to put me in my place.

“I don’t see the Vikings,” I said some twenty minutes later, as I arrived at where Ben sat on the corner of a portable picnic table in the common area. I waved the sausage roll I’d bought just before the food stall closed down, adding, “Normally I wouldn’t worry, but with the Faire closing down early for the big finale of the opera shindig in town, I suspect they’ve gone in to pick up women, and with them, that could be trouble. Did you get hold of David?”

“Yes.” Ben put his phone away in an inner pocket of his leather jacket and slipped on the latter. “He says he’ll meet us at de Marco’s house as soon as he can. Do you have your valknut?”

I touched my T-shirt. “I do, but the Vikingahärta is Loki’s valknut. Why do you think it will help us with de Marco?”

“It had its origins with Loki, but it’s yours now, and it’s you who is powering it. It protected you against Naomi’s attack earlier, so it’s my belief that it will do the same should de Marco try to harm you.”

“Aren’t we going to add Imogen to our posse? And shouldn’t we have the Vikings? I can call Eirik and find out where they are. I’m sure they’d be happy to help us make de Marco hand over my mother. They love a good fight.”

“I would like to avoid bringing a full-fledged attack force, since we simply intend to locate your mother. And I’d prefer Imogen to remain here. She’s vulnerable right now.”

“Vulnerable how?” I almost had to run to keep up with Ben as he hurried toward the parking lot, where he’d left his bike. There were a few stragglers left at the Faire, but most had left in the last hour, and the Faire employees were happily shutting up shop in order to watch the festivities. “Is Imogen okay? Is something wrong with her? And why are you running? I’m going to get a stitch in my side if you keep up this pace.”

“Nothing is wrong with Imogen, no. I’m hurrying because I just saw the time. It’s going to be a nightmare trying to get through the town to de Marco’s house.”

“Why? Oh, the parade.” The grand finale of the weeklong opera competition was a parade filled with floats, artists, and other performers.

“The sooner we get through the town, the better.”

I waited until he got on the bike, then slid on behind him, happily burying my face in the nape of his neck and wrapping my arms around him.

Not going to fondle my belly tonight?
he asked as we bumped over the lumpy pasture ground and up onto the smooth asphalt of the road.

My hand moved downward in a bold gesture that surprised even me.
How about I fondle you somewhere else, instead?

We almost crashed. By the time Ben righted us, brushed the gravel off his boots, and delivered to me a lecture about the follies of groping the driver of a motorcycle going fifty miles an hour on an unlit road, I was alternating between remorse and amusement.

You can’t tell me that you never had a woman grope you while you were riding a horse,
I said.

What?
He sounded confused.

A little blush of embarrassment touched his mind.
Er . . . yes. And yes to your question, although I will point out that falling off a horse isn’t nearly as painful as falling off a moving motorcycle.

I hadn’t thought he could see into the hidden kernel of worry that poisoned my general sense of well-being.
I know you will. It’s just . . . this is my mother we’re talking about, Ben. If de Marco is as powerful as Sir Edward says he is, how on earth are we going to convince him to de-thrall her, or reverse whatever it is that he’s done to her? We don’t even know
why
he’s done it in the first place.

I spent the rest of the ride into town silently contemplating Ben’s calm assurance, and my own worries that even he might meet his match in de Marco.

The town was, as Ben predicted, a gridlocked nightmare, the huge parade of floats and costumed performers that would wind through town and end up at an open-air amphitheater already under way, which meant much of the town was blocked off by both barricades and dense streams of people.

Ben had to resort to driving up on sidewalks a couple of times, scattering people as he slowly made his way around the edges until he was clear of the town proper, and into the neighborhood that looked down on the town.

The parade must be running through here, too,
I commented as we zipped along the winding road that led to de Marco’s house. Barricades lined the street, and people were already gathering outside their houses, setting up coolers and portable chairs.

That’s just what we need. Hopefully we’ll have your mother and be able to leave before it gets to us,
Ben said, skillfully zipping around obstructions, barriers, and the occasional traffic cop directing neighborhood residents.
Is that it?

He wouldn’t park here where de Marco could see
. Ben stopped next to the square fountain.

My eyes strayed to the gargoyle-like projections from the side of the house. I shivered at the glint of the runes emphasized by the light pouring out of the windows. It was as if they glowed slightly in the thick night air, giving a sinister feel to an already charged atmosphere.

In the distance, coming from the valley below, the faint sounds of music and drums could be heard as the parade started to wind its way through the neighborhoods. I looked up at the house as I got off the bike and wondered if my mother was in it, or if de Marco had his hidden love nest elsewhere.

“Do we wait for David?” I asked in a whisper, feeling the Vikingahärta grow warm beneath my shirt.

Ben cocked his head for a second as if he was listening, then shook it. “I would prefer to get Miranda out of de Marco’s keeping before David arrives to deal with him.”

“Deal with him how?” I caught a sense of concern in Ben that had me opening my eyes in surprise.
David is going to attack de Marco?

A vision of Luis’s mangled body rose before my unwilling eyes, and I shuddered at the thought of what the entire pride could do to a person, immortal or not.
I agree with the sentiment, but are we going to be able to get to Mom without any help?

We won’t know unless we try,
he said with what I had to admit was wisdom.

Before I could do so much as offer up a prayer to the god and goddess, Ben banged the huge hanged-man door knocker, the sound of it reverberating through the night, a deep, mournful sound that was counterpointed by the livelier noise of the parade as it progressed up the hill.

The door opened quickly. Ben tensed, then relaxed when he saw who answered the knock.

“Hello, Ulfur. This is Benedikt Czerny, my . . . er . . . Dark One. Ben, this is Ulfur, the lich who took the Vikingahärta. We’d like to see Alphonse de Marco.”

Ulfur’s lips formed a thin line, his eyes going flat. “He isn’t here.”

“That makes things easier,” I told Ben.

“Perhaps,” was all he said.

I trained a razor-edged gaze on Ulfur. “Since your boss isn’t present, I’d like my mother, if you don’t mind.”

Ulfur blinked at me in a way that expressed utter confusion. “Your mother?”

“Miranda Ghetti. She’s being kept here, isn’t she?”

His face went completely blank.

“Ulfur?”

He just stared at me with wide, unblinking eyes.

What just happened?
I asked Ben.

Um.
I searched my memory.
Hallursson, I think. Why?

“Ulfur Hallursson,” Ben said in a deep, intimidating voice, putting his hand on Ulfur’s head, as Ulfur’s eyes grew big. “You will tell us what we want to know. Where is the witch named Miranda?”

Ulfur opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then awkwardly pointed behind him, toward the staircase.

“That’s all I need to know,” I said, pulling out the Vikingahärta and holding it in my hand as I pushed past him into the hall. “There may be a demon around, Ben. There was earlier, but the Vikings sent him back to Abaddon.”

Ben didn’t wait to examine the hallway; he took the stairs three at a time. I ran after him, stopping at the top of the stairs to bellow, “Mom? Are you here?”

My voice echoing down the hallway was all the response we got.

“Miranda?” Ben yelled, even louder than me.

We both listened intently, but heard nothing.

I looked down the stairs to where Ulfur stood silently watching us. “Is she on this floor?”

He just looked at me.

Ben asked him the same question. Evidently the compulsion was still strong enough to cause Ulfur to shake his head.

“Up another flight.” We hurried up the flight to the third floor, repeating the process of calling for my mother. Again we were met with silence.

“There’s only the attic left,” I told Ben as we stood at the foot of a narrow flight of stairs.

“Up we go.”

The door to the attic was locked, but Ben resolved that situation by simply kicking down the door.

“Mom? Are you here?” I asked as I brushed past Ben, coughing slightly on the dusty air that met his assault.

The attic, too, was empty of life.

“I don’t get it,” I said, slapping my hands on my legs in irritation. “Ulfur pointed this way, didn’t he?”

Ben rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful, his eyes narrowed on nothing. “Use the Vikingahärta.”

“Huh?”

“You said it’s changed twice since you reclaimed it. Perhaps it has been doing that to reflect your needs.”

“Since when does it change itself to suit me?” I asked.