Katie MacAlister: In the Company of Vampires

Absinthe studied the cloth for the count of five before shaking her head. “I cannot see that. I sense only that she is happy where she is.”

“Is she with a man? Does he have red hair? Is he a Norse god?”

“I cannot see who else is with her, although I sense the presence of another person. Only faint glimpses are available to me . . . No, I see a shadow of someone. The person hands Miranda a glass of wine. She blows a kiss in return.”

“Holy hobgoblins.” Peter was right! She had run off with a man! My mother !

I blinked wildly at the thought as I tried to wrap my brain around it.

Absinthe looked up from the table as she sank back into the chair. “I cannot hold the connection anymore. It is gone.”

“I see. Well . . . thank you,” I said, getting to my feet.

Her pencil-thin eyebrows rose. “You do not look pleased to know your mother is well and happy.”

“I am pleased. Relieved, too, since I had imagined the worst. But this is just so . . . unexpected. It’s not like her to take off without telling anyone.”

She shrugged. “She is getting old. She sees a man and he wants her, and she knows she cannot play coy. So she runs away with him. There is nothing unexpected in that at all.”

I bit my tongue in order to refrain from telling her that my mother simply did not act that way. It was obvious that she did. But it still went against her personality.

Inner Fran pointed out that the same thing could be said about her hiding the existence of my half sister.

I thanked Absinthe again, nodding when she reminded me that I was in her debt, and quickly escaped from the overpowering rosemary-scented trailer. Although the burden of rescuing my mother from a dangerous situation had been lifted, curiosity wasn’t going to let me leave things alone. I was going to have to find her, if for no other reason than to see who it was who would tear her away from her beloved GothFaire.

It took me a while to walk into town, long enough that I mulled over the strange fact that there were facets to my mother I’d never known existed. By the time I worked through that and set it aside to be worried over later, made a mental note to take down the number of the local cab company, considered—and ultimately rejected—the idea of setting the police on Mom’s trail, I was hot, melancholy, and possessed of no fewer than seven flyers directing me to various events that were intended to show the competition judges that Brustwarze was the best candidate.

“Thank you. I already have a bunch of flyers,” I told the man in a long white robe and knee-length white beard who tried to press yet another flyer on me. I waved my handful at him.

“Mine is better,” he said, taking my handful and tossing them into the trash before shoving his piece of glossy paper into my hands. “You take. Party tonight. Will be fun.”

I was about to tell him I would be busy looking for my mother, but before I could do so, he stepped out into the street, right in front of three women on bikes who had on long streaming green wigs and grayish brown gowns with sleeves that would have touched the ground had they not been knotted up. One of the women yelled at the man and made a rude gesture. I grabbed him and pulled him back onto the sidewalk as he shook his fist at them.

“You have to watch where you’re going,” I told him.

“Valkyries. Is everywhere,” he grumbled, straightening his robe and beard, which had been tugged askew. “You go,” he repeated to me, nodding to the flyer, then headed off to tackle the next unwary person.

“Valkyries, huh?” I looked at the women as they rode away from me, a memory making me smile. I had once seen real Valkyries, and they were nothing like the robed, long-haired women depicted here.

The Vikings were nowhere in evidence, so I wandered around the town for a bit, aimless and restless. The sunlight was starting to fade, and my stomach was rumbling despite the fact that my heart had been smashed to smithereens, when suddenly the pain that I’d kept at bay for the last couple of hours lanced me with a sharpness that took away my breath. I wanted to crumple into a little ball and just let the world wash past me, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that life doesn’t let you off so easy.

Evening commuters rushed past me in varying costumes, everything from briefcase-toting knights in chain mail to begowned and bewigged women (and some men) adorned with breastplates, backpacks, and cloth shopping bags filled with the makings for dinner.

I’d never felt so alone in my life. For one moment, for one tiny little moment, I unguarded my mind and reached out to see if Ben was there, but before I could find him, I withdrew. What if he was with Naomi at that moment? What if he was feeding from her, or worse? Dark Ones and their Beloveds shared a unique mental bond that sometimes allowed more than just the sharing of thoughts—and I knew for a fact that had I let him, I would feel both Ben’s emotions at that moment and the sensations of whatever he was doing.

“I won’t let this destroy me,” I swore to myself as I turned into the flow of traffic and let it carry me along to the center square in town, where I had earlier seen several cafés. My stomach growled loudly at the thought.

Hungry?

“Sorry. I haven’t eaten all day—” I stopped as soon as I realized that the voice that spoke wasn’t from the man walking nearest me. No. I will not do this.

Francesca, don’t shut—

I closed my mind against him, against the agony of hearing his velvety voice in my brain after so many years. I stood with my arms wrapped around myself for a few minutes, struggling to keep from crying, fighting to keep control. Just as I did so, a voice pierced my awareness.

“Virgin goddess!”

I looked up to see Finnvid standing next to an outdoor café table. He waved and yelled again, “Virgin goddess! Isleif is getting our ale, and Eirik is using the privy, but he will return soon, unless his guts are bound up again. If that is the case, then he may need to purge his arse. You will have ale with us?”

Several pairs of heads swiveled from Finnvid to me. I tried to smile. I think it came out pretty bad because the people averted their gazes quickly.

“I swear,” I muttered under my breath as I made my way over to the Vikings. “One of these days, I’m going to beg Freya to take them back. . . . Hello, Finnvid. I’m pretty sure people would be grateful if you didn’t yell details about constipation while you’re at a café.”

He looked curious as I pulled out one of the white metal chairs that sat around a table littered with shopping bags. “Why? Do your guts not get bound up occasionally?”

“Item number—what are we up to now, fifteen thousand?—on the ‘things we don’t discuss’ list is constipation, unless there is a pressing medical reason to do so. What in the name of the goddess’s ten little toes have you been buying?”

“Many things.” He patted a couple of the bags with satisfaction. “Ninja things.”

“Yeah? Like what?” I tried to peek in one of the white plastic carrier bags, but he slapped my hands away.

“Eirik said we are not to talk to you about it. But we did bring you an offering.” He rustled around in the bags, muttering to himself as Isleif returned with three gigantic beer steins filled to the brim with frothy ale.

“Why aren’t you supposed to talk to me about what you bought?” I asked, suspicion making me suddenly very wary.

“Virgin goddess!” Isleif shoved aside some of the bags in order to set down the steins. “Eirik is emptying his bowels. You would like ale? I will get one for you.”

“No, thank you. I think I’d be comatose if I drank that much,” I answered, eyeing the massive steins. I swear they were just pitchers shaped like traditional beer steins. “I wouldn’t mind some food, but before that, I’d like to know just what it is you bought that Eirik doesn’t want you to talk about.”