In the Company of Vampires

Chapter 20

“You know, for a man who used to ride around in carriages, and probably wondered at the amazing technology of gunpowder and steam engines, you are awfully Internet-savvy,” I remarked an hour later as we sat at Mikaela’s kitchen table, hunkered over Ramon’s laptop. “It didn’t take you very long at all to find her. But what’s Mom’s other daughter doing in Paris? Her birth certificate says she was born in California just like me.”

“Evidently she’s living on rue de la Grande Pest.”

“Street of the big plague?” I asked, my French being rather limited.

“Yes.” His eyebrows rose. “Odd.”

“What is?”

“That’s where G and T is located.”

“What’s G and T?”

“Goety and Theurgy,” Ramon answered as he took a seat with little Fran. He’d arrived home about twenty minutes before, surprised but pleased to see Ben and me . . . and a little less enthusiastic to find the three Vikings raiding his kitchen.

“Black and white magic? Is it some sort of school or something?”

“Nightclub,” Ben said, tapping on the keyboard. “A very popular one. Everyone who’s anyone goes there. I’m surprised Imogen didn’t take you there when you were traveling with the Faire.”

“Are you kidding? My mother barely let me go to museums on my own. She never let me go out with Imogen at night. She thought Imogen would try to hook me up with guys.” I gave Ben a twisted smile. “As if.”

“She is going by the name Petra Valentine, not de Marco,” Ben remarked as he continued to poke around in an online database of personal information. “That’s what took me so long to find her. Evidently she’s living with some relatives by the name of Valentine. They have a business, Valentine and Company, located on rue de la Grande Pest, but I can’t ascertain just what sort of a business it is.”

“If her father is an Ilargi, maybe she’s one, too,” Mikaela suggested, watching with dismay as the Vikings stuffed a variety of bowls into a small microwave.

“I’ll pay for whatever it is they eat,” I told her in an undertone.

“Don’t be ridiculous—you pay us very generously for Tesla’s board. It’s just that I will have nothing to give you for dinner if they eat everything.”

“The position of Ilargi isn’t a hereditary one,” her husband told her, peering over Ben’s shoulder as best he could with little Fran demanding he read her a story from the book she held.

“Maybe she’s normal, like me,” I said.

Everyone looked at me, including the Vikings.

“Perhaps normal wasn’t the best term,” I said somewhat lamely.

“She has a Wiccan mother and an Ilargi father,” Ben said in a dry tone. “I suspect she is anything but mundane.”

Mundane, I remembered from my time with the Faire, was the Otherworld term for normal mortal beings. It was a word I once cherished, wishing with my whole being that I could be perfectly ordinary, just like everyone else. My gaze slid to Ben, caressing the hard planes of his face, softened now as he focused on the laptop, the sweet curve of his lower lip curling a little as Ramon made a joke about mundane folk. I was filled with a profound sense of rightness, a warm glow of love that made me wonder how I could ever believe life would exist without Ben.

His gaze flashed to mine, a question in it.

Just thinking about what I’d like to do to Loki for making me miss all those years with you.

He returned his attention to the laptop. I suspect, Francesca, that although the glamour had much to do with our unhappiness, you would not have been so quick to Join yourself to me regardless.

Possibly. I am awfully stubborn, and I really do hate being told I have no choice in my own life decisions, but still, it was very cruel of Loki to do that.

He believed himself justified. I am just relieved that you no longer have his threat hanging over you. “Ah. And here is an e-mail address for her, and I think . . . yes, a cell phone number.” He looked up. “Shall we call her?”

“Do I want to know how you got her private information like that?” I asked.

“No.” He closed the screen, which looked like it belonged to a mobile phone service, and handed me a piece of paper with a phone number. “I assume you wish to do the honors?”

“Yes.” I stared at the paper for a second or two, feeling my palms go damp.

If you would prefer me to do it—

No, I should be the one to call her. She is my half sister. It’s just that . . . Well, it’s all still a bit weird, partly because my mother kept the fact from me that I have an older sister, and also because Mom’s who-knows-where, and what if this Petra is responsible for her disappearing?

You won’t know unless you talk to her.

The Vikings, in the process of eating Mikaela and Ramon out of every morsel of food they possessed, gathered around to watch.

Ben offered me his cell phone. I took it and punched in the number, hesitating a second before I hit the TALK button.

After a couple of rings, a somewhat breathless voice answered. “Bonjour.”

“Um . . . bonjour. Do you speak English?”

“Like a native,” the woman answered with laughter in her voice. She had a slightly English accent—not truly English, but a little hint of it that made it sound like she watched way too much BBC America. “Who’s this?”

“My name is Fran Ghetti. You are Petra Valentine de Marco, aren’t you?”

The woman hesitated. “I’m Petra Valentine, yes. But not de Marco.”

Odd. Is she trying to distance herself from Alphonse?

Possibly.

“Hello, Petra. This is going to sound extremely strange, and I apologize in advance for saying it to you this way, but is your mother’s name Miranda Benson?”

“Who did you say you were?” Petra’s voice turned as flinty as a quarry.

“Francesca Ghetti. And I’m sorry. I know I’d freak out if someone called and asked me questions about my mother, but I assure you it’s really important that I do so. Is your mother Miranda Benson?”

“My birth mother, yes, but she died when I was born.”

I felt like a sledgehammer walloped me in my chest. “She died?” I repeated, staring at Ben with wide eyes.

Mikaela, who had been trying to find something left in the kitchen to fix for dinner, raised her brows. The Vikings, not finding anything of interest in a phone call, moved off to the living room, where they were squabbling over which TV channel to watch.

“Yes. Now, would you mind telling me why it’s of vital importance that you know about my birth mother?”

I took a deep breath. “Because she’s my mother, too, and she’s very much alive. Or at least she was the last time she was seen. She’s . . . uh . . . kind of missing. I was hoping you’d know something about what happened to her.”

The silence from the other side was heavy with surprise. “I think . . . I think you better start this from the very beginning,” Petra said slowly.

And so I did. With Ben leaning his head against mine to hear Petra’s side of the conversation, which admittedly consisted of mostly exclamations of surprise and disbelief, I gave her a brief synopsis of my mother’s life, her work with the GothFaire, how I found she had disappeared, and my subsequent discovery of Petra’s birth certificate.

“This is absolutely mind-boggling,” she said when I was finished. “I’ve never heard of an Alphonse de Marco. My father’s name was Albert Valentine. At least . . . that’s what my family told me. Then again, they told me my birth mother was dead.”

“And you don’t know anything about the whereabouts of my mother? Er . . . our mother?”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t.”

I glanced at Ben. She sounds like she’s telling the truth.

I agree. There is genuine shock in her voice. She could be faking it, but I suspect not.

“Well, then, I guess this phone call was unnecessary. Except . . . this is all a bit strange to me, too, but it’s nice to talk to you. I had no idea until a few days ago that I had an older sister.”

“You said you were in Germany—where, exactly?”

I gave her the name of the town. “I’m staying at the GothFaire with my . . . er . . . boyfriend.”

Ben sighed into my mind. You’re going to have to marry me.

I am?

Yes. The term “boyfriend” is starting to irritate me. Husband, while not nearly as binding as Dark One, at least sounds a bit more formal.

I laughed. Look, I just finally wrapped my mind around the whole Joining thing. Let’s not rush anything else.

Petra was silent for a few seconds, then said, “Lucy is going to kill me, but there’s no help for that. I’m going to go out to help you find Miranda.”

“You are?” I realized how rude that sounded and hurried to smooth over the faux pas. “We’d love to have your help, of course, not to mention have the chance to meet you, but . . . oh, man, this is my day for sounding like a lunatic. Petra, what exactly are you?”

“What am I?” she repeated.

“Yes. Our mother is a witch. She’s very well respected in Wiccan circles. I wondered if you inherited any of her skills.”

She gave a short little bark of laughter. “No, I have my own set of skills. My family—my adopted family, I should say—are necromancers. I’m a fourth-class necromancer, which in case you aren’t familiar with the classifications of necromancy, means I am able to raise deceased animals as liches.”

I sighed with relief. “I’m so glad you’re not normal.”

She laughed in a way that made me think I would like her, promised we would have a long conversation when she got here, and hung up.

I made a couple of quick calls after that, then finally turned to Ben. “Now what? We’ve exhausted every avenue—Loki is innocent of involvement with Mom, Petra doesn’t know anything about her, and Peter says she’s still not back.”

“We will return to the GothFaire,” he answered, glancing at a text message that burbled at him when I handed him back his phone. “Imogen says the watch wish to see us, and . . .” He frowned.

“What is it?” I asked.

“David sent me a message saying he was following a trail, but didn’t say what or whose. Damn.”

“What do we do about Loki?” I asked, suddenly feeling exhausted and overwhelmed. “I’m supposed to banish him, and I have no idea how to do that, or even if the Vikingahärta will let me. It seems to be a bit wonky right now.”

You are tired, Beloved. You need food and rest.

What I need is lots of steamy vampire lovin’, I corrected him.

That, too.

“It seems to me that Loki is the least of your worries right now,” Mikaela said, holding a package of ramen soup and a soggy potato covered with scraggly eyes. “My biggest concern is what I’m going to feed you. This is all your plague of locusts left.”

I laughed, and after a bit of polite wrangling over who would foot the bill (Ben won), we agreed to go into the nearest town and replenish our energy at an Italian bistro.

Three hours later the sun had set and Ben and I arrived back at the GothFaire to find it in full swing.

“You know, I could have rented a car and driven Eirik and his men back here, rather than making them take the train,” I told Ben as I took his hand to avoid being separated from him in the crowd of Faire-goers. “It seems kind of ungrateful to just shove train tickets in their hands when they were sent out to help me.”

“After what it cost me to feed them, the word ‘ungrateful’ can hardly apply,” he said drily. “I reiterate what I said before: They are not living with us. I couldn’t afford their upkeep.”

I laughed and squeezed his hand, feeling a rush of joy despite my worries. “Do you think the watch is going to be difficult?”

“I don’t know, but I think we’re about to find out.”

I looked in the direction he nodded. Three men in long dark coats and with grim looks about their eyes were bearing down on us. Oy. Anything I should avoid mentioning to them?

It’s never wise to lie to the watch, Francesca.

I didn’t mean lie so much as perhaps sticking strictly to the questions asked and not offering any other information.

That has frequently been my modus operandi.

So I’ve noticed. I greeted the watch members as they stopped before us, one of them speaking rapidly in French to Ben. At their request, we followed them to Naomi’s trailer, and spent the next forty minutes explaining how it was we had come across the body of Luis.

“I take it that it is your contention,” said the tallest and grimmest of the three men to Ben, “that the death was due to a therion attack?”

“It bears all the signs of being such,” Ben said, nodding to where Luis’s covered body lay. “If those weren’t claw marks on his chest, then I do not know much about therions.”

“Indeed,” said the watch man smoothly, giving Ben a curious look. “I find it surprising that a Dark One is so conversant with therion lifestyles.”

“As I explained, my blood brother is the leader of his pride. Naturally, I have learned some things from him.”

“Naturally,” the man said, his lips compressed as he turned to me. “And you have nothing else to add to your statement?”

“Nothing. I do, however, have a question for you.”

Not one single flicker of emotion crossed his face. “We are the watch, demoiselle. We do not answer questions; we ask them.”

“I’m going to go ahead and ask nonetheless. My mother has been missing for almost a week. She works here, at the GothFaire, and no one has seen her since she went to Heidelberg for a long weekend. How do I file an official missing persons report with you watch guys?”

“You do not. We ‘watch guys’ ”—he made a face as he spoke the two words—“do not investigate missing persons. There are other resources available to members of the L’au-dela for that.”

“But what if she’s mixed up in Luis’s murder?” I asked, waving a hand toward the door to Naomi’s bedroom.

One of his eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “Do you have reason to believe that? If so, you have withheld that information.”

“No,” I admitted. “I don’t have a reason other than it’s a pretty big coincidence that my mother should go off with some guy no one knows anything about right before a mysterious lich comes sniffing around the Faire, and a dead shape-shifter is found in the trailer of a woman who has ties to my mother’s ex-lover.”

The man turned a stony look on me. “You will explain this ex-lover and his ties to the woman named Naomi.”

Oh, dear. He looks pissed.

I cautioned you about involving them too much, Ben said, putting an arm around me as we sat on Naomi’s small couch and explained about de Marco and my mother. Now you will have them poking into everything.

Yes, but they might be able to help find Mom.

True.

After another fifty minutes, it became apparent that the watch wasn’t, however, going to do anything.

“We will keep our eyes open, as the mortals say, for signs of your mother, but there is insufficient evidence to convince us of her involvement with the death we are investigating,” was the watch’s final pronouncement.

“They are not very smart,” Imogen said shortly after we were released and had gone to her tent to tell her we were back. “Those watch! They asked me all sorts of impertinent questions about Benedikt’s involvement with the therions, as if he had something to do with the death. It was ridiculous, and I told that marble-faced creature that. Yes? Both of you? Excellent!”

Ben and I moved aside as Imogen smiled at a couple who had come to have their rune stones read.

What did the watch guy mean when he said there were other resources open to members of the L’au-dela? I asked as we fought our way through the dense crowd of people, stopping briefly to check that Mom’s stand hadn’t been tampered with. Since I’d sold most of her stock, there wasn’t much of value left in it, but I didn’t want her coming back to a trashed stand.

A little pain squeezed my heart at the thought that she might not be coming back.

We will find her, Francesca, Ben said, pulling me into his arms as he stood at the side of the stand. He kissed my temple, then my eyes, and just like that the hunger was on him, pouring out of him to wrap itself around me.

Goddess! I clutched his shoulders as I planted my mouth on his, suddenly needing him more than anything. I don’t think I can make it all the way to Mom’s trailer.

Beloved, you must not. I won’t be able to resist you. Ben moaned as I moved my hand between our bodies, stroking him in a way intended to inflame his passion even higher.

You don’t need to. The booth is empty. . . .

Ben twisted to jerk aside the canvas strapped to one of the wood struts. I ignored the sound of rending canvas, my mouth still glued to his as he moved us into the dark confines of the booth. The noise and lights and dense pack of humanity flowed around our little hidden paradise, which was a good thing, because if anyone had bothered to lift that torn side of the booth, he would have been given an eyeful.

Feed from me! Love me! Now! I demanded, my fingers desperately trying to undo both his belt and his zipper, while at the same time trying to get out of my own jeans.

Ben, with a snarl, ripped my pants off, just ripped them right off my body. I stood for a moment, astonished by the fact that he could do so without hurting me, but as the warm, close air of the closed booth caressed my naked flesh, other, more primal thoughts claimed my mind.

I need you right now, I moaned, trying to help him get out of his pants. This second! You’re not fast enough!

You’re not making things any easier on me by thinking things like that. And that. Christ, Francesca! I’m not going to make it if you think about using your mouth on me like that! He swore into my mind, grabbed my behind with both hands, and hoisted me up onto the sales table. There was a tiny little tinkle of glass, no doubt from the couple of remaining bottles of understanding (the least popular item that Mom sold), spread my thighs, and surged into me with a strength that left me breathless.

For about three seconds. Then I pulled his head down to my shoulder, dug my fingers into the thick, tense muscles of his behind, and pulled my knees up to clutch his hips.

The sharp, hot pain of him biting me made me moan, but it was the sense of our spirits joining together, of our beings bonded as he both took life from me and returned it, that sent my soul spinning toward a climax I knew would rock my world.

Dimly, as if from a very long distance, I heard a familiar voice calling, “Goddess Fran! We have returned!”

“Bullfrogs! They’re back! Hurry, Ben, hurry!”

His mouth was hot on my flesh as he drank from me, his hips pistoning as I urged him on with thrusts of my own, wanting the physical completion but also that shining moment when we were truly one entity.

“Goddess? Didn’t Imogen say she was headed this way?”

The voice was louder. I sobbed my wordless plea into Ben’s mind as our bodies raced.

Bite me, he ordered.

What?

Bite me!

I didn’t stop to question that command. I nuzzled aside his hair until the tense cord of his neck was exposed, then gently bit.

A surge of ecstasy shot through Ben that was instantly translated to me, sending both of us over the edge. He lunged into me, his back arched, his mind and mine filled with an exquisite sense of rightness.

It wasn’t until we had managed to separate that I realized something was wrong.