In the Company of Vampires

Chapter 6

It took me a bit to gather myself and get cleaned up so no one would know I had indulged in a major fit of crying, but an hour after we arrived at the Faire, I walked slowly down the steps of the trailer inhabited by Peter Sauber and his son, Soren, the latter of whom was attending the University of Marburg. “It’s just not like her to do this,” I reiterated to Peter as he accompanied me. “It has to mean that Loki has her. Especially after the attempt to kidnap me back home. Loki clearly went after Mom when he couldn’t get me.”

Peter rubbed his face, leaving me with a momentary guilty twinge about having woken him up. Peter was the main act magician, in addition to being co-owner of the Faire with his sister, Absinthe. Most of his act was big, flashy illusions, like turning his horse Bruno into a member of the audience, but every now and again he indulged himself in an act of real magic, the kind that left you with goose bumps. “It is possible, although why would he do that?”

“Revenge against me, I suppose.”

Peter made a tch noise in the back of his throat. “If he wanted that, he would have done so years ago.”

I frowned, thinking about that. I had to agree that Loki had had many opportunities to strike at me, as he had promised. Why would he take Mom now and not earlier? “I’m not sure what to say, Peter. If Loki didn’t take her, then where is she?”

He shrugged. “That I do not know. She was seeing that Frenchman, so perhaps she went away with him instead of going to Heidelberg.”

“What Frenchman?”

“The one she met in Brussels. He sells some sort of farm equipment. Did she not tell you about him?”

“Not a peep.” Once, back when I assumed my future was secure with Ben, I had hoped that she’d find someone with whom she could share her life. Now the thought just made me feel ostracized, as if everyone had paired up but me. “Do you know his name?”

Peter gave me the little information he knew about the man, which I wrote down in a little notebook. “I guess I could talk to the police about this guy, just in case he, and not Loki, has abducted her.”

“Will that not be very extreme?” he asked, worry filling his eyes. “What if she has gone away for a romantic weekend?”

“A romantic weekend is one thing, but five days without telling anyone?” I shook my head. “Not at all like my mom.”

“Perhaps she left some note or sign of where she’s gone?” he suggested.

I stared at him for a second. “You know, that’s not a bad thought. Let’s both of us go have a look around her trailer.”

“Both of us?” He looked sleepy, but came along when I tugged him toward the trailer. “I don’t know what I can do to help.”

“You dated Mom for a bit, didn’t you?”

He looked a bit abashed. “Just for a few months. We . . . it wasn’t meant to be.”

“That’s okay, Peter,” I said, laughing at his expression. “I don’t mind that you guys were dating. I’m sad it didn’t work out, but you don’t have to be uncomfortable with me on that account. Now, where to start?”

We had entered the trailer and stood looking around it. “Bedroom?” Peter suggested.

“Good idea.” We both toddled back to it, making a quick search of the dresser pressed against one wall. There was just clothing in it, no big note saying where she’d gone, or even a love note from an admirer. More reassuringly, there were no signs of a struggle, so if Loki did take her, she hadn’t fought him.

I sat on the bed and thought for a few minutes. Peter went out into the living area and poked around in the drawers and cupboards out there, but I knew they wouldn’t have anything important. I mulled over where I would leave any references to a weekend trip, and after another few minutes’ thought, reached under the bed and pulled out a small metal box with a combination lock.

“What is that?” Peter asked as he returned to the bedroom. “I found nothing out there. Not even a note-pad.”

“I’m not surprised. This is mom’s lockbox. She keeps things in it like her passport. I can’t imagine why she’d put anything in here about her weekend trip, but it can’t hurt to look.” I spun the dial to register my birth date, my mother’s standard password, and sorted through the contents. As I suspected, it contained a few legal documents, a picture of the two of us together when I was about eight, her passport and various stamped visas, a credit card, three necklaces in silk bags, and a couple of stiff pieces of yellow paper.

“Well, that was no help,” I said as I replaced everything, absently unfolding the paper.

“What are those?” Peter asked.

“Nothing. Just birth certificates. Mom’s. Mine.” I tossed the first two aside and glanced at the other one. “This must be a copy of mine that she got when she thought she lost the original. Well, this has been a lesson in frustration. . . .” I stopped and looked back at the last paper. Something about it had registered on my brain as being not quite right.

“This isn’t my birth certificate.” I frowned at it as I read the name of the child. “Petra Valentine de Marco. Who on earth is that?”

“A friend of your mother’s?” Peter asked, looking in the tiny wardrobe that held Mom’s dresses.

“Why would she have someone else’s birth . . . green grass and salamanders!” I raised my gaze to Peter. “My mom’s name is on this.”

“It is?” He sat next to me and looked as I handed it to him.

“Right there. Where it says mother’s name.” I pointed. “That’s her name. Miranda Benson.”

“Is it your birth certificate? With a different name? Sometimes parents change the names of their babies. Perhaps this was your original name and they changed it.”

“Alphonse de Marco. That’s not my father’s name.” Chills ran down my arms as I realized what it was I was seeing. The birth date of the baby was almost ten years earlier than mine. “Goddess above! My mom had a baby before me. I have a sister.”

Peter looked suitably shocked. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard her mention another daughter.”

I studied the birth certificate. “She was only sixteen when she had this baby. And it doesn’t say they were married. Stars and stripes forever. I’m just . . . I don’t know what I am. Flabbergasted, I guess. I never had the slightest idea I wasn’t her only child. Why didn’t she tell me?”

He took the birth certificate from me and tucked it away in the box with the other two. “I think, perhaps, this has nothing to do with your mother’s weekend in Heidelberg.”

“Even if she was sixteen, and it doesn’t look like she was married to this guy, did she think I’d judge her for that? I have a half sister out there who I didn’t even know existed.” The idea was so strange, I had a hard time processing it. I won’t deny there wasn’t a bit of hurt with the realization that my mother kept something so important from me, but I was more confused than anything else.

“Fran.”

“Hmm?” I realized what he said. “Oh. Yeah, you’re right. This is something I’ll have to talk to her about once I find her. It’s just . . . I never knew. I don’t understand why she would hide this from me. And speaking of that, just where is this Petra person?”

“Perhaps she did not survive?” Peter said, his expression sympathetic as he patted my arm. “I think we’ve pried enough. You will talk to your mother about this later, yes?”

“She must have been ashamed, but . . .” I couldn’t imagine my mother being ashamed of having a baby, even an illegitimate one. “Yeah, I guess it’s not really of vital importance right now. I’ll have to visit the police, though, since there was nothing in the trailer to show us where she’s gone. I’ll drop in on them and see what they have to say.”

“If you insist. How long will you be with us?” He walked with me to the trailer door. “That sounded rude, didn’t it? I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that your mother’s booth was always very popular, and if you were going to be around for a while . . .”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be here,” I said carefully. “My plans have kind of changed.”

“Ah?” He gave me a long look, then nodded. “Naomi.”

“Yes.” I examined my gloves, biting down hard on my lip to keep the tears from burning in my eyes again.

“It was a mistake to hire her, but we were short-handed, and Benedikt swore she would fit in well.”

“Ben got her the job?” I asked, the tiny little atoms of my heart crumbling even further.

Peter looked embarrassed, his gaze dropping as he fidgeted with the doorknob. “I had no idea that he . . . that they . . .”

“It’s all right.” I dredged up a ghost of a smile. “It’s likely I’ll be around for a bit, so I can run Mom’s booth while I’m here if you like. Although I really can only sell the things she already has made up—I can’t make any more.”

“No, no, of course not. But you know the things to say to customers, and you are familiar with Miranda’s stock. It would be a great help. The opera contest that is going on in town has brought in a tremendous number of people to the area, and the Faire, and I hate to waste the opportunity. I don’t like to ask you to tie up your evenings, but perhaps if you could see to her booth every other night? I will pay you, naturally.”

He looked so hopeful, I agreed, but declined the offer of payment.

“She would want her booth open.” My throat closed for a moment on a painful lump. “I just need to know Mom’s okay. If Loki hurt her—”

Peter patted my arm when I couldn’t finish the sentence. “She is strong.”

“I know, but she can still be hurt.”

“Not easily.” He looked thoughtfully at me for a moment before adding slowly, “I would not suggest this in normal circumstances, because Absinthe does not like it to be known, but she might be able to help you.”

“Absinthe?” I swallowed the painful lump of tears in my throat and tried to figure out how a mind reader could help me. “You mean like find out who’s taken Mom?”

“No. She would need a subject for that. She has lately started studying with a diviner.”

“A who now?”

“Diviner. They see things, you know? Tiny things, little bits of a bigger picture, Absinthe says. I don’t really understand it too well, but she has learned much in the last three years.”

“And she could tell me where Mom is!” I said, hope filling me. “I could kiss you, Peter! What a brilliant idea!”

“No, no, do not kiss me yet. I am not that brilliant. Absinthe is not learned enough to locate your mother, but she might be able to see if she has been . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Harmed,” I said, filling in the word he clearly didn’t want to say.

He nodded.

“I’ll take it.”

“It isn’t much, and I can’t guarantee that Absinthe will be able to tell you anything—”

“I’ll take it,” I repeated. “Is she here now?”

“Yes. I believe I saw Kurt about this morning.”

I hesitated for a few seconds. Part of me wanted to run to Absinthe and beg her to tell me how my mother was. But even as that thought ran through my brain, the word “beg” reverberated with ominous portent. Absinthe was someone who viewed every interaction on a credit and debit scale. Asking her to divine my mother’s state of health, and possibly location, would mean I placed myself in debt to her. And Absinthe had very inventive ways of making people pay their debts.

“Would you like me to ask Absinthe for you?” Peter asked, knowing his sister well enough to see my dilemma.

“No.” I straightened my shoulders. “I appreciate the offer, though. I’ll just go see if she’s awake.”

She was. She was also in a pretty foul mood, sitting in a garish orange and green chair in a pink track suit that matched her hair, sipping a latte and glaring at me with red-rimmed eyes. Kurt puttered in the background, which left me wondering if Absinthe had settled down to just one of the brothers.

“So you want me to divine for you, eh?” Her eyes narrowed as she raked me over with a look that snapped with irritation. “The so-sensitive Fran needs my help, does she?”

I held on to my temper, keeping a firm smile on my lips. “Yes, I do. I would be very grateful for it, as a matter of fact. I’m worried about my mother.”

She made a tsk sound, sliding Kurt a glance from the corner of her eyes before leaning forward, both hands on the table that sat between us. “And what payment do you have to offer?”

“Well, I have a little set aside for emergencies,” I said slowly, wondering what was the going rate for an apprentice diviner’s services.

“It is not money I wish,” she said, waving her hand. I was surprised to see that her nails were bitten. In the past, Absinthe had seemed to me to be a very with-it woman, almost scary in the control she exercised on others. But control freaks did not bite their nails, and the proof that she was, after all, human helped me to relax. “What I want is you.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Not sexually,” she said, her lip curling in disgust. “Why would I want you when I have Kurt and Karl? No, it is your services I desire.”

I had a feeling my touchy-feely abilities were going to enter into the negotiations. “When and where and for how long?” I asked, settling back to haggle over the details.

“I do not know. But it will be a debt of honor, you understand? I will do this thing for you now, and you will owe me.”

I was vaguely uncomfortable at the idea of such a debt hanging over my head, but the thought of my mother in pain made that concern pale. “Deal. Can you tell me where she is?”

She shrugged, and rose to dig around in a drawer under the couch. “I do not know until I try. Kurt, the incense. No, not that one, the clarity incense.”

I watched with interest as Absinthe and Kurt set up the round table for divination purposes. Absinthe laid a scarlet red and gold cloth on the table, smoothing it out before placing on it a long incense holder shaped like a dragon. My nose wrinkled at the sharp acidic tang of the incense—a blend that had a lot of rosemary in it—but to my surprise she didn’t bring out a crystal ball or even a scrying bowl. She just sat at the table, her fingers tracing the gold embroidered design on the cloth, her eyes unfocused.

“What is it you seek to know?” she asked after a few minutes.

“How my mother is. If she’s hurt or scared or . . . worse.”

“She is happy.”

I felt my jaw sag at that. “Happy?”

“She is wrapped in love. She is happy where she is at.”

Dear goddess, had Loki done something bizarre to my mother, like make her fall in love with him? “Where is she? Is she near here?”

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.”

Isleif said something that sounded very rude and punched Finnvid in the arm as the latter was taking a swig of beer. “Do you have no brains? You do not tell the virgin goddess that we are not to talk about the weapons! You know how she is about them!”

“What weapons?” I reached for a bag, but both Finnvid and Isleif pulled them back out of my reach. “Something other than the knives we agreed you could buy here, even though you’re not going to be able to take them back to the U.S.?”

“You agreed—we did not. We told you that no Viking would be caught dead without a sword and ax! It is like being naked.” Isleif plumped down in a chair with a disgruntled look.

“Worse,” Finnvid said. “If you are naked with a sword and ax, you can still kill. I have done so many times.”

“In many ways, I prefer to fight naked, like the berserkers. The blood does not stain your armor that way,” Isleif said and nodded.

“Aye, that is true. I can’t tell you the number of times I’d return home after a successful pillage, and my wife would complain about having to clean the caked blood and brains from my tunic.”

The people nearest us rose suddenly, tossed a few coins on the table, and hurried off. I sighed to myself and wondered which was worse—Ben’s betrayal, or time spent with the Vikings.

“Virgin goddess!” Eirik’s voice was naturally deep, but I hadn’t realized until he bellowed it across the outdoor café area just how carrying it was. “You have found us!”

I ignored the curious looks of the people who hadn’t heard the other two Vikings earlier. “Yes, I have.”

“There is Eirik,” Finnvid said happily. “Are your bowels running again?”

“Aye, they are. I had to use three handfuls of leaves they moved with such vigor.”

The people on the other side of Finnvid scurried off with bowed heads and expressions of horror.

“I’ve had those sessions in the privy,” Isleif said, obviously settling back to indulge in a few scatological anecdotes.

Before he could do so, I raised a hand. “Stop. The moving of bowels is also on the list of things we don’t talk about.”

He stared at me for a moment in utter bewilderment, and was clearly going to ask why, when Finnvid said, “My fourth wife forbid me to talk about shite. Perhaps the virgin goddess is like her.”

I closed my eyes. To my left, I heard the noise of chairs scraping and people leaving hurriedly. I prayed the café owner was not watching.

“I knew a woman like that, as well,” Eirik said, sitting next to me. “She liked me to write her name in the snow, though.”

“What weapons did you buy?” I said, giving great deliberation to the words.

Eirik shot a glare at Finnvid.

“Why do you look such at me?” Finnvid answered the look, pulling his bags a little closer. “It could have been Isleif who told her about the Walther P38s.”

“Walthers?” I searched my memory. I wasn’t too hip on weapons, but those sounded familiar. “Aren’t those guns? You bought guns?”

“We needed them. We saw Nori.”

“You saw Nori. We did not,” Isleif said, pouring about half the ale down his throat. He belched so loud I swear my hair fluttered.

The people behind him left. Quickly.

“You think I would mistake Nori? I am not so foolish.” Eirik turned from the Vikings to reassure me. “It was Nori.”

“Who’s Nori? And why do you need a gun just because he’s here? I thought we agreed knives would be perfectly fine.”

“You agreed,” Eirik said. “You forbade us to pillage swords or axes, so we got crossbows instead.”

“You got crossbows and Walther P38s?” I took a deep breath in order to better lecture them, but before I could, Isleif interrupted.

“The Walthers are crossbows,” he said kindly, as if explaining something to an idiot.

“They are?”

“Aye.” All three Vikings nodded, and smacked their lips loudly as they downed their beer. “The man at the ninja shop told us they were very effective in stopping attackers. We will find a bowyer later to get the bolts for them.”

“You need not worry, virgin goddess,” Eirik added, patting my hand. “We will protect you from Loki’s son.”

“Nori?” I asked, relief swamping me when I realized they didn’t understand about the ammunition needed by modern guns.

“Aye. He is tricky like his father. I saw him leaving the train station a few hours ago. If Nori is here, he is up to no good.”

I frowned at the table as I mulled over a new thought. Could it be Loki’s son who swept my mother off her feet to some love nest, goddess only knew where? Or was it a coincidence that Nori was in town? I explained to the Vikings what Absinthe had seen in her vision.

“I don’t know what to think. It’s all so confusing.” I rubbed my forehead. “Maybe we should talk to Nori, just to be on the safe side.”

“We will search for him tonight,” Eirik said, putting on his white-framed sunglasses even though it was dark enough that streetlamps were starting to flicker on. “You will go back to the Faire?”

“Yes, I have to go back to the Faire.” I would not think about Ben. I would not allow the misery that was now my life to spread to others. “If you get tired and want somewhere to sleep, you can use the chairs and my bed in my mom’s trailer. I’ll sleep in her bed.”

They agreed to this plan, and since my appetite had gone at the memories I would not allow, I stood up to leave.

“You forgot to give her the offering,” Isleif said, pointing to a bag at Finnvid’s feet.

“Aye, give the virgin goddess the offering we have brought for her,” Eirik said.

Finnvid dug through the bags until he held in his hands a shiny gold metal helm, crowned on either side with curved plastic horns. I stared at it for a moment before turning my gaze on the three delighted faces that beamed at me. “You got me a horned helmet?”

“Is it not splendid? ” Finnvid asked, admiring it. “The man at the shop said that it is a Viking helm, although we have never seen one like it before, so it must be a ninja Viking helm. We thought you would like it, since you are our virgin goddess.”

With reverence, he placed the helm on my head. I bit my lower lip, not wanting to hurt their feelings when they were so very pleased with their present. I started to take it off, saying, “I will treasure it always.”

“You are removing it?” Isleif asked, his expression a little hurt.

“Well . . . it’s so very pretty, and shiny, and . . . horny. I wouldn’t want someone to steal it from me if I were to wear it out on the street. Maybe you could give me the bag and I could carry it back to the Faire in that.”

“Ah,” Eirik said, nodding. “That is smart thinking. It is a most attractive ninja Viking helm. Many people will want it.”

I didn’t point out that just about everyone was wearing them. “Exactly. So I’ll just tuck it away safe and sound in this bag, and that way no one will know I have it.”

“Until you get to the Faire,” Eirik prompted me. “Then you will wear it. It will be safe at the Faire.”

“Er . . . yes. I will be safe wearing it there.” I heaved a mental sigh, but pointed out to myself that as easily distracted as they were, I probably wouldn’t have to wear it more than once or twice before they forgot about it.

They escorted me to a cab, promising to pass along word about Nori should they find him again. I returned to the Faire with a heart filled with anguish, an empty stomach, and a historically inaccurate horned Viking helm.

Somehow, that just seemed to sum up my life.