Zen and the Art of Vampires

Chapter 7

A light breeze ruffled my hair. "Pia? Are you all right?"

I looked up from where I'd been hunkered over, sobbing into my knees, right into the nostrils of a ghostly horse. I fought back the startled scream that threatened to burst out of me, sniffling instead and hunting desperately in my pockets for a tissue. "Ulfur?"

"Yes, it's me." His horse smelled my hair, then snorted into it with a shake of his head. "Ragnar, leave her be. She does not wish to pet you."

"I don't think I could if I wanted to," I said, giving up the search and dabbing at my damp nose with my sleeve. I pushed away the trash cans that hid me and got to my feet, a little wobbly, but not entirely surprised to find that the space behind the library where I'd collapsed was now filled with ghostly entities. "Oh, good, you found Karl and Marta."

"Yes, they were hiding near the park. There was another man, a sailor, I think, but he said he was going to search for rum and would find us later. You are hurt?" Ulfur's face was filled with concern, as were, in varying degrees, those of the other ghosts crowded around me. All except the smart-mouthed teen, and she was busy picking her nails until the woman I assumed was her mother cuffed her upside the head. "Did your husband harm you?"

"He's not my husband," I said, dusting off my clothing. "Well, that's to say, he might be, but if he is, he's neither legal nor wanted."

"You kissed him," one of the male ghosts said.

"That was… um… unintentional," I lied.

"It looked like you were enjoying it," Ulfur pointed out.

"I didn't say it was unpleasant, just that it was unintentional." I don't know why I felt quite so defensive about the kiss Kristoff and I had shared, unless it was over the immense guilt I felt at betraying his friend. "He's not really my husband. I may be married to him, but he's not a husband in the true sense of the word."

"Ah," the older ghost said, waggling his eyebrows at the teen's mom. "He hasn't bedded her yet."

A chorus of comprehending aahs followed that statement.

"You'd best be seeing to that right away," snarky teen's mom said with a knowing look. "Men like that have an appetite for women, and you'll not be wanting him to stray."

"I'm not trying to keep him," I told her, waving my hands around vaguely as if that would help explain the situation. "He's not really mine."

"Not yet, but just you bed him a few times, and he'll be yours for life," an elderly, creaking voice said. There was a flurry of movement behind the ghosts, and a tiny, incredibly old woman appeared. "I've had five husbands, I have, and if there's anyone who knows how to keep a man, it's me."

Everyone nodded their heads, the teen's mom saying, "Aye, Old Agda knows. You listen to her, reaper."

"Five husbands?" I couldn't help but ask.

"They all died young, all but the last one, and he were thirty year younger'n me. Died happy they did, too." She cackled, elbowing the mom beside her. Mom smiled indulgently.

I gave myself a mental shake. I needed to make plans, and standing around here talking about Kristoff and husbands was not going to help matters. "Well, that's nice, but—"

"I like the young ones," another woman called out from the back, a woman around whom three children were clustered, clutching her long skirts. "They've got stamina. Maybe our reaper ought to look for someone a bit younger."

"Bah," the first woman said. "What good is stamina if they don't know what to do with it? It's all about what god gifted them with, if you want my opinion."

"I don't need anyone with more stamina," I protested. "Besides, Kristoff is a vampire and is who knows how many hundreds of years old. Just about anyone is going to be younger than him."

"The younger ones lack experience," the teen's mom argued with the size-matters woman. "And it doesn't matter how long a man's member is if he hasn't the experience to use it properly. The young ones don't know how to please a woman, and the ones without experience just leave you wishing they'd be done so you can bring in the wash and tend to supper. Now, the reaper's man, he looks like he knows what he's about."

"I'll say he does," her daughter purred.

I narrowed a look on her that by rights should have turned her to stone before realizing what I was doing. I was not jealous of Kristoff! I did not want him! It was Alec I was interested in. Alec who smiled, and was happy to turn off the lights, and left me with a dead body… oy.

"That's all women's talk," the middle-aged ghost interrupted. "What our reaper wants is someone who can protect her. The true measure of a man is how he provides for his family."

"You're just saying that because you'd just built Ingveldur a new cabin," one of the other men called out. "Two rooms! Who has need of a separate sleeping room, I ask you? That's just flaunting your wealth in the face of god, that is."

"Ha! Thus speaks the man with three—three—milk cows, when one would do. If you want to talk about setting yourself above the rest of the village, Hallur Hallsson, then you'd best look to yourself first."

"I needed those cows," the man named Hallur yelled, storming forward to confront his neighbor. "I had six children to feed! Unlike Agda and her hundred chickens. All those chickens for just one old woman. Bah! That was flaunting wealth if there ever was flaunting."

The elderly lady shot him a nasty glare. "I'd quite a few less chickens than when I started out, and I know just whose pot they ended up in, don't I?"

An argument broke out amongst the ghosts about the merits of one-room versus two-room housing, cows, chickens, and, inexplicably, a pig named Freyja. I was about to yell for attention when timid little Marta came forward and put a ghostly hand on my arm, making my skin tingle a little where she touched me.

"Don't listen to them," she said softly, a little smile on her lips as she glanced at Karl. "I've been married a whole year, and what they're saying isn't that important. None of it really matters so long as you are fond of your husband."

"But I'm not," I told her, wishing like the dickens that someone, anyone, would just listen to me without forming their own assumptions. "I don't even like him. He murdered a man in cold blood, right in front of me."

"He was defending you," Karl said, raising his voice a little as the argument continued behind him. "He saved your life."

"Possibly, but we don't know that. The man who grabbed me could have killed me easily if he wanted to, but he didn't. He was simply using me as a shield to protect himself from Kristoff. Oh, it doesn't matter," I said, rubbing my temples. A headache had come in the aftermath of my tears, leaving my head pounding. "None of this really matters. What I have to do is decide what steps to take to get myself and all of you to safety. People. People!"

The arguing stopped as I yelled and banged the lid of a garbage can.

"… told you that pig was barren, but would you listen to me? No, you wouldn't; you just had to… oh." The man who bore a strong resemblance to Ulfur stopped arguing and turned to look at me. "Sorry."

"Thank you." I eyed them all carefully for a few seconds. "Before we proceed, I'd like to know if any of you have any idea whatsoever of the whereabouts of this Ostri place I'm supposed to take you. Anyone?"

Fifteen blank faces regarded me.

"Hmm." I bit my lip and tried to think through the dull waves of pain that ebbed and flowed against my brain like molasses. "Kristoff said the Brotherhood will kill me, so I can't go to them. Anniki is dead, and I don't know any other Zoryas, assuming there are others to know, so I can't ask one of them where you're supposed to be taken. If I was home, I could look it up online and see if there's some clue as to where Ostri is located, but Kristoff has my passport. And besides, Audrey has all our tickets. I don't even have any money."

At that, my stomach rumbled, and I realized it had been at least twelve hours since I'd last eaten.

"Oh, man," I said, wrapping my arms around myself. "No money means no food, or a way out of here, or even a place to stay. I've got to get some money."

Ulfur pursed his lips and looked thoughtful. "I'd give you my coins, but they washed out to sea with the rest of the village."

I shook my head, thinking over my options. Wire home for money? That would probably require identification to pick up the funds, and my wallet had no doubt been confiscated. Steal it?

"Does anyone here have any thieving experience?" I asked my little gaggle of ghosts.

"Aye, Hallur does," the old lady named Agda called out. "He can take a chicken out of its nest without ruffling a feather."

"That's a lie!" he yelled, rounding on her.

"Anyone else?" I interrupted before they got started.

Everyone shook their heads. "Great. Me, either. I wouldn't know how to go about stealing money in this day and age of high-tech security." I chewed on my lip a bit more.

"Can you borrow some coins from a friend?" Ulfur asked, stroking Ragnar's head.

"I don't have any friends here—" I started to say, then remembered Magda. She wasn't a friend per se, but she was very friendly, and seemed an understanding sort of woman. The question was, would she help me, or turn me over to the police?

I shook my head at the notion of trusting my life to someone I didn't really know. Magda may seem like a nice person, but what proof did I have that I could trust her in a time of need?

I'd just have to find someone else.

"There's your husband," Marta said. "You could ask him for money."

"I'll ask Magda," I told the ghosts, coming to a snap decision. "But I can't go traipsing around with you all on my heels. We'd better find somewhere to park you that you'll be safe from the soul-sucking Ilargi person."

I contemplated trying to make my way around town without being spotted by police, fellow tour members, Kristoff, or the Brotherhood folk, but a few moments' consideration left me shrugging at the building in front of me. Why not? I hustled my little group into the library and told them to vanish. The library was due to close almost immediately thereafter, but with a cunning that was heretofore unknown to me, I managed to hide myself beneath a stack of beanbag chairs in the children's area, and remain there until the building was closed.

I lay there for another two hours while the employees puttered around, alternately listening to my stomach growl, dozing, and wondering what the hell I was going to do if Magda wouldn't help me.

An idea started to form. It wasn't anything I was proud of, and it definitely went against my better judgment, but if push came to shove, there might be a way out of the situation. I felt a little bit better when, two hours later, I crawled out from my beanbag cocoon and rallied my troops.

"Right, I'm going to go see my friend and pray she won't turn me over to the police. You guys stay here. If this bad reaper is human, like I am, he shouldn't be able to get in to the building to get you guys." I glanced around the darkened library, only a couple of security lights illuminating the interior. "I sure wish ghosts could read books and use the computer terminals. A little research into reapers and Ostri might be very helpful."

Karl looked from his wife to me. "But we can read books. I don't know about this computer terminal you mentioned, but I can read."

"I'm sure you can, but what I meant was more I wish you guys had the ability to interact with physical things."

"We can," Ulfur said. Ragnar nodded his head and snorted before munching the fabric of the nearest bean-bag chair.

"Really?" I reached out to touch him, my hand passing right through his arm. "Um…"

Ulfur smiled and the air around him shimmered. His body slowly solidified, going from its bluish translucent state to that of a solid form.

"Holy Jehoshaphat," I said, reaching out with a tentative fingertip. It met solid cloth. "I didn't know you could do that!"

"We can't for very long. It takes a lot of energy to have a physical presence, but it if will help you, we can try looking for some information."

"That would be immensely helpful," I said, relieved. "I don't suppose any of you can operate a computer?"

I wasn't surprised when no one offered to use the nearby computer. I suspected that drifting around aimlessly for a hundred years or more didn't lend itself to techno-savvy.

"Oh, all right, I'll do it," the snarky teen said when her mother, the woman named Ingveldur, gave her a non-too-gentle shove forward.

"You know about computers?" I asked the girl dubiously.

She tched and plunked herself down in that boneless way teen girls have. "I'm not stupid, you know. People do come to the village with laptops and mobile phones and Game Boys. What am I looking for?"

"Does that computer have Internet access?" I asked peering over her shoulder. She solidified and tapped on the keyboard. "Oh, excellent. Google Ostri, would you? And maybe reapers. And the Brotherhood of the Blessed Light. And while you're at it—"

She gave me a look that told me I was trying her nerves.

"Just Google whatever you can and print out anything that looks important. Will the rest of you be all right?"

My words were spoken to an empty room. Ulfur and Karl had taken charge of the villagers and spread them out to search the library for any books that might help.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," I told Marta as she came with me to the window. It didn't show any signs of being wired for an alarm, which I took as an indication of the low crime rate of this area. "Close the window after me, and don't let anyone in who isn't me. OK?"

"All right. But, Pia, the old sailor is still out there," she said worriedly.

"If I see him, I'll send him this way. Don't look so glum," I said, swinging my legs out the window and jumping down to the well-tended flower bed below. "I think our luck is about to change."

That seemed to pacify her. She smiled and waved as I glanced down the street, muttering softly to myself, "And I just pray it's not going from bad to worse."

Dalkafjordhur at night was surprisingly busy. I didn't know if it was the white-night phenomenon of twenty-four hours of sunlight, or if the town was just like that normally, but there were a lot of people out. Luckily, I knew where I would find the tour group—we were supposed to be attending a reenactment group's dinner in a Viking longhouse, complete with Old Norse poetry readings, and scenes enacted from historical sagas of the period.

I didn't have any trouble finding the fake longhouse, since it was a popular tourist site located near the park. I didn't even have any problem slipping in the back way, through what I assumed was the employees' entrance. But as I peeked out from behind a curtain marking the stage, I faced nothing but trouble. The longhouse center was taken up with long tables, at which my tour mates sat stuffing their faces with delicious-smelling salmon, fresh bread, and at least a half dozen other dishes.

My stomach growled with increasing loudness.

I ducked into a small room at the sound of voices coming out of the area I figured was the kitchen, a slow smile emerging as I eyed the various bits of Viking period costume.

"Well, you're not going to fool anyone knowledgeable," I told my reflection a short while later as I examined the ensemble I'd cobbled together from bits and pieces of costumes that would fit my abundant self. "But with the lights out, and everyone focused on the stage, you may get by with it."

I grabbed a wig of long black hair and clapped it onto my head, gave the wraparound linen apron dress that I'd pulled over my own gauze sundress a tug to hide as much of the modern flowery print beneath as possible, and grabbed a box filled with small bottles of water, hefting it to my shoulder to hide my face.

When I emerged from the back depths, the stage show was just starting, and the lights, as I had surmised, were lowered to highlight the actors. I scurried around the back of the tour group, pulling the long black hair around my face as I sidled forward with a murmur of "Water?" to the nearest members.

No one sent me a second glance. Denise sat tapping with irritated fingers on the table, looking sourly at the actors as they demonstrated a Viking ritual. Audrey was next to her looking tired and miserable. I had a pang of remorse for that, feeling certain she'd been through hell after I had run off.

Magda was at the far end with Ray. I hunched over and offered water to him first, then to her.

"Water?"

"No, thank you," Magda said without looking.

"I think you are going to want some," I said softly, leaning a bit closer to her while keeping an eye on everyone else.

"No, thanks," she repeated, still not looking at me.

I sighed to myself and nudged her on the back with the box. "Water is good for you. Take some."

She turned around with a slight frown, her eyes growing huge when I pulled the hair away from my face enough so she could see who I was.

"Take the water," I said softly, braced for flight. If she shouted and screamed, I'd throw the bottles at everyone and make a fast retreat back to the safety of the library.

She did neither, however, simply took the bottle of water I held out and watched me with huge eyes.

"The bathroom is in the back. You may need it after drinking all that," I said softly, with a meaning I was sure was clear.

She nodded and I slipped backward, into the shadows of the room, quietly making my way out to the rear rooms.

I didn't have long to wait. Magda entered the bathroom with a backward glance, carefully closing the door before turning on me. "Pia, what on earth is going on? What are you doing in that atrocious black wig? Why is Denise saying you murdered someone? And why were the police questioning everyone about you and a man you were with last night?"

I blinked at that last bit, irrationally focusing on the least important thing. "They know I was with a man last night? Who said so?"

"Who do you think? Miss Nosy-Pants Denise, that's who. She said she saw a man stealing away from your room in the early hours of the morning."

"Just what was she doing hanging around my room watching for men?" I asked, suddenly outraged at the invasion of my privacy.

Magda crossed her arms. "There's a dead woman in your bathroom, and all you can do is get pissed at Denise's nosiness? What happened. Pia? I don't believe for one minute that you killed the woman, like Denise said. You're not a murderer. You don't have that sort of an aura."

I slumped against the sink in relief, pulling off the itchy black wig, ruffling my hand through my hair to fluff it back up. "Oh, thank god. You don't know how many horrible things I envisioned you saying to me. No, I didn't murder her, although I do know who she is, and I have a suspicion—" I bit off what I was going to say, not wanting to put my worst thoughts into words.

"You have a suspicion you know who it was?"

I nodded.

Magda came over to me and put a hand on mine. "Pia, sweetie, who was that man you were with? Do you think it was him?"

"I don't know," I said miserably, wanting nothing more than to pour the whole story out to her, but knowing she wouldn't believe half of it. "His name is Alec, and it's possible he killed her, although he didn't seem at all like the violent sort of person."

Not until I knew he was a vampire, that is. Not until I learned how much the vampires hated the Brotherhood, and then it made all too much sense.

"Then again, Kristoff said he didn't kill her, but can I really trust him now? I just don't know!"

"Who's Kristoff?" Magda asked.

"Another guy. Alec's friend."

"You haven't gone to the police? I really think you should. If that guy you hooked up with is bad news, you don't know what he will do next. He might come after you."

I shook my head. "I wish I could, but it's… complicated."

"Complicated how? Pia, are you in love with this Alec? Because if you are, I'm here to tell you—"

"No, no, it's nothing like that," I said, blushing at the memory of the kiss I had shared with Kristoff. "He's a nice enough man, and I really don't think he murdered Anniki, although he might have… Oh, it's so muddled, Magda. There are other people involved, a religious group, for lack of a better description, and Kristoff said he didn't, but what if he was lying? But if he did, how could I want to kiss him? I mean, wouldn't you know if someone was capable of murdering someone else?"

She blinked at me in incomprehension. "Just by kissing him? I don't know. I haven't kissed any murderers. Wait a minute—you kissed your lover's friend? Oh, honey, we really need to have a talk."

"No, it's not like that. At least… No, it's not. I'm married to him, but I don't like him."

Her mouth dropped open a little bit. "Whoa, back up a few steps. You're married? Since when?"

"This morning. I was forced into it. Kristoff bribed some people and had his friends witness it falsely. But I don't like him at all. He murdered a man in front of me, for heaven's sake!"

"Another murder?" she asked, incredulous.

"Yes, although Karl says that Kristoff was just trying to protect me from him."

"Who's Karl?" she asked, a puzzled frown wrinkling her forehead. "A third lover?"

"No, he has a wife," I said, not wanting to get into the issue of just exactly what he was. "And Kristoff isn't a lover. He's just my husband, that's all."

"Then, who did this unwanted husband kill?"

"The man with the knife." I ran my hands through my hair again. "I told you it was complicated."

"Honey, that's not even close to the word I'd use for it."

There was a knock at the door and an inquiry.

"Occupied! Be out in just a minute!" Magda shouted at it, then turned back to me. "What can I do to help?"

"Oh, god love you," I said, filled with appreciation. I gave her a swift hug. "Bless you for not pestering me with a thousand and one questions. I need money, mostly. I don't have anywhere to stay and haven't eaten since yesterday—"

"Say no more," she said, digging out a money belt. She handed me a handful of cash. "I'm afraid that's all I have. I was going to cash a traveler's check in the morning. Is that enough?"

I counted it quickly. It was about a hundred dollars in euros. "It's more than enough," I lied. "Thank you so much."

"Husbands and lovers and Karls with their wives aside, I think you really should go to the police," she counseled. "If people are being murdered in front of you, you have to do something about it. You can't just run away."

"I am going to do something," I said, mentally girding my loins. "I'm going to go to the only person who can help me."

"Karl?" Magda guessed. "Alec?"

"No. Kristjana."

"Is she a lover, too?" she asked hesitantly.

I smiled. "No, she's a woman who runs the religious cult I mentioned earlier. Kristoff said she'd try to kill me, but I think I know a way around that."

She opened her mouth to say something, but pounding on the door halted her.

"Magda? Are you in there?"

"Denise!" Magda hissed.

I spun around in the tiny bathroom. It consisted of a sink, toilet, and mirror, with a tiny window that would be impossible for more than one of my legs to fit through. "Crap! I have to hide!"

"Here. Put this on and hide your face," Magda said, shoving the wig at me before turning to bellow at the door. "Just a second! Give a girl a chance, for cripe's sake."

"Are you all right?" Denise called, her voice filled with suspicion. "Who are you talking to?"

"I popped my zipper, if you must know, and this lady is helping me get decent."

I hurriedly stuffed my hair back under the wig and draped the long tresses around my face.

"You ready?" Magda asked, her hand on the door lock.

I nodded and dipped my head.

Magda unlocked the door and shoved her way out, pushing herself directly in front of Denise, acting as a human screen for me. "Just the person I need. I think I have something in my eye. Do you see anything?"

Through the wall of hair hanging over my face, I could see Denise trying to get a look at me over Magda's shoulder, but the latter adroitly stepped to the side and blocked her view. I hurried into the little room I'd used before, counting to twenty before poking my head out. I just caught the sight of Magda whisking Denise back into the main room. I sent her another mental thanks and shucked my flimsy outfit.

Someone spoke as I left the room.

"What? Sorry? I'm… a bit light-headed. Do you speak English?"

The man, who wore a reproduction Viking outfit of leather and wool, carrying a huge tub of ice cream, nodded. "English, yes. You sick?"

"Just need a breath of fresh air. Is that the way out? Great. I'll just get a little air and then get back to the show. It's great so far," I said as I hurried out the door to freedom.

I was about a block away when I was grabbed from behind.

"Gotcha!" Magda said, laughing when I clutched my chest. I seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, looking around for anyone else.

"I'm coming with you. You don't think I'd miss meeting Alec and Karl and your murderous husband, do you?" She grinned. "This is the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me, and I'm not going to miss one single moment of it!"