Confessions of a Vampire's Girlfriend (31 page)

“But we can't find Lars Laufeyiarson,” I said, sniffling into a couple of tissues. Yes, it was stupid to cry, but sometimes you just have to give in and have a good sobfest. “We checked all the phone books in the area. There are a couple up the coast, but Ben called them and they weren't the same guy.”

Mom frowned. “I thought he gave you his card? What happened to that?”

“It disappeared.”

She gave me a look.

“No, I'm serious—it disappeared. I put it in my bag when I got back to the trailer that night, and when I went to look last night, it was gone. Poof. Vanished into nothing.”

“Or someone took it,” she said slowly, shaking her head as soon as she spoke. “No, no one would come into our trailer and touch our things. You must have lost it or misplaced it somewhere, honey.”

I bit my lip to keep from telling her I distinctly remembered putting it in my purse where it would be safe. Although Mom was Wiccan and had seen all sorts of strange things, she never believed any of them could happen to me.

“Now, about you leaving the circle last night—”

I sat back and let her give me the old “why it's wrong to leave a circle” lecture, glancing out of the open window when I thought I heard someone calling my name. There was no one out there but one of the Viking ghosts sweeping up peach debris. I nodded at the appropriate times, shaking my head when that was called for, looking out the window again when I could have sworn someone was calling me.

“—and to think you'd been raised to honor and respect our practices. I was appalled by your abrupt—Franny, I am speaking to you. I would appreciate having your attention.” Mom stopped her pacing up and down to glare at me, her hands on her hips.

“Sorry. I thought someone was calling me,” I said, hurriedly turning back toward her and putting on my “being lectured yet again” face.

Fran
, the wind whispered.

“Honestly, Fran, I have no idea what you thought you were doing—”

I tuned her out to listen as hard as I could for the elusive sound.

Fran
.

“Absolutely,” I said, leaping to my feet and heading for the door. “I'm so sorry about the circle, Mom. Never happen again. Promise. Gotta run now.”

“Francesca Marie Ghetti—”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I yelled as I flung myself out of the trailer, running toward the center aisle of the Faire, stopping to get my bearings.
Ben, where are you
?

Woods,
the answer came in kind of a gasp. My heart leaped at the sound of it—Ben was in trouble, serious trouble if he was asking for help. Part of his Mister Macho act was that he never, ever asked for help from anyone.
West.

I raced down the aisle, ignoring the shouted question from Soren as he tended to Bruno, past Tallulah as she took her pug for a walk, down the slope that led to the parking area, and into the sparse fringe of woods that ran like a spine down the center of the small island.
Ben? Whereabouts are you? I don't see you.

Here
, a faint voice whispered in my head.
Left
.

I spun around and ran into the woods, beating back stray branches as they slapped at my face. I figured he wouldn't be at the edge, where the sunshine could get him, so I went for the darkest part of the thin stretch of woods. I wouldn't have seen him slumped up against a giant fir tree if he hadn't moved, but fortunately I caught the movement in my peripheral vision. “What's wrong? Why are you hiding in the trees? Where have you—oh, Goddess! What's happened to you?”

My skin tightened and tingled with goose bumps as Ben slumped to the ground. He wore the tattered remains of his leather jacket, his shirt completely gone, but that wasn't what made my stomach freeze into a solid block of horror—his face, arms, and torso were bright red with blood, as if he'd been dipped in a blood bath. Beneath it, I could see a horrifying crisscross pattern of slash marks on his chest and arms. I lunged for him but couldn't catch him as he hit the ground, his head lolling backward. I touched his throat, feeling for a pulse, but there was nothing. His chest didn't rise with breath. His heart didn't beat. And his being, his self that I was always subtly aware of when he was around, was utterly and completely gone.

I sat on the ground, clutching his lifeless body to me, my mind shrieking in horror. How on earth was I going to go on without Ben?

“
I
'm never going to forgive you for this,” I said, throwing a pillow down onto the floor.

An eye the color of dark oak opened and rolled over to look at me for a second or two before closing again.

“You've died twice in my arms. Twice! There's not going to be a third time, do you understand?”

The man-shaped lump on the bed grunted.

“Dark Ones can't die unless they're beheaded,” Imogen said, bustling into the bedroom of her trailer with yet another jar of cow's blood (I know, major ick, but this was an emergency). She stopped for a moment and looked thoughtful. “Or burned—they can be burned, too. And if they lose all the blood in their body, that's as good as dead since they are more or less comatose. But they can't die just from a few cuts.”

I glared at her for a moment, before looking over to where Ben lay, swathed in bandages, propped up on a pyramid of pillows. He looked awful, his skin gaunt and gray as if he was every single one of his three hundred and twelve years. He'd lost so much blood, Imogen couldn't replace what he needed, so she had sent Karl into town to buy some blood from the local butcher.

Imogen sat on the edge of the bed, tucking a blanket around his hips. She was about to offer him the mug when she looked over to me. “Do you want to do this, Fran?”

“I'm sorry. I can't,” I said, throwing another pillow around. I picked up Ben's bloodstained jeans and shook them at him. “I'm too busy being furious at him to pour blood down his throat.”

Ben opened his eye again and looked at his sister. “She's picking on me.”

“As you well deserve. I can't imagine what you were thinking collapsing like that on poor Fran. You scared her to death! You should have seen her face when she came dashing back here to get help for you. She was devastated, her face the very picture of horror and agony. I wanted to weep just seeing the despair in her eyes.”

Ben looked at me. “You were that worried about me?”

“Yes, I was.” I picked up his bloody, shredded jacket, narrowing my eyes at him. “That was a horrible, horrible thing you did to me! And I'm telling you right here and now that I'm never going to go through that again! No more, got that? No more scaring Fran to death! Twice is enough, thank you!”

“The first time wasn't my fault,” he protested in a weak voice that just about broke my heart. “I'm not to blame if a demon tried to kill me.”

“I suppose it really wasn't his fault last month,” Imogen said, thrusting the mug of blood at Ben. He shot her a narrow-eyed look, but obediently sipped at the blood. I was glad Imogen knew what to do for him—when I had staggered back into our camp earlier, my brain was frozen solid, locked on the thought that he was dead. I had no idea what to do to help him—assuming help was possible. But thankfully, Imogen took charge of the situation immediately, helping Kurt to bring Ben back while Karl went for some take-out blood.

“Maybe not directly, but he was pigheaded enough to get himself ambushed.”

“Pigheaded!” Ben sputtered around the mug.

“That's what I said. Are you done?” I asked when he pushed Imogen's hand holding the mug away.

“Yes.”

He didn't look much better, but at least he'd had a couple of pints of blood, and his wounds had stopped bleeding. “Good. Now you can tell us what happened to you.”

The silent, stony look I received was a familiar one.

“Oh, no,” I said, hands on hips again (I seemed to be doing that a lot lately). “You're not going to give me the silent treatment. I order you to tell me what happened to you.”

Ben glared. Imogen made a little face. “Fran, dear, a word of advice—never give Benedikt an order. He doesn't like them.”

“I'm not one of your ghosts, Fran,” he said, having finished his glare. “You cannot compel me to tell you where I've been.”

“I can't, huh?” I sat on the bed, stripped off a glove, and took his hand in mine. His fingers, as always, fascinated me. They were long and slender, the hands of a musician. These hands had been around for more than three hundred years, buttoning fancy Victorian waistcoats, loading muskets, holding on to the side of a sleek, polished carriage—and so many other things, I couldn't even begin to imagine. And yet with all that history behind them, they were just hands, warm, supportive hands that gave me a little zing of pleasure each time they touched me. “What if I ask you to please tell me what happened? What if I remind you that I was absolutely devastated when I saw you so weak and injured.”
What if I let you see how much it broke my heart to think you were gone?

He closed his eyes for a minute, his fingers tightening around mine. “I was helping my brother.”

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You have a brother?”

Imogen shook her head.

“Dafydd is my blood brother, not an actual relation. He saved my life once. I am bound to return that debt.” Ben's eyes were still shut, but his thumb stroked over mine. A little warm glow of happiness filled me at his touch, joining with the massive well of relief and gratitude that he hadn't died.

“Oh. What exactly were you helping him with?”

He shook his head. “That I cannot tell you. I swore an oath of secrecy to him.”

“Poop. Well, how were you hurt? Those slash marks were deep and jagged, like something with really big claws got you.”

His eyes were dark when they opened, the lovely little sparkly gold bits dull and flat. “I can't tell you that, either.”

“What can you tell me?” It took an effort, but I managed to keep from strangling him. Long exposure to Wiccans had taught me the importance of honoring an oath, although that didn't make it any easier on me when I was dying to know what happened to him.

He said nothing.

I counted to ten. “OK, how about this—does whatever you're doing tonight have to do with you disappearing in Hungary last month?”

“Yes.”

I don't know why, but that actually made me feel a bit better. Not that I was jealous or anything, but I wouldn't be human if I didn't admit that a couple of times, the horrible thought had occurred to me that Ben might have taken off with someone much thinner, smaller, and all-around less weird. But if he was off helping his blood brother . . . well that, too, I could understand. Wiccans are very big on bonds of blood.

I sighed. “OK. I won't ask you any more about that. But this obviously means our date tomorrow is off.”

“Date?” Imogen asked, puttering around the tiny bedroom. She fluffed up one of Ben's pillows, tucked the sheet around him tighter, and readjusted a curtain so the tendril of sunshine that sneaked in was eliminated. Her eyes went from me to Ben and back. “You two are going on a date? A real one?”

“We were. Dinner and everything.” I gave Ben's hand a final squeeze as I stood up. He needed to rest and let his body heal all those horrible wounds, and me sitting there wouldn't do him any good. “But now we'll have to wait until he's better.”

“I'll be fine by tomorrow night,” he said, giving me a feeble smile.

“Uh-huh.”

“I will. I should be back to normal tonight, as a matter of fact.”

I made a face that let him know I thought that was a bit optimistic, told him to get some sleep, and left Imogen's bedroom.

“Oh, Francesca . . .” She followed me out of the bedroom, carefully closing the door behind her. Her forehead was wrinkled with a puzzled frown. “About this date . . .”

“What about it?” I asked.

“It's just . . . you've never been on a date before, have you? I seem to recall you telling me that.”

“Yeah, but it's not like I have to pass a test or anything to do it.”

She met my smile with one of her own. “No, but I thought you mightn't mind a little advice.”

“Sure,” I said, taking a seat at the semicircular table. “I'd be happy to get some advice from the queen of dating. It has to be better than what the Vikings told me.”

“Tea?” She bustled around the tiny kitchen area.

“Just a fast one. I have to visit Tallulah, and then give Tibolt his necklace back.”