“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.
Chapter 7
“The little kindness is five euros, the bigger one is ten, and the do-it-yourself love charm kit is twenty-five.”
“Oh, love charm is good, yes? We will take it,” one of the two young women who stood before me said in a charming German accent.
I handed over the box and took her money. “Forgive my ignorance, but who are you dressed as?”
The woman smoothed a hand down her floor-length black dress and matching belted waist cincher, pulling down from the top of her head a silver metal mask. “I am a death eater!”
“So you are. Er . . . isn’t that from Harry Potter? Not a Wagnerian opera?”
“Yes,” she said, pushing the mask up before waving to her friend. “Sabeine is Hermione.”
“And a very good Hermione you are,” I told her, handing over the change and admiring her Hogwarts robes. “Enjoy your love charms.”
The two women left, excitedly discussing whether to visit the wizard’s sanctum first or the aura photography booth. I eyed the table in front of me, mentally adding up the stock on it and the boxes of extras I’d found earlier. I had assumed that the items would last several days, but Peter hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that the town’s opera competition was sending the Faire lots of customers—center aisle was a solid mass of bodies, and I had done a roaring trade in just the hour we’d been open. I’d kept so busy I hadn’t had time to do more than twitch whenever a man of Ben’s general build and color walked past.
“Fran!” A petite woman with long, curly blond hair and brilliant blue eyes darted around a small clutch of people and ran toward me. “It is you! I am so pleased to see you, but there is something I must tell you about Benedikt before you see him—”
“Too late.” I smiled when she froze just as she was about to hug me, the delicate lines of her face unmoving. “Hello, Imogen. It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, it has,” she said absently, her gaze searching my face. “You have seen Benedikt?”
“Yes.” I set down the bottles of kindness, idly checking the lid on the tester my mother kept to show people how the potion worked. “I’ve seen him. And Naomi. Ben seemed surprised to see me. You didn’t tell him that I was coming?”
“No, I thought the surprise of seeing you might do him some good. Sort of a shock therapy, you know. Oh, Fran.” Remorse filled her eyes as she hugged me, waves of sympathy rolling off her. “I am so sorry. Benedikt is . . . I do not know what has happened to him. I have tried to talk to him about his decision. I have tried, you must believe me. But he will not listen to me. He will not speak with me. He avoids me, he will not even let me feed him anymore. It is as if he is bewitched by that . . . that . . .” She spat out a word I didn’t recognize, but assumed it wasn’t something I’d ever be saying. “But it is very hard to bespell a Dark One, and Naomi does not have that sort of power, so it cannot be that. My dearest Fran, I do not know what to say to you. I have let you down. I fear Benedikt is lost to us.”
She hugged me again, and I patted her back, smiling a little at the fact that she was the one who needed comforting. “It’s okay, Imogen. You don’t have to cry. If Ben is lost to us, it’s my fault, not yours.”
“That, I do not believe,” she said, pulling a lace handkerchief from her sleeve. Imogen was the only person I knew who liked nothing more than to spend a night clubbing, but who still used handkerchiefs. She’d told me once that she had seen a lot of things come and go over the more than three hundred years she had lived, but handkerchiefs were a constant in her life. “You are his Beloved! How he can spurn you this way is beyond my understanding. There has never been a Dark One who has done so. No, I tell a lie. There was one, a Frenchman, but that is an entirely different situation. He has a woman he took as his Beloved in the other’s place.”
“Just when you think your heart can’t break any more,” I said wryly, the pain that lanced through me at her words now a familiar sensation.
“Oh, Fran, no! I did not mean that!” She took my hands, her fingers tight on me, tight enough that I winced at the glass tester bottle I still held as it dug into my palm. “That Naomi, she is not the one for Benedikt. He could not have replaced you with her in his affections. He could not!”
It sounded like she was trying to convince herself of that more than me.
“It doesn’t really matter anymore,” I said, and would have bared my soul to her, but at that moment, the tattered remains of my heart clumped together just in order to fling itself around inside my chest. Imogen turned and swore under her breath as she looked with me to where a couple was strolling past the booth. My fingernails dug through my gloves into my palms. Naomi, catching sight of us, pulled Ben to a stop, and with deliberately slow motions reached up to first brush back a bit of hair off his forehead, then stroked her hand down his chest, wiggling her hips into his as she gazed up at him. “Benedikt, would you like something from the little witch’s booth? You don’t need a love potion, but perhaps something else? She looks like she could use the money.”