He thought something extremely unflattering to the Vikings, then inquired in a cautious manner, If I ask you if you will be all right without me, will you lecture me?
Not now. Later, perhaps. I can feel how tired you are. Did Naomi rip you a new one?
Just about.
I’m sorry, Ben. I shouldn’t have taunted her that way. Are you very hungry?
Not terribly. I can feed from Imogen if I must.
A little pain inside me burst into being at the thought of him feeding from others.
Naomi demanded that I attend the tyro tonight. I told her I would. That seemed to keep her from wanting to smite you on the spot.
I said nothing, but thought a great deal to myself. Sleep well, Ben.
I will dream of you. And the shower.
“Er . . . what were we saying?” I suddenly realized both Vikings were staring at me. “Oh! Today’s plans.” I slumped back against the lounge. “I’m at my wit’s end what to do. We don’t have the Vikingahärta, and I don’t have the least idea of where to even start looking for it. Or the lich who might have taken it.”
“You are a goddess,” Eirik said, shrugging. “You will use your goddess powers and tell us what we must do to find the Vikingahärta.”
“I’m not really a goddess, and I don’t have any . . .” I stopped, a light dawning in what passed for my brain. I looked at my hands. They were bare because I’d been with Ben, which meant I had been very careful not to touch anything I didn’t absolutely have to. I’d even used my T-shirt wrapped around my hand to open Naomi’s trailer door. “I wonder if I could.”
“Could what?” Isleif asked, flipping the long braids of his beard over each shoulder before donning a pair of sunglasses and squirting suntan oil on his belly.
“I wonder if I could touchy-feely my way to finding the guy who took the Vikingahärta.” I turned and looked speculatively at Imogen’s trailer.
“You are a goddess,” Eirik repeated, shooing me off the chaise so he could lie on it. He peeled off his shirt and used Isleif’s suntan lotion on his chest and arms.
“Eirik!” I said sternly.
“Aye?”
I pointed at his crotch, where the silk boxers were once again gaping in a manner that let everyone see clearly everything he’d been born with.
“Ah.” He yanked the boxers down and applied suntan lotion to his penis before pulling them back up. “It warms my heart to know you’re so concerned for the well-being of my rod, goddess. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to rut with me rather than the Dark One?”
“Quite sure, and that’s not what I meant for you to do.” His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Oh, never mind. You guys stay here while I go talk to Imogen.”
“Finnvid is no doubt plowing her field, but he won’t mind if you watch,” Isleif called after me, pulling out an iPod. “He’s always been fond of audiences.”
Chapter 13
I knocked on Imogen’s door, waited a few seconds, and was about to use my T-shirt to open the door when it struck me that whoever entered her trailer most likely had to touch the door to do so. Taking a deep breath to calm my thoughts, I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob, allowing the imprints of the people who’d touched it recently to fill my head.
“Imogen, giddy and excited,” I murmured as I sorted through the images and emotions that were imbued on the metal. “Finnvid, filled with lust. Günter, annoyed and . . .” I tried to analyze the emotion that had been uppermost in Günter’s mind when he had touched the door. “Dutiful? Huh. Karl. Peter. Ben, very, very annoyed at Naomi.” I smiled at that before realizing there were no other traces that I could detect. Which either meant someone else had opened the door for the thief or he hadn’t gone into the trailer.
“Imogen? You decent and not in the middle of having your field plowed?” I poked my head in through the open doorway. I didn’t hear any sounds from her bedroom. “I’m really sorry to disturb you guys, but I kind of need to touch things in your trailer. You don’t have to come out if you’re busy.”
“Fran!” Imogen emerged from the bedroom, tying a belt around her white satin bathrobe. “Of course you are always welcome here. What did you need?”
“I’m sorry to bother you in the middle of . . .” I waved my hand toward the bedroom.
“You are no bother. We were finished.”
I looked beyond her, to where Finnvid stood naked, an irritated expression on his face. He looked anything but finished. I cleared my throat and turned so my back was to him. I heard the door slam behind me. “I thought it might help me figure out what’s going on with the Vikingahärta if I was to touch a few things in the trailer.”
“Oh!” She whirled around, the teakettle in her hand. “What an excellent idea! The lich must surely have touched things. You must start with the door.”“I did.” I bit my lip, then listed the people who’d touched her door lately.
“That’s odd.” She frowned as she plugged in the teakettle. “There was no lich?”
“There was no one I didn’t recognize, no.”
Her clear blue gaze held mine. “Then how did the lich get in?”
“I think the question is more, who let him in? Or better, who took the Vikingahärta?”
“Fran!” she said in a shocked voice. “You can’t mean to imply that one of us took it?”
“No, not you, obviously.”
“But the only people who were here are our friends: Peter and Karl and Günter. And Ben! Surely you can’t think—”
“No, I know it wasn’t Ben. But . . . er . . . how well do you know Günter?”
She just stared at me for a minute. “You can’t think Günter took your Vikingahärta? Fran, I’ve known him for, oh, it must be six months. We haven’t dated that long, but we have been together for at least four months. Günter is a musician, so he is able to travel with me much of the time, although he does occasionally have to go off and record things.”
“What sort of things?” I looked around the trailer. There were no musical instruments of any sort.
“Oh, you know, music,” she said, her hand fluttering in a vague gesture.
“Ah.” My first roommate had dated a guy in a band, and he was forever leaving all sorts of musical paraphernalia around our apartment—broken guitar strings, bits of scribbled music, and hundreds of picks. Although Imogen’s trailer was spotless, and not at all the sort of place you’d fling your guitar strings, my experience with musicians was that they were never happy unless surrounded by the tricks of their trade. “I didn’t mean to cast a vile aspersion on him. I just thought that perhaps if you hadn’t known him for long . . .” I let the sentence trail off before starting again. “You don’t mind if I touch a few things here?”
“No.” A frown pulled her eyebrows together. “Although if the lich didn’t open the door, I’m not sure what you’ll find that could be useful.”
“You never know.” I stood up and glanced around, trying to figure out what someone might touch if he was creeping around the trailer looking for a valknut. That brought up a question. “Just how did whoever took the Vikingahärta know it was here?”
Her frown evened out. She looked thoughtful. “I don’t know.”
“If it was this lich guy who took it, then someone must have told him.” I left the rest unspoken.
A faint blush colored her cheeks as she looked away, a mulish set to her jaw. I proceeded to walk down the aisle, my fingertips grazing surfaces that looked likely. I kept contact just long enough to absorb the emotions and thoughts that had been imbued on the surface, but not long enough to let them swamp me. There was nothing out of the ordinary, although I did find it interesting that the doorframe of Imogen’s bedroom door held a distinct note of anger—from Imogen. At some point recently she had been downright furious, an emotion in which I’d seldom seen her indulge. It felt far too much like prying to keep my hand there long enough to see what it was that had made her so angry, so I moved on to the doorknob. That held only three impressions, all of which I expected: Imogen, Günter, and Finnvid.
The door jerked open as I stood there contemplating how someone could get into her bedroom without touching the doorknob. Finnvid glared at me until I moved aside. He strode past me, still stark naked, spreading his glare to Imogen before stepping into her tiny shower.
I pursed my lips as I admired his backside when it passed, then looked at Imogen.
She looked back at me. We kept that up for the count of three after the shower door closed, then both of us burst into laughter.
“Oh, boy, he’s really pissed,” I said, wiping at my eyes.
“He has no right to be. He definitely had a very good evening,” she said, smiling demurely, but the wicked twinkle in her eyes reminded me of Ben at his most roguish. “But isn’t his derriere delicious?”
“Very nice,” I agreed, turning back to the bedroom.
“Not as nice as Benedikt’s, naturally, but it’s very close to being as nice.”
I shot her a look over my shoulder. “Do I want to know how you know what Ben’s butt looks like?”
“Fran!” she said in mock shock. “I’m his sister! If I checked out his derriere, it was only on your behalf, to ensure you would not be disappointed by it.”
“Well, I’m not, so you can relax. Do you mind if I touch the nightstand?”
“No, go right ahead.” She followed me into the room. “Touch whatever you like, although the sheets . . .”
“Yeah, I think I’ll give those a pass.”
She gave a little gurgle of choked laughter. I touched the curtains and window, just in case someone had come in that way, but got no sense of anyone but Imogen. It wasn’t until my fingertips brushed against the top of the nightstand that the electric shock hit me.