“That would leave us time for much bartering with the weasel gold,” Isleif told the others. “We could get new clothing. Freya said we must blend in with the mortals if we are to walk amongst them.”
“Shopping is an excellent idea,” I said, pulling out a phone book. “Let me just find you guys a hotel you can stay at, and then I’ll show you where the mall is, okay?”
It took the rest of the day, and the last of my patience, but at last I herded my small band of Vikings out to a hotel that was six blocks away. The receptionist didn’t look like she wanted to let them stay there, but when I told her in a whisper that they were rehearsing for a movie, she got all excited and gave them a suite. I prayed Freya’s credit card held up to that and the shopping spree the Vikings were about to embark on when I left them.
A feeling of unease grew in my belly until I returned back to my apartment. Geoff was chatting with her girlfriend, so I puttered around online, searching the apartment listings in the town in which my father lived, hoping something reasonably priced would magically open up. By the time Geoff was done talking, the worried feeling had grown to consume my thoughts.
“Geoff, I hate to ask you, but would you mind if I used your phone to call my mother? I’ll pay you for it since it’s an international call.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ve got free everything on my phone,” she said, tossing me her cell phone. “Dad gets it through his business.”
“That’s nice of him. I won’t let my mother go on and on, though. I’d hate to use up all your minutes. I just want to tell her I’ll be going to see her in a couple of weeks.” I wouldn’t say anything about the Vikings, though. Mom still had not-very-nice things to say about the last time I ran into them. I sat back on my now rumpled bed and punched in my mother’s phone number. “I just hope you don’t mind hearing my mom scream when she hears I am going to work for my father . . . Hi, Mom? Oh. It’s her voice mail.” I waited until her little speech was over and left a message telling her I’d call back later.
The next two days passed with relative normalcy. Eirik left a note on my door saying he had a cell phone, and that if I needed him, to call. He and the other Vikings had decided to take advantage of my stubbornness and had gone out to the coast to do whatever Vikings did in the ocean. Sailed around, probably. So long as they weren’t pillaging anything, I figured it couldn’t hurt.
But when I couldn’t reach my mother for a third day in a row, the worry that had continued to gnaw at my gut turned into a raging torrent of concern.
“I think something’s wrong,” I told my dad over the phone that night. “She’s never gone incommunicado like this. You’re sure she didn’t e-mail you?”
“I haven’t spoken to your mother in over a year, not since she sold her house and sent some old boxes of mementos to me,” he answered. “I think you’re worrying about nothing, Fran. Your mother is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. I speak from experience, if you recall.”
I smiled at the dry note in his voice. When my parents were in the act of splitting up, Mom had been very inventive in her spells. Most of it, he tolerated, like being forced to walk backward, an unnatural growth of hair out of his ears, and even the appearance of a black rain cloud that followed him for two entire weeks. But when she smote him with a spell that left him incapable of pronouncing the letter s, he moved out for good.
“I know, but this is different.”
“Why not call that friend of yours who’s with the Faire?” he asked, his voice distracted.
“Imogen? I think I’m going to have to. I hate to because . . . well, just because. But it’s call her or Peter, the head of the Faire, and I don’t have his number. If you hear from Mom, let me know, okay?”
“Will do. I’ll see you in a few weeks, yes?”
“Yes.” I grimaced into the phone and hung up. Taking a job at my father’s Internet-based company hadn’t been a priority for my life, but I desperately needed to do something to turn my life around. “That’s all well and fine, but where on earth is my mother?”
“Maybe she’s got a girlfriend, and went off for a wild weekend with her,” Geoff suggested, looking up from her book.
“Mom doesn’t swing that way.”
“That you know of. Maybe she does but she’s afraid to tell you, and that’s why she’s not answering her voice mail.”
I thought about that for a few minutes, finally shaking my head. “She’s pretty white bread, Geoff. She didn’t even like me dating a vam—” My lips closed around the word.
“A what?”
“Nothing. I guess there’s nothing for it but to try Imogen, if you’re sure you don’t mind me using your phone again.”
“Knock yourself out. I’ve got to write a letter to my nana. She doesn’t do e-mails, and her ninety-ninth birthday is next week.”
“Thanks.” I stared at her cell phone in my hand, my stomach tight with the thought of talking to Imogen.
“Something wrong?” Geoff asked.
I made a face. “Not really. It’s just that Imogen and I were really close friends. Ben is her brother, and when I decided to leave the Faire and go to college . . . Well, it was kind of ugly.”
“Ugly how?”
I was silent for a moment, the memories all but swamping me with grief.
“How can you be so selfish?” Imogen had asked me nearly five years before, tears trembling in her blue eyes, her face mirroring the pain I felt in my heart. “You know what you have to do. Stop fighting your destiny and just do it!”
“Is it so wrong to want some time to just be myself before I have to become an extension of Ben?” I stormed back at her.
“You should be happy to be his Beloved! How can you say you love him, and yet refuse to do what’s right?”
I had turned on my heel and walked out of her trailer at that. Three days later I left GothFaire and Europe.
The memory of that time was fresh even now. “Ugly in that Imogen felt I was betraying Ben by refusing to tie myself to him.”
“You were only seventeen, right?”
I nodded.
“Man. Talk about pressure,” Geoff said, her face filled with sympathy. “Just because you didn’t want to date her brother?”
“It goes a bit deeper than that,” I admitted. “There was . . . Ben and I had a . . . for lack of a better word, a sort of chemistry thing going on. Everyone said we were meant for each other, and I was expected to fall in with him whether or not I wanted to. Only my mother was on my side.” I choked to a stop.
“It was the right thing to do,” Geoff said softly.
“I know. I had to have some time to think about things, and at first, Ben was okay with that. But later . . . well. No sense beating that particular dead horse. It’s Imogen I’m worried about now. If she’s still angry with me, she might hang up before I can explain what’s going on.” I picked up the phone to dial a well-remembered number.
A man’s voice answered Imogen’s phone. For one brief mind-constricting moment I thought it was Ben, but the accent was wrong. Ben spoke with a slight accent that I found out was Czech; this man sounded German. “Hallo?”
“Hi. Is Imogen there?” I ordered my heart to start beating again.
“Ya. Who is?”
“My name is Fran. She . . . uh . . . knows me from a few years ago.”
A brief muffled conversation was held before the phone was handed over, and a familiar lilting voice greeted me. “Fran? Can this really be you?”
“Yes, it’s me. Hi, Imogen. It sounds incredibly lame to say long time no talk, but . . . well, it’s been a long time.”
Geoff gave me a thumbs-up, and gathered up a duffel bag filled with laundry, mouthing she’d be back shortly.
“It has been forever,” Imogen said, her voice rich with sorrow and regret that made my eyes burn painfully. “Oh, Fran, I have missed you so much. Can you ever forgive me for trying to force you and Benedikt together? I was so angry, but then I realized that you were right—you needed to have time to grow up and be who you were meant to be. I just wanted so much for you and Benedikt to be happy together—”
“I know you did. And I really wish it could have worked out. But before we get all maudlin, I’m trying to locate my mom. Is she there?”
“Here with me? No, she went to Heidelberg for the weekend to do some shopping.”
I frowned at my feet. “But it’s Tuesday. Shouldn’t she have been back by now?”
“Yes, she should be back . . . one moment. Günter, my love, would you mind terribly going out and seeing if Miranda is about? You remember her, don’t you? She’s the Wiccan who has those lovely good luck charms I bought for you. Günter is checking, Fran. Now, you must tell me how you are, and what you have been doing, and oh, everything. I wanted to talk to you so many years ago, but Benedikt said we must give you space, which just sounded silly to me, because we are best friends, are we not? But he insisted, and so I abided by his desire, and let you grow up. You have grown up, haven’t you?”
I laughed at the wistful note in her voice. “Yes, I’m a big girl now. Well, bigger, which is pretty awkward, considering I’m six feet tall and built like a—”
“Brick oven,” she finished, snorting a little. “Are you still worried about your appearance? I’ve told you many times that you are a lovely girl—woman—and just because you’re not petite like Miranda doesn’t mean that men don’t find you attractive. Not that it matters what any of them think except Benedikt, but still, it’s nice to know one is admired, is it not?”
“Er . . . yeah.” A sense of horror filled me. Had Ben not told her that I’d broken off with him?
“And so you will be returning to us soon? Benedikt says that you have completed your education and that you are working making Web sites.”