“Fran? Are you all right?”
“Pain,” I gasped, trying to get air into my lungs. My entire chest felt compressed by my bondage, despair forcing me down to the floor on my knees. “Blessings of the goddess, the pain.”
“Finnvid!” From a distance, I heard Imogen’s voice, filled with panic.
Francesca? What’s wrong?
Pain.
Where are you?
Can’t breathe. Too much.
Ben’s presence in my mind was a calming influence. Do not panic, Beloved. I will help you. Is someone harming you?
Lich.
I understand. Think of me, Francesca. Remember last night. Think of what you felt.
My mind was so overwhelmed with the blackness of anguish and panic, it was difficult for me to focus. No air!
There is air. Think about how you lay on my chest last night. Our hearts were beating together, do you remember? I felt every breath you took. Breathe now.
Slowly, the images he was projecting into my mind pushed back the fear and pain and sense of utter despair. I opened my mouth, wanting desperately to get some air into my lungs, little wavering dots starting to form in front of my eyes, but I couldn’t do it.
“Goddess? What has happened to you?”
I felt someone kneel next to me and knew it must be Finnvid, knew that Imogen was fretting beyond him, but I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t see anything but a hazy redness that was slowly being eaten up by black.
Faintly, I heard Imogen cry in relief. Just as I thought I was going to fall into the inky redness, Ben was there, pulling me back from the edge. Fingers clamped painfully around my wrist, pulling my hand from the nightstand.
The second the contact was broken, the mist disappeared and my vision slowly cleared. I looked up to find myself cradled in Ben’s arms, his face and naked torso as red as a boiled lobster, with tiny white blisters along one side.
“You’re burned.”
“What happened?” he asked, ignoring my statement.
I leaned against him, drawing comfort from the strength of him. I wanted badly to touch his burned face, but when I tried to lift my hand, I found it just hung there, as heavy as a lead weight. “My hand.”
He frowned, lifting my hand, turning it slightly so the palm faced him.
Imogen gasped. “Oh, Fran!”
My palm was as black as if I had painted it. I stared in horror at it, then looked closer. It wasn’t a true black; it was a blackish purple. “That’s . . .”
“Blood,” Ben said. “Does it hurt?”
“No. It’s numb. I can’t feel it at all. Why is my hand filled with black blood?” My skin crawled at the thought of some heinous disease.
“It’s not a disease. It’s like a bruise, a profound bruise. I believe I can heal it.”
I watched with concern as he gently stroked my fingers and palm. It was true I didn’t feel any pain; the hand was almost icy in its numbness. But the color was enough to freak me out. What happened to me?
You said it was a lich.
Yes, it was. A man named Ulfur. And oh, Ben, he’s in so much pain, so much torment. It was different from what I feel when I touch you.
I startled him. He shot me a quizzical glance before returning his attention to my hand, his long fingers stroking my abused flesh. You can feel my pain?
Oh, yes.
I’m sorry. I had no idea you would feel the negative aspects of being a Dark One. I will take care to shield you from them.
No, you won’t.
He looked even more startled.
Ben, I don’t just want to see all the happy feelings inside you, although those are always nice to share. If we are to get to know each other, that includes all the less than flattering stuff as well, like the fact that you snore, and I am always grumpy in the morning until I’ve had coffee.
I do not snore! he said, outraged. I am a Dark One. Mortals snore—we do not.
Fine, you don’t snore. You breathe heavily, in a rhythmical way that everyone else would assume was snoring.
You imagined it.
As Ben continued to stroke the flesh, I felt a faint sensation of warmth, not enough to make my hand feel normal, but a bit of the iciness left it. I looked away from my hand to where Imogen was hovering behind him, making little distressed noises. “Imogen, does Ben snore?”
She didn’t even bat an eyelash at that question. “Yes, he does.”
I won’t say “I told you so” because that would be gloating. But I did tell you.
I can see I’m going to have to separate you two lest you continue to gang up on me, he grumbled, but I felt his amusement nonetheless.
Why would touching something that a lich touched do this to me? Are they evil like demons?
They are beings like any others—some good, some bad. The one who was in here, assumedly to take your valknut, must have been tainted with evil.
I thought for a moment about what it was I felt. No, not evil, I said slowly. He was in pain, lots of pain. It was like he was wrapped so tightly in chains that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
He is a lich—they are bound to necromancers much in the way demons are bound to demon lords.
That makes sense, then. I don’t think he wanted to be here. I think he was being forced.
It doesn’t matter much, Ben said, shrugging off the matter of the lich’s bondage. He carried out his master’s orders regardless of his own wishes.
But that doesn’t explain why touching something he touched should have affected me so profoundly.
You weren’t prepared for it. Now you know to shield yourself when coming into contact with items tainted by those who wield dark power.
That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. I may never take off my gloves again.
He said nothing, focusing his concentration on my hand. After a few minutes of silence, he looked up. “I’m afraid this is as good as I can do.”
My palm and the underside of my fingers were now a vivid shade of saffron. “It’s better than it was. Thank you. It doesn’t feel so cold, either.”
He released my hand and it fell like an anvil. Ben picked it up again, frowning. “Is your arm affected?”
“A little, yes.” I flexed my arm, my muscles trembling as if they’d been worked almost to the breaking point, but at last they responded and I managed to pull my arm up to my chest.
“She needs a doctor,” Imogen said.
“Aye,” agreed Finnvid, naked and wet. He stood behind Ben, looking down at us.
Ben glanced back, face to genitals with the Viking. “For god’s sake, you randy ghost, put some clothes on. Imogen!”
“Fran needs—”
“I will take care of her,” Ben interrupted.
Imogen looked like she wanted to argue with him, but backed down under his potent stare, murmuring something about helping Finnvid.
“I don’t need a doctor,” I said, leaning back against the side of the mattress, still cradling my arm. “It’s nothing a normal doctor could deal with.”
“No, it isn’t. However, I will take you to Tallulah. She has some healing powers, and she will be able to determine if there is something needful to be done.”
I smiled at him, feeling a warm glow in my belly at his concern. “Did you know that when you get stressed, your speech becomes more formal and old-fashioned?”
He raised his eyebrows, flinched, and reached up to rub his burned face. “What does that matter?”
“It doesn’t matter; I just think it’s kind of cute. Hey, wait a minute . . . You’re not going out like that. You’re all burned and blistered as is.”
Dark Ones have amazing recuperative powers. I’d seen that in the past when Ben had been both burned by the sunlight and attacked by some force he hadn’t explained. But despite knowing that, I still watched with amazement as he rubbed first the side of his face, then his chest and arms until the blisters disappeared, and the redness abated.
“You ought to bec
ome a doctor. Just think of the people you could heal with those fabulous vamp powers.”
He made a little face and held out a hand for me. Since I was still feeling a little wobbly from the episode, I allowed him to pull me to my feet. “Unfortunately, there are limits to both the amount of healing I can do and who it will work on. Individuals with a close blood tie and Beloveds can be healed; for others, I am powerless.”
“That’s a shame, although I suppose it makes sense. Otherwise the world would be full of vampire doctors.”
He said nothing, just opened the door for me. Just as we left the room, Imogen came up the steps from outside, talking very fast. “It was truly frightening, and I had no idea what to do for her, but luckily, Ben is here, and he saved Fran. And there she is. Fran, my dear, you look so pale. Sit down, and I’ll make you a cup of peppermint tea while Tallulah looks at your hand.”
Go back to bed. You’re tired and should sleep.
Francesca, if I were to tell you to spend the rest of the day resting in your mother’s trailer, what would you say?
I’d say you are nuts for thinking you can give me orders like that.
Exactly.
I looked at him while Tallulah examined my hand. It took a minute or so before I understood what he meant. Inner Fran crossed her arms and smiled as I realized I was guilty of ordering Ben around in the manner that I myself hated. Sorry. My relationship skills are a little underdeveloped.
Your apology is accepted. I will return to bed just as soon as I know you don’t need further care.
“She has had an injury, but it is one of a psychic nature rather than the physical. The trauma to her hand has been partially repaired,” Tallulah said, pushing up the sleeve of my shirt to press on the muscles of my arm. “I am not an expert, of course, but I do not see any signs of permanent damage.”
I smiled weakly, relieved despite my attempt to put on a brave face. “Thanks, Tallulah. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
She was silent for a moment, looking at my arm with a faint frown. At last she nodded and looked up at me. “It is my proclivity to warn you against the sort of beings that could have such an effect on you, but Sir Edward tells me that in this, I am wrong. The being who inadvertently did this to you needs you, Fran.”
I groaned. “Oh, great, that’s just what I want to hear—someone else wants me to fight dragons for them.”
“Not dragons, no. Liches. Or rather, Ilargis.”
“Well, whoever he is, he’s going to have to get in line. I have to find out exactly what’s going on with my mother, and take care of Loki, first.”
Tallulah gave me an odd look, but said nothing behind the reassurance that my hand and arm would be fine in a day or two, and that a sling wouldn’t be amiss if I desired.
I didn’t. Nor did I wish for the fuss that Imogen made over me, crafting a stylish sling out of a designer silk scarf, but she meant well, and I was warmed by her concern. By the time she had tied on the sling and gently tucked my weak arm into it, Ben had unburdened himself of several warnings about taxing myself when he wasn’t around.
You’re dangerously close to the line, I told him when he left to get some sleep in Naomi’s bed.
I know. He sighed. It’s difficult, Francesca. I wish to protect you, but I know that will only serve to drive you away.
I mused on that as I returned to my mother’s trailer, changing into a pair of sage-colored linen walking shorts and sleeveless tunic that Inner Fran hoped Ben would find attractive. A memory returned to me, that of me angrily telling Imogen I was leaving Ben because all he wanted to do was to run my life, and that he was arrogant, stubborn, and inflexible.
“He is a Dark One,” she had snapped back, her eyes flashing with ire. “Would you want him to change? Would you want him to become something he isn’t?”
I didn’t really want him to change. It wasn’t Ben himself that was at the root of my quandary—he was quite obviously trying to adjust himself to my needs, and that, more than anything, touched me. But was he doing that because he had to, driven by the same forces that matched us up, or was his motivation something more promising?
To be honest, I’m a bit surprised you’re not insisting on coming with me, I told Ben.
I thought about it, he answered, a sort of hesitant amazement tingeing the words. But you are more capable now, not so heedless. The incident with Imogen’s nightstand aside, I do not believe you will put yourself in danger.
You’ve come a long way, baby, I laughed into his head.
As have you. Once again I had the sense of surprise from him, as if he was adjusting his mental image of me.
Did that include warmer feelings? Something beyond the physical attraction? I shook my head, unwilling to spend the day trying to figure out something that would surely be made clear in time.
“Right,” I told the Vikings a little later, when I had assembled them in the trailer to organize the day’s plan of attack. “First of all, you have to change your clothes, all of you. Isleif, if you turn around one more time, I will send you back to Valhalla. Sit down. Oh dear goddess . . . cross your legs or something! Thank you. I know you guys are enjoying wearing modern clothes, and heaven knows, I’m no couture snob, but there are levels of decency that I think are being ignored, and that’s got to change. So you’re all going to change your clothes before we go into Breast Warts.”
“I told you she wouldn’t like the rod sack,” Finnvid said to Isleif. “I told him, goddess!”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Indeed. And why, if you don’t mind me asking, are you wearing a kilt?”
Finnvid looked down at his wool kilt, above which he wore a fishnet sleeveless shirt. “Imogen said women like men in a short skirt. She said they run after them and ogle them and try to see their rod.”
“There are times when I truly feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone,” I said to myself. “You’re a Viking, Finnvid.”
“Aye, I am.”
“Scotsmen wear kilts. Vikings don’t.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
I nodded.
“All right.” Before I could do so much as blink, the kilt dropped to his feet with a fwoop.
“For pity’s sake . . .” I turned around so I wasn’t staring at his nakedness. “Put something on! Something decent! And you—” I pointed to Eirik, who was lounging against the wall, looking somewhat bored. “Put on a pair of pants. Yes, over the silk shorts.”
I waited until all three men were dressed in their previously worn bizarre (but decent) ensembles. “I think we all agree that I can’t go any further in locating my mother without the Vikingahärta.”
The three of them nodded.
“What I propose doing today is to talk to the lich Ulfur to find out what he’s done with it, and encourage him to return it to me.”
“Encourage him?” Eirik asked with a puzzled look.
“That was my polite way of saying force him.”
Pure joy lit up the faces of all three Vikings. Eagerly, Eirik stepped forward. “You’ll let us kill this lich?”
“No. Not kill. Just scare the crap out of him. If he refuses to give it back . . .” I hesitated a moment. I wasn’t a big fan of using violence, but I’d found in the past that some members of the Otherworld simply wouldn’t respond to anything but a show of strength. “If he refuses, you can rough him up a little. Not enough to permanently harm him, but enough so he sees we’re not pushovers.”
The Vikings whooped at that, and were very busy for the next twenty minutes, gathering up not only their bullet-less Walther P38s, but anything else they could find that they felt would be useful in persuading the lich to do as I wanted.
By the time I rid them of most of their arsenal, including the fire extinguisher, a length of rope Finnvid had stolen from Peter’s supplies, and what turned out to be Naomi’s tattooing gun, I was ready to crawl back into bed and just let the world pass me by. But thoughts of my mother were enough to send me out, packed in a taxi Eir
ik had called, with three Vikings, a wonky arm, and a whole lot of determination.
Chapter 14
“Where will we find the lich?” Eirik asked as the taxi headed into town. He was in the process of honing the edge of a sword he’d acquired from Nils, the sword swallower.
“I hope you paid him for that,” I told Eirik with a dark look as he stroked the whetstone lovingly down the blade, periodically pausing to test the sharpness on his thumb. The other two Vikings were similarly engaged: Finnvid with a pair of short swords and Isleif with a huge ax that I vaguely remembered Karl using to “decapitate” his brother in one of their showy magic acts.
“Aye. I knew you would not let us keep our weapons if we did not pay for them with weasel gold.”
“Good. As for the lich, I know where he is. Or kind of know where he is. One of the images he imprinted into the table was that of a big old house overlooking the town. Kind of like a castle, but not quite as elaborate. I figured something that prominent shouldn’t be hard to find. Finnvid, could you ask the driver if he knows of a house like that?”
He held a brief conversation with the driver (who was dressed like a sea nymph, including seashell bra and long green hair). “The taxi wench says she’d need more information to say for sure which house it is.”
I spent the trip into town trying to dig from my memory anything that would help pinpoint the house in question. I didn’t have much to go on, and it took some time (and an ever-increasing meter total) before the taxi driver finally hit pay dirt.
“I’d ask her to wait for us, but this has already been the most expensive taxi ride of my life,” I told Eirik as the driver zapped my MasterCard.
He pulled out the sword, which he wore strapped to his back. “I will take care of the taxi wench for you. You save your weasel gold.”
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