The horror grew. “He knows what I’m doing? I hadn’t realized he was keeping track.”

“He has abided by the rules you set down for him,” she answered softly. “He has not contacted you outside of the designated periods you allowed, has he?”

“No.” I didn’t want to tell her, but honesty compelled me to make sure she understood the truth of what had happened between us. “I just wasn’t aware that he knew what was going on in my life. Imogen—”

“You are his Beloved,” she interrupted. I ground my teeth. Why could no one ever look past that fact? “You are life to him. It has not been easy for him to do as you asked, but he is a man of much honor.”

My shoulders slumped. “Has he . . . I haven’t talked to him in a while. Has he been okay this past year?”

“He misses you, naturally. But yes, other than that, he has been very busy.”

A smidgen of relief filled me. Although I knew it was the melodramatic imaginings of my deranged mind, I had wondered if Ben had suffered because of my decision. That he hadn’t was proof I had made the right choice.

So why didn’t I feel better?

Before I could think of anything to say, I heard a male voice in the background.

“How very odd,” Imogen said after a moment. “Miranda doesn’t appear to have returned from Heidelberg.”

“Son of a pus bucket,” I swore, the fear that gripped me driving away the misery about Ben. Had Loki gone after my mother once he had failed to grab me? “Where are you, exactly? I mean, what town?”

“Brustwarze.”

“I beg your pardon?” Did she just say breast warts at me?

“Brustwarze. It means nipple.”

“You’re in a town named for nipples?”

“Yes. It’s near Heidelberg.”

Oh goddess, it was true—it had to be true. Who else would want to kidnap my mother but Loki, who had sworn vengeance on me the last time we’d met?

Well, that was pretty much all she wrote. I couldn’t sit here and let Loki do who-knew-what to my mother. I had to save her. I had to go to Germany, go back to the GothFaire.

Ben. Was he there? He frequently visited his sister. Would I be able to cope having to see him again?

Did I have any choice?

“I hate it when life does this to me,” I snarled, shocking Imogen.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s nothing important. I’m catching the first plane I can to Germany.”

“What?” she almost shrieked. “You’re coming out here? Now?”

“My mother’s missing, and I have a nasty feeling I know who’s behind it,” I said, logging into a travel Web site. I punched up flights to Germany, bile rolling around in my stomach. I didn’t want to go, but there was no one else who could tackle Loki. Besides, it was my responsibility. Loki had threatened vengeance against me because of actions I took, no one else. It was only right I should be the one to face his wrath.

St. Fran the martyr. What a depressing thought.

“But, Fran, I’m sure your mother is fine, just fine. Maybe she told Peter she was going to be away for longer and he didn’t mention it to anyone.”

“You can check on that, but I doubt it. It’s not like my mother to ignore her cell phone. Looks like I can be out there in about twelve hours, if I get cracking. It’ll eat up a big chunk of my new apartment money, but that can’t be helped.”

“Twelve hours . . . oh, but Fran! What about Benedikt?”

“He’s there?” Excitement shimmied down my arms before I told my Inner Fran to get with the plan. I was not excited about the thought of seeing Ben again.

“Yes, but, Fran, I think you should—”

“I know, I should have a long talk with him. And maybe I will. But right now, I have to find my mother.” My gaze fell on the clock. “Crap. Gotta get moving or I won’t make the airport in time. See you when I get there.”

“But, Fran!” Imogen sputtered something, but I didn’t have time to argue with her. I said good-bye, hung up, then quickly punched in Eirik’s cell phone number, trying to calm my wildly excited nerves. Part of me was panicking at the thought of Loki having my mother, the other was focused on the idea that I would see Ben in just a few hours. I hadn’t seen him in almost five years. Would he make a scene when I showed up at the Faire? Would he try to persuade me that I was meant to spend the rest of my life with him?

“This is Eirik Redblood, Viking warlord, left hand of the goddess Freya, and right hand of the virgin goddess Fran.”

“Oh, for the love of . . .” I took a deep breath, deciding to hold off the argument about the Vikings’ latest name for me. “Hi, Eirik. It’s Fran. How fast can you guys get to the airport?”

Silence answered that question for the count of five. “We are going after Loki?”

“You’re darned tooting we are. He’s taken my mother, and no one—no one—messes with my family!”

The sound of murmuring answered that, followed immediately by ear-piercing Viking battle cries. “Command us, virgin goddess!” Eirik declared happily.

“I don’t have enough money to get you guys tickets, so you’ll have to use your weasel money to buy them.” I gave him information on the flight I had booked myself. “Oh, man, passports—”

“We have them. The goddess Freya had them made up, and gave them to us with the weasel gold.”

“Excellent. I hope you boys are all geared up and ready to kick some serious booty!”

“Our enemies will fall!” I heard Finnvid yelling in the background. “We will not fail you, virgin goddess Fran!”

“We will cleave his head from his shoulders!” Isleif growled.

“Normally I’d say I’m not up to cleaving anything, but at this moment . . .” My eyes narrowed as I thought of all the things I wanted to do to Loki. “At this moment, I might just take a swing at him myself.”

The Vikings cheered, and promised to meet me at the airport in time for the flight to Germany.

Geoff came back just as I was stuffing clothing into my suitcase. “What’s going on? I thought you said you were staying for a couple more weeks?”

“That was before my mom was kidnapped.” I smiled grimly at her look of stupefaction. “If he’s so much as touched her, I’m going to open the biggest can of Vikingahärta whoop-ass Loki’s ever seen!”

Chapter 4

“To yo ta ho,” a man told us as we stepped off the train at the tiny little town of Brustwarze. He was dressed in a horned helmet, metal breastplate, leather pleated skirt, and had two long blond braids. He also held a trident.

“What in the name of a three-legged toad is going on?” I asked as I stared in confusion at the mass of people streaming onto the train. Over half of them were dressed in bizarre costumes, everything ranging from mermaids to guys wearing big shields and long, dramatic capes.

Finnvid, who had been studying a sign on the wall of the train station, said, “It says there is a competition being held for the next week to decide which town will become the new home to Wagner’s operas. The mayor has directed everyone in the town to participate, showing the town’s worthiness.”

“What is opera?” Isleif asked, dodging a woman in a long marigold medieval gown who almost poked out his eye with her gigantic spiky headdress, complete with glittery veil, as she wheeled twins in a baby stroller. Both babies wore tiny little winged helmets. One had on a pair of Groucho glasses, as well.

“You remember—we saw it on Odin’s television. Opera is women singing high enough to suck up your stones right into your body.”

“That’s not opera,” Eirik said with a dismissive gesture. “That’s America’s Favorite Idol. Odin loves that show,” he added to me in an aside.

“Er . . . okay. Town competition or not, we have to get to where the GothFaire is parked. Finnvid, you seem to speak German—can you ask where they are?”

Twenty minutes later we managed to pull Finnvid away from two young women evidently dressed as medieval dairy maids, both of whom seemed to be encouraging him to do wholly inappropriate things in public.

“They told me I could pretend they were cows and moisturize their udders,” Finnvid protested as I dragged him by the ear over to where Eirik and Isleif stood. His hands were covered in honeysuckle-scented body lotion.

“No woman in her right mind would ever refer to her breasts as udders,” I grumbled, releasing his ear as I stopped in front of the taxi Eirik had snagged. “Rub that lotion into your arms or something so you don’t get it everywhere.”

“Well, that is what I thought the word meant,” he said somewhat ruefully as he complied with my demand.

“I just bet. Did you find out where the GothFaire is?”

“Aye, virgin goddess. It’s about twenty minutes to the north of town.” He held out a piece of paper. “They wrote it down for me.”

“That looks like a phone number,” I pointed out.

He grinned and turned the paper over. On it were two words. “They also gave me their phone number.”

“Do they have friends?” Eirik asked as I hustled them to the taxi.

“You guys can pick up dates later. Right now I need you to focus on finding my mother.” I leaned forward to show the address to the driver, who was dressed in a pretty gauzy gold gown, with matching blond braids, and a flowery wreath on her head. The face that turned to squint at the address had a goatee and mustache.

“Er . . .” I blinked at him a couple of times. He nodded and said something that I assumed meant he knew where that was. At least I hoped that’s what he said.

Half an hour later I paid off the Wagnerian cross-dressing driver and stood looking at the large open field before us. It must have been a grazing pasture, because it was perfectly flat, surrounded by low stone fences on three sides and a modern wooden fence that ran parallel to the road. The big double gates were open, and tire marks on one side of the field indicated that it was used for parking. But it was the colorful flutter of bright cloth that caught and held my eye.