“Quiet. The virgin goddess is having a moment,” Eirik said in a hushed voice, nodding toward me before suddenly looking thoughtful. “Did they say I could moisturize their udders as well?”
“Aye, there’s plenty there for both of us,” Finnvid answered with a knowing leer.
I gazed at the Faire, unable to keep from remembering the year and a half I’d spent there, remembering the good times with Ben . . .
“Good. I like a woman with large—” He made squeezy motions at his chest.
. . . Remembering Ben’s kisses, and the way his eye color changed, and how he seemed to like me in the gypsyesque outfit that I wore when reading palms, the one he said made him want to kiss me senseless.
“You can have Siglinde, then. She was bigger than her sister.”
I smoothed down my blouse and wondered if Ben thought I was large in the breast department, then told myself it didn’t matter what he thought, and that I really needed to stop thinking about him and focus on what was important.
“You examined them?” Eirik asked, looking somewhat put out.
My skin began to tingle, all of me, as if just being in the same town as Ben had electrified the air, especially my breasts, which badly wanted his attention. I stopped that thought dead in its tracks, glaring at the Vikings. Damn their talk of breasts.
“Of course. That’s the first thing I do with a woman I’m considering for bed sport. What sort of moment is the goddess having?”
“One that has been invaded by the mental image of you two oiling up those buxom ladies,” I said with a little glare at the two of them. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to indulge in soul-searching insight with people yammering away about breasts?”
Isleif looked righteous. “I did not yammer, virgin goddess.”
“Oooh, oil.” Finnvid’s eyes went a bit glazed.
“Stop that. We have things to do,” I said, frowning at his twitching fingers.
“But oiled breasts . . .”
“No breasts for you!” I ordered, feeling a bit like the Breast Nazi. “Can we move past that subject?”
“Aye, we can. Our apologies, virgin goddess.” Eirik narrowed his eyes on me. “Are you finished having your moment?”
“Yes, thank you. It’s over. Come on, let’s see who’s—What in the name of all that is bright and glittery is that?”
We all turned to face the road. I had been aware of the faint sound of singing, assuming someone at the Faire had the radio on. But the volume was growing, and at last I realized that the noise was coming from the road, where a group of about ten young men clad in ragged cloth pants, bits of wool wrapped around their feet with leather thongs, and torn tunics jogged past us, singing as they went.
“This is Tuesday, yes?” Finnvid said, pulling out a pamphlet. He looked at his watch. “Ah. The schedule says they are the Brustwarze High School Athletic Pilgrim’s Chorus.”
We watched the track team as they sang their way past us. I applauded politely. A couple of them managed a bow in midjog before they continued off into the distance.
“What was I saying?” I asked Isleif once they were far enough away that we could speak without shouting.
“Something about seeing someone?” he asked.
“Ah! Yes, we will see who’s awake at this time of the morning.” And then I would find out where Ben was, so I could brace myself for what I knew would be a somewhat emotional meeting.
We marched across the large open field until we were up to the ticket booth, sitting on the fringe of the Faire.
“It looks just the same as it did before,” Isleif commented, eyeing the long U shape that was created by a big tent at one end and two rows of vendors and Faire performers.
I stopped for a moment, the sense of déjà vu so great it was almost as if the last five years had never happened. “It certainly does,” I mused. “There’s the aura photography booth. There’s Desdemona’s personal time travel tent. That’s where Tallulah talks to the dead. And there’s my mother’s booth.”
I walked over to the small canvas and wood tent that served as booths for the Faire folk, familiar with every inch of the structure. They were easily set up and taken down, each with brightly painted designs. Mom as the resident Wiccan offered to counsel people who wanted to get in touch with the goddess and god, provided products like do-it-yourself love potion kits, and benign spells and potions that she felt made the world a better place. The flap to the tent was laced down now, concealing the long table that was no doubt set up behind it with rows of tiny bottles of happiness, understanding, generosity, luck, and even forgiveness.