“It doesn’t matter. It’s just something personal,” I said, trying to stop the tears, but it was as useless as trying to quell the pain that wrapped around my heart.
The three men exchanged looks. “It is the Dark One, is it not?” Eirik asked, putting his hand on my arm to gently steer me toward one of two curved club chairs that sat at a tiny table.
“Yes. But it doesn’t matter, as I said. That’s all over now.”
“All over? You are his Beloved,” Finnvid said, looking confused. “You cannot cease to be that.”
“No? You might tell Ben that, because he’s gone and found himself a new girlfriend. Probably a new Beloved, for all I know.” The last couple of words were a bit shaky, but I managed to speak them without wailing, which I thought was pretty good, considering everything.
All three men shook their heads. “Dark Ones have one Beloved. He cannot change them. Everyone knows that,” Isleif said, sitting down opposite me.
“Please, don’t start on that again. I am not a victim of fate; I make my own way. And besides, it’s clearly not true because Ben at this very moment is shacked up with a French—” I bit back the word I wanted to say. “He’s shacked up with a woman who told me he was hers now. And he agreed.”
“Then he will die,” Eirik said simply, reaching for his hip. He swore when he remembered he’d had to leave his sword back in Oregon.
“Aye. He will,” Finnvid said, looking around the trailer. He picked up a small red object. “What is this?”
“Fire extinguisher,” I said, sniffling into the tissue, making a heroic effort to get hold of myself.
“Would it kill an immortal?”
“No.”
“Ah. What is this? It looks like a stone grinder.” He pulled an old-fashioned egg beater from the drawer below the tiny microwave.
“That’s an egg beater. It wouldn’t be effective on stones at all.”
Finnvid’s lips quirked. “It would on a man’s stones, I’m willing to bet.” He spun the handle around vigorously a couple of times.
Isleif crossed his legs. “You cannot kill a Dark One by grinding his stones.”
“No, but we can make sure he doesn’t rut with anyone but the virgin goddess,” Finnvid answered.
“True.”
“Look, I appreciate this, but no one is going to kill Ben, or grind his stones. I’m a big girl now, remember?” I gave a loud, wet sniff. “He’s moved on, and I’ve taken steps to do the same, so now I’ll just get down to it. Besides, there are more important things I should be doing. I have to find my mom. I have to beat the living daylights out of Loki.” I have to figure out how I’m supposed to go on living with the thought of Ben with another woman.
Never once during the last year had I pictured Ben actually hooking up with another woman. I bowed my head, sick at heart over my idiocy. I had given him his freedom; I couldn’t now berate him for taking it.
“What about this?” Finnvid pulled a piece of frozen meat from the minuscule freezer section of the refrigerator.
“That’s the wrong kind of stake for a vampire,” I told him.
“Not if we hone a sharp edge to it,” Eirik said thoughtfully, taking the slab of meat from Finnvid. He ran his finger around one edge of the package. “If we got it sharp enough, could we cut off his head?”
Isleif rose to consult with them. “No. But it could be used to pierce his heart.”
I debated the folly of trying to point out the unlikelihood of them using a piece of frozen steak to murder Ben, but decided that both my wounded ego and my sanity deserved a little break. “Knock yourselves out,” I told them. “Once I have a few minutes to pull myself together, I’m going to go find Peter and see if he knows anything about my mother. Why don’t you guys go into town, like we planned. We can rendezvous later tonight.”
“Yes,” Eirik said, giving his buddies a look filled with portent. “We will do as you suggest, virgin goddess Fran.”
“Don’t kill anyone in the meantime,” I warned them as Finnvid and Isleif filed past me, the latter pausing to give me a fatherly pat on the shoulder.
“Your daughter Anna,” I couldn’t help but ask. “The one who you told me about when you guys were giving me dating advice—did she ever get married?”
Isleif looked surprised at the question. “Yes, three times.”
“Did she ever . . . Did her husband ever . . .” I couldn’t put into words what I wanted to ask. It just hurt too much.
His smile was filled with pride. “Aye, the first, Bruni. She caught him one morning rutting with a sheep. She was so furious, she struck him down with a hoe. You take her actions to heart, virgin goddess. She did not suffer a fool, and neither should you.”