We agreed to meet up the next morning, and after I made sure they remembered the rules regarding pillaging and other forms of violence, I took a cab back to the Faire.
Imogen wasn’t in her trailer when I arrived to ask her for my Vikingahärta. I did a quick check for her in the common area, but didn’t see her there, either. I chatted briefly with some of the people I remembered from my time at the Faire, spending a little time with a Gypsy medium named Tallulah who both intimidated me and left me wishing that I had just a smidgen of her self-possession.
“I’m so sorry to hear about Wennie’s passing,” I said as I left her trailer after a quick cup of tea. “But I do appreciate you taking in Davide for Mom. I’d be happy to take charge of him again if you’re tired of his fussy ways.”
The cat in question sat on the top step of the trailer, his tail wrapped around his feet, giving me the most jaded look a cat could give.
“Not at all. He is a comfort to me,” Tallulah said, her hand making a little fluttering motion. For the first time I noticed tiny little age spots on the graceful hands. Other than that, she looked the same, her black hair with its white stripe lending dignity to an austere countenance that misled the casual observer to believe she was a hard, emotionless woman. “Sir Edward tells me I should look for a new dog, but I do not feel myself able to do that.”
“I’ve never known Sir Edward to be wrong, but I know how you feel. When I was fourteen, my old Lab died, and it took me years to get over her. In fact, it wasn’t until I got Tesla that I even thought about having a pet. Not that you can call a horse a pet.”
She smiled, and the faint air of mystery that always wrapped around her changed slightly. I had heard once that she was some sort of Romany royalty, and I could well believe it. The fact that she spent her nights contacting dead relatives of Faire patrons, and had a boyfriend who was a ghost, just added to the whole package. “How is Tesla?”
“Doing well, according to Mikaela. He had a little hoof problem, but they got that cleared up quickly. I hope to go see him soon. I’ve missed him.”
“As I’m sure he has you. Do not forget him in your quest for justice,” she said, making me blink in surprise.
“Uh . . .” She closed the door to her trailer, leaving me with a question on my tongue. “I just really hate it when people do that to me.” I sighed, and headed across the Faire encampment to the trailer that housed Peter. Just as I got there, he and Imogen strolled from the direction of the cars.
“Are you certain?” Imogen asked him as I stopped in front of them, casting me a quick smile before turning back to Peter.
“I did not see him, but Karl did, and yes, I asked him. He’s certain.”
“Something wrong?” I asked, noting the frown on Imogen’s face. She normally didn’t frown, feeling it encouraged wrinkles to run amok.
“Karl says a lich has been seen around the Faire,” Imogen said, still frowning as she looked over my shoulder. “Around my trailer.”
“A what now?”
“Lich. I have no idea what interest one would have in me. Moravians pose no danger to liches, and I have not met a necromancer of late.”
“Have you met with any Ilargi?” Peter asked. “Or vespilloes? Both of those work with liches.”
“No, not at all. I would know an Ilargi.” Imogen looked aghast at the idea.
“Well, I will have the security doubled up, just in case,” Peter said, and hurried off to consult with Kurt and Karl, in charge of keeping everyone at the Faire safe.
“What’s an Ilargi? And for that matter, a vespillo?”
“They both have dealings with liches.”
“Do they, indeed. I hate to sound ignorant, but what’s a lich, other than something that sounds like it should be in my dad’s old Dungeons and Dragons book?”
“Come. I feel the need for some tea.” I followed her back to her trailer, sitting at the tiny table as she bustled around the kitchen area, plugging in the electric teakettle and pulling out a plate of pastries that she set before me. “Let me just check if Günter is back.”
She returned from the bedroom just as I was licking the last of the raspberry jam off my fingers. “That’s odd.”
“What is?”
She stood in a pose of indecision for a moment before slowly sitting down across from me. “He still isn’t back. I was sure he would be back today. He said nothing about going away for a length of time.”
“Your boyfriend is gone, too?”
“So it would seem,” she said slowly, then shook off her abstraction and claimed a piece of baklava. “A lich is a servant of a necromancer, or Ilargi.”