“Oh, you know, music,” she said, her hand fluttering in a vague gesture.
“Ah.” My first roommate had dated a guy in a band, and he was forever leaving all sorts of musical paraphernalia around our apartment—broken guitar strings, bits of scribbled music, and hundreds of picks. Although Imogen’s trailer was spotless, and not at all the sort of place you’d fling your guitar strings, my experience with musicians was that they were never happy unless surrounded by the tricks of their trade. “I didn’t mean to cast a vile aspersion on him. I just thought that perhaps if you hadn’t known him for long . . .” I let the sentence trail off before starting again. “You don’t mind if I touch a few things here?”
“No.” A frown pulled her eyebrows together. “Although if the lich didn’t open the door, I’m not sure what you’ll find that could be useful.”
“You never know.” I stood up and glanced around, trying to figure out what someone might touch if he was creeping around the trailer looking for a valknut. That brought up a question. “Just how did whoever took the Vikingahärta know it was here?”
Her frown evened out. She looked thoughtful. “I don’t know.”
“If it was this lich guy who took it, then someone must have told him.” I left the rest unspoken.
A faint blush colored her cheeks as she looked away, a mulish set to her jaw. I proceeded to walk down the aisle, my fingertips grazing surfaces that looked likely. I kept contact just long enough to absorb the emotions and thoughts that had been imbued on the surface, but not long enough to let them swamp me. There was nothing out of the ordinary, although I did find it interesting that the doorframe of Imogen’s bedroom door held a distinct note of anger—from Imogen. At some point recently she had been downright furious, an emotion in which I’d seldom seen her indulge. It felt far too much like prying to keep my hand there long enough to see what it was that had made her so angry, so I moved on to the doorknob. That held only three impressions, all of which I expected: Imogen, Günter, and Finnvid.
The door jerked open as I stood there contemplating how someone could get into her bedroom without touching the doorknob. Finnvid glared at me until I moved aside. He strode past me, still stark naked, spreading his glare to Imogen before stepping into her tiny shower.
I pursed my lips as I admired his backside when it passed, then looked at Imogen.
She looked back at me. We kept that up for the count of three after the shower door closed, then both of us burst into laughter.
“Oh, boy, he’s really pissed,” I said, wiping at my eyes.
“He has no right to be. He definitely had a very good evening,” she said, smiling demurely, but the wicked twinkle in her eyes reminded me of Ben at his most roguish. “But isn’t his derriere delicious?”
“Very nice,” I agreed, turning back to the bedroom.
“Not as nice as Benedikt’s, naturally, but it’s very close to being as nice.”
I shot her a look over my shoulder. “Do I want to know how you know what Ben’s butt looks like?”
“Fran!” she said in mock shock. “I’m his sister! If I checked out his derriere, it was only on your behalf, to ensure you would not be disappointed by it.”
“Well, I’m not, so you can relax. Do you mind if I touch the nightstand?”
“No, go right ahead.” She followed me into the room. “Touch whatever you like, although the sheets . . .”
“Yeah, I think I’ll give those a pass.”
She gave a little gurgle of choked laughter. I touched the curtains and window, just in case someone had come in that way, but got no sense of anyone but Imogen. It wasn’t until my fingertips brushed against the top of the nightstand that the electric shock hit me.
“Oh,” I gasped, my legs collapsing from under me as shimmers of pain and anguish skimmed along the surface of my skin, my palm flat against the nightstand as if it was glued there. I crumpled onto the bed, my eyes wide, the breath caught in my throat. I felt strangled, bound somehow, as if I was a slave to a strong presence, unable to break away from the endless torment that wrapped around me like invisible chains.
“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.