"Is she gone?"
"One sec." Audrey, our tour leader and co-owner of Sgt. Patty's Lonely Hearts Club Tours, peeked out from behind the statue of a Viking explorer to scan the immediate crowd. Most people were sitting on the grass, watching with appreciative oohs and aahs as fireworks etched brilliant paths into the equally colorful night sky. Children ran around with the usual array of sparklers, the fireworks spitting glitter as they trailed brief-lived images into the air. The acid smell of the smoke hung heavy around us, slowly dissipated by the breeze blowing in from the water.
"I think that's her over on the other side. She's been prowling around all night looking for me, no doubt to complain about one thing or another."
"She didn't seem too happy about missing the trip out to the ruins," I admitted.
"Happy?" Audrey snorted. "She bitched so much about missing the fireworks, I decided it just wasn't worth it, and canceled the trip just to suit her. She certainly ought to be happy. Oh, lord, she's spotted Magda and Ray. They haven't seen her, poor things, and she's making a beeline straight for them. I wish I could just refund her money and boot her from the tour, but Patty would have a hissy if I did anything to piss off a client."
I patted Audrey on the arm. "You have my sympathies, and I wish I could help you with the truculent one, but I'm pretty much Denised out. I think I'll toddle back to the hotel."
She turned a distraught face to me. "Oh, Pia, don't go! The fireworks aren't over yet, and after that there's more music. You don't want to miss your chance at having a romantic encounter with a handsome Viking, now, do you?"
I thought of the two men whom I couldn't quite steel myself up to approach, and gave her a grim little smile. "I think I'll pass for tonight. You have fun, though."
"I'm sorry if Denise has made you feel uncomfortable," she said, clearly upset.
"Don't be. It's not your problem. I'm a big girl and can handle myself, even with Denise. I'm just a bit tired from seeing Reykjavik this morning, and then all the wandering around the town I did this afternoon. Happy Iceland Independence Day!"
"You, too," she said, watching me with a rueful look as I made a dash for the exit.
The town we were staying in wasn't large, but its city center was filled with narrow little streets that twisted and turned upon themselves. I got lost twice, trying to find my way to the top of the town, and had to backtrack to the still-brightly-lit main square to get my bearings before setting out again on a street I hoped led to the small hotel we called home.
I'd just left the lights of the square and was making my way down a narrow, dark street that I had a horrible suspicion I'd just been down, when a dark form loomed up out of a doorway, causing me to simultaneously jump and shriek. My jump was to the side, however, not straight up, causing me to crash into the stone wall of the building.
The man said something in an unfamiliar language while I clutched the heart that seemed to be leaping from my chest. "Oh dear god, you scared me. You shouldn't do that to people; you could give them a heart attack."
The shadowy figure was still for a moment, then moved out into the light. "My apologies, madam," he said in a voice heavy with an Icelandic accent. "I did not see you, either. Here are your things."
"No harm done," I said, scrabbling at my feet for the contents that had spilled out of my purse.
"You are a tourist, yes?" the man asked.
"Yes." He seemed nice enough, with a freckled face and the same open, cheerful countenance that I was becoming convinced was standard in Iceland. "Just here for a few days, unfortunately. Oh, thanks." I tucked my bag under my arm, taking the books from him.
He stooped once more and picked up something else at my feet, offering it to me a second before he froze. The light hit his palm, flashing off of something held there.
I looked in surprise at the object he held: a narrow silk cord from which a stone hung, a small oval stone somewhat milky in color, blue and green flashing from the depths.
"Oh, that's nice," I said, taking it to admire it better. "Is it an opal? It doesn't look quite like an opal."
"It is a moonstone," the man answered, his voice kind of choked.
It looked like a bookmark, the kind you slid around the pages and cover of a book, but rather than a charm hanging from the end, as I'd seen before, this one had the moonstone.
"It's very pretty. Did it come from one of my books? I didn't know it was in there. I'll have to take it back to the bookseller. He probably didn't realize this was tucked away inside - "
The man suddenly broke into laughter. "You didn't tell me who you were," he said, chuckling a last couple of chuckles before he took my arm and steered me out of the alley in the opposite direction. "I thought you were just an ordinary tourist."
"Um..." I didn't quite know what to say to that. It seemed odd to insist that I was, in fact, perfectly ordinary, but I had a suspicion that the nice Icelander thought I was someone else. "I think maybe there's some sort of a mistake."
"No mistake," he said, smiling with genuine happiness. "We've been expecting you, you know. The Zenith said you'd arrive today, but we thought you'd be here earlier. I suppose you felt it necessary to maintain your cover as a tourist?"
"OK, now we really are talking at cross-purposes." I stopped, not willing to get myself any more lost than I had been. "My name is Pia Thomason, and I really am just an ordinary tourist."
"Pia? Heh-heh. You are very good," he said admiringly, taking my arm again and gently pushing me forward. "I am Mattias. I am the sacristan."
"Sorry?" I said, unfamiliar with the word. Would it make me a Bad American if I tore my arm from his grip and turned around to run back to the holiday crowds? With everyone down at the waterfront park enjoying the celebrations, the town was all but deserted.
"It means - let me see if I can translate it for you - keeper of the doors, yes? You understand?"
"A doorkeeper? Is that some sort of a doorman?" I asked, puffing a little since Mattias was hauling me gently but persistently up one of the steep stone roads. "Like at a hotel, you mean?"
"Doorman... that may not be the right word. Doorkeeper sounds better. I am doorkeeper of the Brotherhood of the Blessed Light."
I tried to remember what was the predominant religion of the area, but drew a blank. "Ah. I assume that's a religion?"
He chuckled again. "You wish to play? I will play. Yes, it is a religion, a very old one. Its origins are in the Basque region. We were once known as Ilargi, but now we are called by the name of the Brotherhood. We have been around since the beginning of the darkness."
"Ilargi?" I asked, startled at the familiar word. I peered up into the face of the man who continued to urge me up the street. "Isn't that the name of the woods outside of the town? The place with the ruins?"
"Woods?" His blond brows pulled together. "I do not understand. Are you testing me?"
I dug my heels in and stopped him a second time. He faced me with a puzzled expression, but I could see no signs of hostility or, worse, madness. He had to have me confused with someone else. "I'm sorry, Mattias, but I really do think you have the wrong person. I do not understand half of what you are saying."
"It is I who am sorry. My English is not very good."
"Your English is better than mine. I meant you're misinterpreting what I'm saying, and I haven't a clue about your responses. For example, I don't know where you're taking me."
"Here," he said, waving a hand at a building ahead of us. It was a small church made of grey stone that sat at the top of the street.
I relaxed a smidgen at the sight of it, feeling that Mattias was no threat despite his confusion. "Is that your church?"
"Yes. We will go in now."
I hesitated, trying to figure out how to get through to him that I wasn't the person he thought I was.
"It is all right," he said, taking my hand and tugging me up the steps to the church door. "I am the sacristan. I am the sun."
"The son of who?" I asked, eyeing the church carefully. It looked perfectly normal, not at all out of the ordinary.
"Not 'who'... the sun. You know, the sun in the sky?" he said, pointing upward.
"Oh, the sun. You... er... you think you're the sun?"
"Yes."
I switched my examination from the church to the man who was leading me into it. He still looked sane, but if he thought he was the sun, perhaps it would be wiser to let him think I was going along with his claims until I could slip away.
The church did much to reassure my nerves. It, too, looked perfectly ordinary, and was pretty much as I had expected from my visits to other ancient Icelandic churches - a small anteroom that opened out into the main part of the church, narrow aisles running down the middle and on either side of two banks of pews. At the far end stood the altar. It wasn't until I was halfway down the aisle that I realized that something was wrong. The church was decorated with the usual crosses and symbols of Christianity, but over these had been thrown small black cloths embroidered with silver crescent moons.
"Uh-oh," I said, squirming out of Mattias's grip. Had I stumbled onto some strange cult? Were there strange cults in Iceland? I had thought they were pagans before Christianity swept through Scandinavia - perhaps this was a pagan cult? "I think this is far enough."
"Mattias?" A woman called out from the other end of the church, emerging from a room behind the altar. She was middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair, and eyes that practically snapped as she bustled down the aisle toward us. She continued in what I assumed was Icelandic.
"Kristjana, I bring the Zorya," Mattias interrupted her. "She is English."
"American, actually, although my name isn't Zorya. It's Pia, and I'm really terribly sorry to intrude, but I think Mattias has me mixed up with someone else," I explained to the woman. She looked perfectly normal, perfectly sane and unremarkable, kind of a plump grandmotherly figure. All but her eyes, that is.
Those intense dark eyes examined me for a moment before she asked Mattias a question.
"I am sure," he answered. "She bears the stone."
"You mean this?" I asked, holding up the silk bookmark.
Kristjana's eyes widened for a moment, then she nodded. "You are very welcome to our sanctuary, Zorya."
"Ahh, a light begins to dawn," I said slowly as my mental fog cleared. "It's this, isn't it?" I waved the bookmark around. The moonstone at the end of it glowed gently in the dim interior of the church. "That's where all the confusion comes from. I'm happy to tell you that this isn't mine."
"No, it isn't, it belongs to no one, but you are its keeper now, and you must guard it well. We have much work for you to do," Kristjana said primly. She gestured toward the back of the church. "You will come now and we prepare for the first ceremony. We were told you would be arriving earlier."
I glanced as casually as I could manage around the church. Relief filled me at the sight of the half-open front door. With an expression I hoped bore no indication of my intentions, I shuffled backward a few steps. "This is really a lovely church. I like the moons, they're pretty as well. Is that something your group worships?"
Mattias frowned a little as Kristjana watched me, her face expressionless. I hoped neither of them noticed I was still moving backward, toward the door, in tiny little baby steps.
"The Brotherhood are children of the moon, although we do not worship it," she said carefully. "We are of the light. We spread the light. It is through the light that we cleanse the world."
Hairs on my arms started to prickle at her words. I had no doubt now that I had somehow managed to get myself mistaken for someone expected by this odd pagan cult. They didn't look dangerous, but I felt it was wiser to make as few waves as possible before I dashed for freedom. "You spread light? You mean you do good works?"
"Through us, the light cleanses darkness from the world," she answered, her voice almost singsong, as if she was speaking a catechism. "Through us, the light purges evil."
"We definitely need less evil in the world," I agreed, and shuffled a few feet closer to the door. If either of them had noticed that the distance between us was growing, they didn't comment on it.
"The Midnight Zorya focuses the light, using the power on behalf of us all."
"You said that word before," I said, slapping a pleasantly curious look on my face. I took another two steps backward, reaching out with a hand behind me to feel for the door. I was still too far away to touch it. "What exactly is a Zorya?"
Kristjana didn't even blink. Mattias shot me a puzzled glance before turning his gaze on his companion.
"There are three Zoryas who rule the skies - morning, evening, and midnight. Auroras, they are called by the Westerners, but the Brotherhood call them by their true names."
"Auroras. That's really interesting." This had to be some sort of a pagan cult. Who else would worship the northern lights and the moon?
"Tradition says that the sun dies in the Midnight Zorya's arms each night, and is reborn each morning. That is why you must wed tonight."
"Whoa!" I said, stumbling to a stop. "Wed? Excuse me?"
"You must wed the sacristan, the sun," the woman said. She nodded toward Mattias. "The Zorya has little power until she has taken a husband and been recognized by the Brotherhood."
"Wed as in marry?" I asked, wondering if perhaps their English was not as good as I had assumed.
"Yes, marry. Zoryas are always wed. It is the way."
A horrible suspicion dawned that both relieved and annoyed me. "This is part of the tour, isn't it? You're not some wacky cult after all - you're just doing a lot of hand waving and mystical mumbo jumbo to distract my attention away from the fact that this is a blind date, right?"
"The Brotherhood are earnest in their intent to cleanse the world of evil," Kristjana said, an annoyed look flitting across her face.
"I can see you are." I crossed my arms over my chest, my relief that they weren't wackos mingling with my own irritation. However much trouble they went to, I wasn't inclined to go along with their silly production. "You can tell Audrey from me that I don't find it very entertaining. I may be on a singles' tour, but I'm not so desperate I'm willing to do some sort of role-playing thing, no matter how handsome the participant is."
Mattias's frown cleared. He smiled. "You are plump, but I like that. We will be good together sexually."
"Uh-huh," I said, unsure of whether I should be offended or amused by the scenario. At least I didn't have to worry that they were strange cultists who would perform who knew what sorts of acts upon my person.
"I am a very fine lover," he continued, obviously feeling it was a point he needed to drive home. So to speak.
"Well, I'm flattered and all, but as I said, I'm not really that... er... desperate. Not that I'd have to be desperate to want to hook up with you, Mattias, but I'm sure you know what I mean."
"No, I don't think I do," he said, the frown having returned.
I ignored that, smiling brightly and taking a couple more steps backward. "Well, this has been fun, but I think I'm going to get going. I'll be sure to tell Audrey just how good you guys were, though. And thanks for the plump-but-still-attractive comment. It's always nice to know that there are men out there who like women who aren't walking advertisements for anorexia. Night!"
Identical startled expressions manifested on their faces as I turned and walked out the door. Either they had believed their acting was enough to suck me in or, what was more likely, Audrey told them I'd be an easy mark, lonely enough that I'd agree to just about anything in order to have a date with a handsome man.
What stung was just how close to the truth that was. "After all, you're on a tour meant to pair people up. You can't get much more desperate than that," I told myself. My conversation was short-lived when I heard my name being called behind me.
Mattias stood at the door of the church. The older woman shoved him out of the way, pointed at me, and snapped out an order. He looked surprised for a moment, but ran down the steps with a set look on his face that triggered a sudden spurt of adrenaline.
What if they weren't set up by Audrey? What if they were, in actuality, a creepy cult that seriously believed I was going to marry a complete stranger simply because my book had an odd bookmark?
"Oh, crap," I swore, telling my brain to stop thinking and start making my legs move. I bolted down the street, spinning around a corner into a darker street, hoping to lose Mattias despite the fact that he was much more fit than me, not to mention probably quite familiar with the town.
I dashed around tidy trash cans, emerging into a lit street, screaming at the sudden noise of an approaching car slamming on its brakes and squealing to a stop a few feet away. I didn't wait to apologize, just gathered my tattered wits and sped across the remainder of the street and into a twisty narrow passage that ran between two tall stone buildings.
A man's voice called out behind me. Damn that long-legged Mattias. I was already out of breath and had a suspicious pain in my side that warned of a stitch.
"Please let me get away, please let me get away," I chanted in time to my pounding footsteps as I ran blindly through the still empty town, my brain squirreling around frantically for some way to escape Mattias. I had to double back somehow. That would surely throw him.
As I emerged from behind a different church, I spied a narrow set of stairs that led down to a small landing beneath the entrance. I flung myself down it and hunkered beneath the cement bridge that spanned the area, my back plastered against the cold stone. I covered my mouth to silence the sounds of labored breathing.
A few seconds later, a shadow flashed on the ground next to me, paused for a moment, then flickered past me toward the main square. I counted to ten, holding my breath, until black spots threatened to dance before my eyes. Cautiously I crawled out of my hiding spot and peered over the edge of the railing toward the street, my lungs wheezily drawing in much-needed oxygen.
People were starting to appear from the direction of the park, some heading for cars, others going to the central square, where sounds of a band warming up could be heard. "The fireworks must be over," I mused aloud, "which means if I stay put, there will be a lot of people I can use as cover. That sounds smart."
"Excuse me, could you help us?"
At the soft voice behind me, I whirled around, clutching at the railing as my heart just about jumped out of my chest for the second time in an hour. "Holy cheese and crackers! You almost scared... me... to... uh..."
The two people who stood before me, at first glance, were nothing to make a mature, reasonably intelligent woman turn into a babbling fool, but that's just what happened. The man and woman were clearly a couple, because the woman, petite, with big, soulful eyes, clung to the man's arm as she peered up at me from under the low brim of a hat I vaguely remembered was called a cloche. She was wearing a low-waisted dress, while he was in an old-fashioned-looking suit and a fedora. But what had me stammering to a startled stop was the fact that the two of them were translucent, almost transparent, an odd bluish sort of glow about them as if they were made up of the ghostly images sometimes seen on old TVs.
The word "ghost" reverberated around in my head with growing intensity.
"We're lost. Can you help us?" the woman said, glancing up at her man.
"Uh." Hesitantly, I held out my hand, the hairs on my arm standing on end as my fingers reached the man's arm and passed right through it with only a tiny tingle.
"We were on a ship," the man said, looking around him. "We were going to Canada. But now we're lost, and we don't know where we're supposed to be going. You are the one who is supposed to help us, aren't you?" the man asked, a doubtful look on his translucent face.
"You're... not real," I said slowly, trying to understand what was going on. "Are you?"
"I am Karl. This is my wife, Marta. We were on a ship," the ghostly man said again. "What happened to it?"
"Karl, I'm afraid," the woman whimpered, pressing herself closer to her husband. "Maybe she is the other one."
I blinked in dumb astonishment. "I'm Pia, and frankly, I'm a bit confused."
"There's nothing to be afraid of," Karl told his wife, obviously trying to appear brave for her benefit. His expression continued to indicate that he was anything but calmly confident. "You are the reaper, aren't you? The old woman said there would be someone in town to show us the way. She said we'd know you by the light you carry." He gestured toward my hand.
I looked down in even more astonishment. The stone-bedecked bookmark that I'd looped around my wrist while I made my escape from Mattias had somehow morphed into a small lantern shaped like a crescent moon. It dangled like a charm from my wrist, and from it, a gentle glow illuminated the area immediately around me. "All right. This is going way beyond weird or possibly a mental condition, into the land of... well, I don't know quite what land it is. Maybe the unbelievable? Regardless, I'm not quite sure what to tell you. I don't think I'm the grim reaper - at least no one has informed me of anything like that," I said with a forced little laugh that sounded hollow.
"She doesn't seem to be anxious to help us," Marta said, a sob in her voice. "What are we going to do? What if the evil one comes?"
As if on cue, Mattias appeared briefly at the end of the street. I ducked down until I could just barely see him. He stood for a moment in indecision, quickly scanning the front of the church and the street before he made a right turn and hurried off down a cross street.
"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand what it is you want me to do for you. You say an old lady told you to find me? Did she say her name?" I asked, wondering if the woman at the church could have sent the pair after me.
"She was on the ship. She said she would stay there, where her son was, but that we should go ashore and the reaper would show us the way. She said we'd know you by your light, and that there might be another one, an evil one, who did not have a light. You do have a light," Karl pointed out.
"Yeah, and I'm not quite sure how that happened, but given the present situation, I think maybe I'll just move past that point. Where exactly did you need directions to? I'm a stranger here, myself, and don't know too many of the local spots, although I do have a good map."
The couple squatted down next to me as I pulled out the detailed map I had for the area.
"We were going to Canada. To Halifax, to be with Marta's brother and his family," Karl said as they peered at my map.
I glanced at their period clothing, and bit my lower lip for a moment. "Would you mind me asking you when you were on the ship? What... er... what year was it?"
"It was 1922," Karl answered quickly, looking puzzled. "Why?"
I reached out to touch the lapel of his coat. Just as before, my hand met no resistance and passed right through him. "I hate to tell you this, but I don't think your ship made it to Canada. I have a suspicion that it might have wrecked offshore of Iceland, and you're... well, you're ghosts."
"Karl," Marta said in a near wail, grabbing her husband's arm again. "She is not the good one. She is Ilargi!"
"Shhh!" I hissed, peeping over the edge of the railing to see if Mattias had come back. The street, luckily, was clear. "I'm not anything other than really confused."
"Now, love, don't panic," Karl said, patting her hand. "She is a reaper, not Ilargi. We just need to convince her we're worthy of her help."
"Oh, you don't have to convince me of that. I can see you're a very nice couple, and I'm really sorry to have to be the one to break it to you that you're... er... life challenged. And I would help you if I could, but I really don't think I'm the person you're looking for."
"You're not going to show us the way?" Karl asked with a nervous glance at his wife.
Marta stared at me with bleak, hopeless dark eyes that seemed to wring my heart. "You would not leave us to the other?"
"I'm not sure who you're talking about, but I'll tell you what I'll do - you explain to me exactly where it is you're trying to get to, and I'll find out how you get there, OK?"
"But... you know where we're going," Marta said, her eyes moving between her husband and me. She looked strained, somehow stretched, as if she was about to tear apart into a thousand wispy bits.
"All right, then, I'll find out where you're going, and then we'll work on how to get you there," I said, trying to sound confident and calm. "Have you two been wandering around the town the whole time?"
They both stared silently at me.
"Let me put it this way - what's the last thing you remember?" I asked.
"We were on the ship," Karl said.
"Yes, I got that part. But what happened to the ship?"
The pair glanced at each other.
"I don't understand," Karl said. "We were on the ship. The old lady said to look for you, and we found you."
Clearly the trauma of their deaths had left them drifting, both figuratively and literally, and they didn't remember the transition between life and the afterlife.
I made a little face to myself at how quickly I'd become accustomed to the idea of ghosts and an afterlife, but I had to admit, the evidence was even now staring hopefully at me. "OK. We'll just let that go. While I'm looking, why don't you two go down to the caf¨¦ on the main square. I'll meet you there when I find out where it is you're supposed to go."
"Caf¨¦?" Marta asked.
I gave them directions on where to find it, and reiterated that I would meet them there. "I've got a few things to take care of first," I said, straightening slowly as I verified that the street was clear of Mattias. "But just as soon as I can, I'll try to find someone who knows what's going on. Sound good?"
"And if the other should come, the Ilargi?" Karl asked, clearly worried. "He will steal our souls!"
"That's not good." I made a little face as I thought. "Um... run away?"
That evidently satisfied them, because they nodded and thanked me, drifting off down the street until they disappeared into the night. I noted with interest that the second they disappeared from my view, the glowing silver moon dangling from my wrist changed back into a moonstone hanging on a silk cord.
"Too strange," I told the bookmark. "But right at this moment, I'm not going to try to figure you out. I've got to get myself out of this predicament with Mattias, and much as I'd like to hunker down, staying in one spot might be asking for trouble if he comes back to look closely at the church. Better get a move on, now, Pia."
There's really no use talking to yourself if you're not going to listen to your own advice, so I did as I was told, and crawled up the narrow stairs to the street, glancing around quickly to make sure the woman in charge of the cult hadn't been following us, before heading off in the direction opposite the one Mattias had taken.
The threat of a stitch in my side blossomed to full life a couple of blocks later, leaving me clutching my side and limping (for some reason, limping made me feel better). Holding the paperback books and my bag made it difficult to try to ease the pain in my side, so I dumped the books into the nearest trash can, hesitating for a moment over the pretty moonstone bookmark. Part of me wanted to dump it, as well, and wash my hands of anything to do with crazy moonstone cults, frightened ghosts, and lusty Icelanders, but the moral part of my brain pointed out that it wasn't really mine to throw away, and the least I could do was try to find its rightful owner. It was entirely within reason that whoever it belonged to could help Karl and Marta.
"Maybe the bookseller will know," I murmured as I reclaimed the bookmark from the top of the trash, but as I did so, a cold chill ran down my back.
The top book was, as I had told the Frenchwoman who had plowed into me earlier, a mystery, but beneath it lay the Regency romance I'd snatched up. I hadn't really looked at the cover, since I had a love of Regencies, but I saw now that the two people gracing the cover were depicted dancing. "Dancers on the cover... oh, no. Now what am I going to do?"
I grabbed the book and stuffed it into my bag, wondering if there was any chance I'd find the woman in the holiday crowd.
"What a mess," I murmured, and with a hand pressed to my side, I limped my way down the street toward the waterfront. Perhaps I would get a glimpse of the woman if she was still looking for bookstores.
I had just made it across the park when Mattias popped up out of nowhere. He didn't see me, but I knew that, exposed as I was, he soon would. I had to get away, but he was in a position that allowed him to look down the three streets that met at the park. I whirled around, scanning for anywhere I could hide, my gaze sharpening on a dark curve at the far edge of the park, where it butted up against a cliff. People were still streaming out of the park, but couples were using the darkness along the tree-lined end to engage in a little romantic snogging.
I hunched over and tried to use people to shield me as I made my way to the trees, intending to hide behind one of them until Mattias left. But as I glanced over my shoulder toward him, he was looking in my direction; he started forward hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure he had seen me.
"Dammit," I muttered, excusing myself when the couple nearest me broke off what was surely a marathon lip-lock session to glare at my interruption. "Sorry. Go on with what you were doing."
The woman snorted and, grabbing her partner by the hand, dragged him off. Just beyond them, Mattias was heading straight in my direction.
Another couple left the security of the shadows, giggling and laughing about something as they passed. A shadow separated from the wall behind them, a male shadow who appeared to be alone.
"Pia?" I heard Mattias call as he approached.
"This is so clich¨¦ I can't believe it, but desperate times and all that," I muttered to myself as I gathered up my mental strength and stopped the man who was walking past me. "I sure hope you speak English, and I really hope you don't take this the wrong way, but here goes."
At my touch, the man stopped, turning toward me, his face deep in shadow. Eyes the shade of blue known as teal, like a Siamese cat's, seemed to glow at me. I prayed I wasn't about to get tossed in jail for assault, grabbed his other arm, and more or less flung myself on him, chickening out at the last second and kissing the very edge of his cheek where it met the corner of his mouth.
"Please don't yell or anything like that," I murmured against his skin, my lips tingling at the sensation of soft stubble.
"Yar!" a man said next to my ear.
I jumped and stared with shock at the face that appeared just behind the man. Like Karl and Marta, he was nearly translucent.
"I likes a bit o' the cash, meself, but ye're missin' the dock there, lass," the ghost said. "Yer aim's off."
The victim of my pathetic but desperate plan stiffened in my arms but didn't shove me away or yell or even try to kiss me back (more's the pity - I've always been a sucker for blue eyes). He did, however, look a bit taken aback at what was surely an expression of utter and complete befuddlement visible on my face.
Mattias loomed up in my view, but he couldn't reach me, blocked as he was by the people between us. "Pia?"
I slunk down a few inches lower, shifting my grip on the man I held so that my fingers clutched soft, curly hair. I threw in a rapturous moan as I kept my lips glued to his cheek, my attention moving him, to Mattias, to the ghost who continued to leer at me.
Mattias peered at us for a moment, then gave a little shake of his head and moved off. At that moment, hands that felt like they were made of steel grabbed my wrists and pushed me backward.
"I appreciate the offer, but I am not interested," the man said, his voice deep and lyrical, with an Italian accent that seemed to skitter over my skin like electricity.
"I am," the ghost said, winking. "You can snog me any day."
"Um," I said, not sure how to respond to a lecherous ghost. "Are you a sailor, by any chance?"
"No," the blue-eyed man said, frowning.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't asking you; I was asking him," I said, nodding toward the ghost.
The man looked behind him, then narrowed his eyes at me. "Are you drunk?"
"Not in the least, although I'm really wishing I was at this point. You don't see him?"
"See who?" he asked.
"The ghost. I think he's a sailor from a ship that went down in 1922."
"The Rebecca," the ghost said, nodding. "Went down in a bank o' fog the likes o' which I'd ne'er seen afore, and hope to ne'er again."
"There is no one there," Blue Eyes said slowly.
"You're bein' the reaper, then?" the sailor asked. He was a short man, somewhat squat, with a face that looked like it had been in more than one bar fight.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not. I just have this," I told the ghost, holding up my wrist to show him the moonstone, which had once again changed into a tiny crescent moon lantern. "But if you go to the caf¨¦ on the square, you'll find a couple of other people who were on the ship, and who are waiting for the person in question."
"What are you talking about?" asked the man.
"Caf¨¦, you say?" the ghost said, looking hopeful. "Ye be thinkin' they'll have a tot o' rum there?"
"They might. You never know."
"Aye, that ye don't. I'll be on me way, then." He gave me a gap-toothed grin. "Ye might want to be practicin' yer aim while I'm gone. Looks like yer fella doesn't appreciate ye kissin' naught but his cheek."
I said nothing, not wanting the man whom I'd jumped on to think I was any crazier than he already did. Obviously the moonstone/lantern contained some sort of magic that allowed only its bearer to see ghosts.
"I'm so sorry; you must think I'm the worst sort of woman," I told Blue Eyes. "But there was a man chasing me, and I really didn't want him to find me."
He had continued to hold my wrist bearing the moonstone. While it was a lantern, he didn't glance at it, but the second the ghost left, it reverted to the stone, and he clutched my hand even tighter.
To my surprise, rather than release me, he took a few steps into a bluish white pool of light cast by a portable lantern. I gawked when the light revealed him to be one of the two eye-candy twins, the one with short hair. The light hit him only on one side, but the planes of his face were hard and angled, a cleft cutting deep into his chin, his nose narrow, but not straight, as if it had been broken and not set properly. And then there were those lovely eyes, shining from within, beautiful pure teal blue with little spiky black bits that seemed to seep from his pupils. Oh, yes, they were gorgeous eyes... and they were focused on me with a look that had my color rising.
"I know it sounds crazy," I stammered, "but it's true. There really was someone behind you, only you couldn't see him and I could. I think it's because of the moonstone, but that's really neither here nor there. But I've bothered you enough for one night, and clearly you feel the need to go get checked for scabies or something. I mean, I would if some strange guy suddenly swooped down and started kissing me. Not that I have scabies, you understand. I'm perfectly scabies free. In fact, I'm not quite sure what scabies is, although I know if you're not careful you can get it from sexual partners. Oh, lord. I'm babbling. I'm sorry. I do that when I'm nervous, or embarrassed, and wow, am I embarrassed now."
The man stared at me like I had just turned into a tap-dancing llama, complete with top hat and cane.
"Sorry," I said again, making a little gesture of vague apology.
His eyes narrowed as he looked again at my hand.
"I'll just go now," I finished lamely, jerking my hand from his and scurrying away toward the street, my face hot with embarrassment. "What on earth is wrong with you, Pia? You babbled at that poor man, positively babbled like a deranged person. Dear god, I can't take you anywhere, can I?"
A sleek red car purred up to the curb.
"I bet I'm even redder," I muttered to myself as I hurried by the car. "I should just go home. I can't get any lower than thieeeeeeeeee!"
Before I could pass by completely, one of the doors opened and I was shoved from behind. I grabbed at the roof to keep from falling into it, but another shove at my back more or less folded me in half, resulting in me collapsing inside the vehicle.
