Light Dragons 03 - Sparks Fly

Summoner. I’ve seen those, and you don’t look like them.”
    “I used to be an accountant,” I told her, feeling that diplomacy was going to be my best bet if I wanted to get pictures of Imogen. It wouldn’t do to offend any of Imogen’s family by calling them crackpots. “But Barry, my boss, kept hitting on me, and when I tried to turn him in, he got me fired. Illegal and reprehensible, but true.”
    “No, I meant-” Fran stopped talking when Gretl turned back to us.
    “Io, you don’t mind that Imogen has asked me to sit with her for an hour or so while she reads the rune stones, do you?”
    “Not at all. I’ll just wander around the fair and see the sights.”
    “We’ll take care of your cousin,” Fran told Gretl as we moved off. I couldn’t help but notice that Fran wore a pair of long black lace gloves that disappeared into her shirt cuffs. “We’ll show you around and introduce you to all the people who work here. You might find someone you’d like to photograph in addition to Imogen, you know. There are lots of interesting folks. My mother is- Ratsbane! What’s he doing here?”
    Fran had been steering me down the center aisle when she suddenly froze and glared to the side, where a blond man with a short goatee was strolling toward us. The man also froze when he caught sight of us, an expression of joy on his face as he waved an arm in the air and bellowed, “Goddess Fran! We have returned!”
    “I thought you said they’d gone back to Valhalla?” Ben asked in a tight, low voice.
    “They had. Dammit, they promised me they wouldn’t come back until I asked for their help again. . . . Excuse me a minute, Io. I have to deal with an old . . . friend. . . . ”
    She hurried off to the blond man, who was joined by two others, all of whom enveloped Fran in a group bear hug with cries of, “Goddess!”
    “Oh, Christ, not all three,” Ben said, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
    “You don’t have to escort me around the fair, you know. I’m quite capable of trotting around by myself.”
    “I’d much rather show you around than deal with those three lunatics,” he said, nodding toward the nearest booth. “What would you like to see first? I can’t vouch for the tattooing, but the demonologist is a friend of mine and can be quite interesting if he’s holding a private group session.”
    “I’m fine just people watching, if truth be told,” I said politely, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. The words “demonologist” and “private session” just seemed like an incredibly bad juxtaposition. “People are so fascinating if you have the time to really study them.”
    “True words. I won’t ask you any more about yourself since I’m sure Imogen will pump you for all the information you’re willing to divulge,” he said, laughter rich in his voice as we moved on at a slow amble. “My sister appreciates people watching, as well. Some might call her nosy, but in reality she just likes mortals.”
    Keep in the open, I told myself. Stay around other people. Do not, under any circumstances, go off anywhere alone with this bizarre man. “I really am not all that interesting, I assure you. I do feel bad about my horrible foot-in-mouth disease with Imogen, though.”
    He paused in front of a booth dedicated to personal time travel, shooting me a curious look. “Pardon?”
    I made a little face. “I said I wanted to take photos of Imogen at the place your father met his end.”
    “My father?” Ben blinked. “My father is in South America.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry.” A blush warmed my face as I realized that once again I’d verbally embarrassed myself. “I thought you and Imogen had the same father.”
    “We do. He’s in Brazil, I believe. Or Argentina. Somewhere with lots of nearly naked young women and a high level of debauchery.”
    I stared at him in incomprehension. “He’s not dead?”
    “No.” He leaned in close and said in a low voice, “My father is a Dark One. He can’t die unless someone goes to quite a bit of trouble, and I can assure you that no one has done that in several centuries.”
    “Several centuries,” I repeated, just as if that weren’t the least bit startling, although, of course, my brain was screaming at me to run far, far away from the crazy man.
    And then the thought hit me-what if Imogen and her brother were having me on? What if they were teasing me, the ignorant little American tourist? What if they were waiting to