Zen and the Art of Vampires

"I'll ask Magda," I told the ghosts, coming to a snap decision. "But I can't go traipsing around with you all on my heels. We'd better find somewhere to park you that you'll be safe from the soul-sucking Ilargi person."

I contemplated trying to make my way around town without being spotted by police, fellow tour members, Kristoff, or the Brotherhood folk, but a few moments' consideration left me shrugging at the building in front of me. Why not? I hustled my little group into the library and told them to vanish. The library was due to close almost immediately thereafter, but with a cunning that was heretofore unknown to me, I managed to hide myself beneath a stack of beanbag chairs in the children's area, and remain there until the building was closed.

I lay there for another two hours while the employees puttered around, alternately listening to my stomach growl, dozing, and wondering what the hell I was going to do if Magda wouldn't help me.

An idea started to form. It wasn't anything I was proud of, and it definitely went against my better judgment, but if push came to shove, there might be a way out of the situation. I felt a little bit better when, two hours later, I crawled out from my beanbag cocoon and rallied my troops.

"Right, I'm going to go see my friend and pray she won't turn me over to the police. You guys stay here. If this bad reaper is human, like I am, he shouldn't be able to get in to the building to get you guys." I glanced around the darkened library, only a couple of security lights illuminating the interior. "I sure wish ghosts could read books and use the computer terminals. A little research into reapers and Ostri might be very helpful."

Karl looked from his wife to me. "But we can read books. I don't know about this computer terminal you mentioned, but I can read."

"I'm sure you can, but what I meant was more I wish you guys had the ability to interact with physical things."

"We can," Ulfur said. Ragnar nodded his head and snorted before munching the fabric of the nearest bean-bag chair.

"Really?" I reached out to touch him, my hand passing right through his arm. "Um…"

Ulfur smiled and the air around him shimmered. His body slowly solidified, going from its bluish translucent state to that of a solid form.

"Holy Jehoshaphat," I said, reaching out with a tentative fingertip. It met solid cloth. "I didn't know you could do that!"

"We can't for very long. It takes a lot of energy to have a physical presence, but it if will help you, we can try looking for some information."

"That would be immensely helpful," I said, relieved. "I don't suppose any of you can operate a computer?"

I wasn't surprised when no one offered to use the nearby computer. I suspected that drifting around aimlessly for a hundred years or more didn't lend itself to techno-savvy.

"Oh, all right, I'll do it," the snarky teen said when her mother, the woman named Ingveldur, gave her a non-too-gentle shove forward.

"You know about computers?" I asked the girl dubiously.

She tched and plunked herself down in that boneless way teen girls have. "I'm not stupid, you know. People do come to the village with laptops and mobile phones and Game Boys. What am I looking for?"

"Does that computer have Internet access?" I asked peering over her shoulder. She solidified and tapped on the keyboard. "Oh, excellent. Google Ostri, would you? And maybe reapers. And the Brotherhood of the Blessed Light. And while you're at it—"

She gave me a look that told me I was trying her nerves.

"Just Google whatever you can and print out anything that looks important. Will the rest of you be all right?"

My words were spoken to an empty room. Ulfur and Karl had taken charge of the villagers and spread them out to search the library for any books that might help.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," I told Marta as she came with me to the window. It didn't show any signs of being wired for an alarm, which I took as an indication of the low crime rate of this area. "Close the window after me, and don't let anyone in who isn't me. OK?"

"All right. But, Pia, the old sailor is still out there," she said worriedly.

"If I see him, I'll send him this way. Don't look so glum," I said, swinging my legs out the window and jumping down to the well-tended flower bed below. "I think our luck is about to change."

That seemed to pacify her. She smiled and waved as I glanced down the street, muttering softly to myself, "And I just pray it's not going from bad to worse."

Dalkafjordhur at night was surprisingly busy. I didn't know if it was the white-night phenomenon of twenty-four hours of sunlight, or if the town was just like that normally, but there were a lot of people out. Luckily, I knew where I would find the tour group—we were supposed to be attending a reenactment group's dinner in a Viking longhouse, complete with Old Norse poetry readings, and scenes enacted from historical sagas of the period.