Cara Mia - Book One of the Immortyl Revolution (15 page)

Gaius replied casually as he paused at the door, “It’s almost worth the trouble.”

Nothing gave me the creeps more than being left alone with Dirk. There was no sense of control of the situation. He wasn’t intellectually gifted but he was endowed with animal cunning, superior strength and a total disregard for anyone’s rights.

“What I endure,” Dirk muttered.

I opened the carved chest against the wall to put my materials away. “Doesn’t think much of you, does he?”

He scowled, lurching to his feet. “Not as much as you think of yourself.” He hovered over me, trying to intimidate by sheer size and bulk.

“You don’t scare me.”

Moving in closer he breathed down my neck, “Did you dream of me in your childhood bed?”

Nightmares actually, of human skeletons trampled by jackboots, grinning death’s heads on black caps, skulls that came to life with yellow-green eyes. Dirk’s ilk had been considered the elite of the Third Reich. Himmler himself had hand picked them from photographs, not one could stand less than five foot eight, they had to be proven racially pure as far back as eighteen hundred and they possessed the idealized Nordic physical attributes most of their leaders lacked. Except for the yellowish eyes, Dirk was the poster boy.

He tugged hard at my hair. “I’ll teach you the meaning of pain.”

“Let go of me, mindless butcher.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked me over from head to toe. “You aren’t that much to look at.”

“Good enough, your distaste is showing all too prominently.”

He grabbed my jaw. “Can this mouth do anything other than fling insults?”

“Not unless you want to lose something very dear to you. Let’s test your powers of regeneration. I’m curious if you are.” I twisted out of his grip, a move Ethan taught me.

“Gaius made an offer for you to Brovik when we saw him in Rome.”

“Brovik? What kind of offer?”

“To buy you of course— for me.”

I was flabbergasted. The door opened and Ethan and Gaius stepped inside. Ethan frowned, looking about the room curiously.

Gaius barked, “Dirk come.”

After they left I was called upon to explain myself. Ethan paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. “Are you mad? Letting them in?”

“You told me to be polite to him.”

“You can’t be so incredibly naive. It’s a good thing it was Gaius and not some other. He knows better than to try something.”

“So, what did Brovik have to say? Dirk told me they’d seen him in Rome. He said Gaius made an offer for me.”

“Don’t be frightened. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Is he coming here?”

Ethan shook his head. “He wants us to go to Norway.”

“Will we go?”

“No. You must be prepared when at last you meet him face to face.”

“Why?”

“He’ll reach inside and pluck your soul from within, without a blink of an eye— all the while with the most serene and beautiful of smiles on his fair countenance.”

“What does he want?”

Ethan kissed my forehead. “Just business— nothing you need worry about, my dear. Now run upstairs and get ready for bed. I must make a call.”

I obeyed as usual, but this patronizing treatment was really staring to irritate. He told me nothing, like I was a child. How bad could this Brovik be?

If there were others in this house of ours, Ethan never told me about them, but Brovik apparently was curious about me, and sent his first emissary just a few months after our arrival.

We stood on the balcony, my head against Ethan’s bare chest, his arms wrapped loosely about my body. Twilight is called
Magic Hour
in the movies and so it was, the closest we ever came to standing in the sun, a moment of connection for us, silently drinking the beauty of the surrounding hills and bay, purple streaked with orange, watching day winding down and night stirring.

Suddenly
Magic Hour
was interrupted by the sound of a small sports car whining up the steep road. Ethan cocked his head to the side. “Get my robe.”

I went inside, grabbing his heavy silk robe and pulling on a simple dress before joining him again on the balcony. “Gaius?”

“No, come here,” he whispered, smiling.

The car pulled into the drive in front of the villa and parked. I scented the newcomer now, male Immortyl mixed with nice cologne. His feet hit the ground lightly as he jumped from the car, gravel crunching under his feet as he stealthily crept up on us. Something scraped the tiles on the roof.

“Look up,” Ethan instructed, tilting my head back to look up at the red tiled roof.

Sitting gracefully among the tiles was a tall figure brushing dust off of his leather jacket. A tumble of neglected dark curls framed a face brimming with malevolent mischief. “These tiles are loose. You ought to have them looked at,” he said, in a British accent, sending one crashing down toward our heads.

Ethan ducked us out of the way, laughing.

The stranger landed beside us. “You’re in a sad state, Byron.”

“One can’t remain a vagabond forever.”

“Let’s have a look at you then, love,” our visitor said, moving about me in an exaggerated imitation of a horse trader. “Not quite your usual wine my friend, still an intoxicating libation. Local vintage?”

“American grown from old European stock.”

“Intriguing blend of flavors. Is she mute?”

Ethan laughed. “I should be so fortunate.”

I had to speak up. “To his unending delight, I have a tongue.”

“Mia, this is Philip. It’s all right, this one doesn’t bite.”

I offered my hand. He made a show of bowing and kissing it. “Your devoted slave, madam. Exactly what you need, Beatrice to your Benedick— she’ll keep you on your toes arrogant monster. And she hasn’t been presented yet?’

“We’ll discuss this
later
.”

“Keeping secrets? Not a wise idea, they develop a diabolical habit of listening at keyholes.”

“Later, Philip.”

“As you wish, there’s an eternity for the dreary business I’ve been sent for, besides I want to know this fascinating creature better. Where
did
he scare you up, wench?”

“The theater, I was an actress.”

“At last!” he proclaimed. “Another in this deadly dull company who understands life! A tedious lot, Mia— except for our Kurt— he’s an
artiste
if of a silent disposition. I don’t wonder Ethan keeps you far from him. You’d fall for his amazing, azure eyes.”

“Philip,” Ethan said.

“Don’t be a bore, Ethan. We’re going out to peruse the menu! There’s a perfectly luscious bellboy at my hotel. Are they all so delicious?”

Ethan shook his head. “Show him around while I’ll dress.”

Philip offered his arm, leading me into the bedroom. “Pity we can’t linger… ”

“She’s not your flavor,” Ethan jibed.

Philip paused before the mirror to give a perfunctory run of fingers through his curls. “One enjoys a departure from the usual and Southern cuisine has a certain spice in either flavor.”

“And the North?” Ethan challenged.

Philip struck a pose. “Substantial fare, but much too heavy on the palate.”

That broke them both up.

“Where’d you two meet?” I asked.

Philip’s brown eyes widened. “Haven’t you told her
anything
?”

Ethan cleared his throat. “Philip and I are… brothers.”

I looked from Ethan to Philip and then back again. “Brovik made you both?”

Philip wrapped his arm about my throat, pulling me close to him. “She invokes the name of the deity, how shall we punish her?”

“Lock her in a room with you for a few hours. Your punning will turn her into a mass of jelly.”

Philip dipped me backward like a tango dancer. “She’ll forget you, I guarantee it.”

Ethan smiled smugly. “Somehow I doubt it. You’re going to stay here?”

“I’m at the hotel.”

“I won’t have it said I didn’t offer hospitality to my own blood.”

“Very well, you’ve convinced me.”

I took Philip’s arm. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

The villa was small and it didn’t take long. Philip questioned me about my origins in the theatre and how I liked Italy. He was relaxed and humorous. I adored him from the first.

“Lovely house,” he commented. “Very congenial.”

“It’s lonely,” I said. “I’m glad you’ve come.”

He wrapped his arms about me. “It can be a cold world for us. It’s good to find friends.” He bent his head close to my ear. “There’s another anxious to befriend you.”

Ethan descended the stairs, dressed in a fine, dark suit. “Corrupting her?”

“You’d be disappointed if I didn’t.” Philip suddenly grimaced. “You aren’t wearing
that
? We’re going for a leisurely stroll through town to absorb the local color not a night at the opera. How do you expect to mingle?” Philip shook his head in disgust. “This hackneyed image, the suave aristocrat with the deadly secret— you’re not happy unless women drop at your feet as you walk by.”

“This is as dressed down as he gets,” I put in.

“Quick Mia, muss his hair, loosen his tie, make him
appear
a mere mortal!”

“Impossible,” Ethan drawled. “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” he warned me as my hand reached out to his freshly clipped, smoothly combed black hair.

“It’s so sexy when that lock of hair strays into your eyes.”

“He’s beyond help, Mia.” Philip offered his arm. “Come, we’ll have a good time in spite of Lord Ruthven. You must promise to show me the lifeblood of this place. He wouldn’t understand.”

“Ethan always knows where to find that.”

Our eyes met for a moment. Philip looked about to say something.

“See Philip, completely besotted, dull as I am.”

Philip stood there shaking his tousled head. “There are stars in her eyes yet. Wait until she figures you out monster. Lovers— how hopelessly banal— these dreary triangles, the old ones, the alphas, the little ones, all bound together in a ghastly morass of obsession.”

“Don’t you ever stop?” Ethan interrupted.

“Only at sunrise, when the cock crows, I cease to. We’ll take my car.”

“It’s a two-seater,” Ethan complained, as we stood in the drive, surveying the sharp little Bugati parked there.

Philip’s smile was all sweet viciousness. “Put her on your lap, I’m sure that she’s well acquainted with it.”

The saying is, “See Naples and die.” At this time, she was still badly scarred by the war, but valiantly rallying to her feet, with one of the most beautiful natural settings, yet the worst slums in the Old World. Crime was a way of life, commerce a bustling street bazaar of oriental proportion. The Greeks first settled in the hills above the bay, naming their city
Parthenope
after the mythological Siren. I for one appreciated the irony of the city’s origins.

We spent a lively evening in Naples at a jazz club with the loquacious Philip who, as it turned out was, in his former incarnation, an actor of Elizabethan vintage, which naturally sparked my curiosity. I asked if he knew Shakespeare and Marlowe, had he ever seen Gloriana herself?

Philip’s syllables came trippingly off of his agile tongue, “Why would a magnificent butterfly want to remember life as a lowly caterpillar? Bad food, plague, and cutthroats on the roads we traveled, not to mention the stigma of my profession— what did I have left— another ten, fifteen years if I was lucky? Brovik was a
god.
I’m eternally grateful to him.”

“He’s as much of a liar as the rest,” Ethan said, with a snide little smile.

“This is where your ravishing protector and I part company, Mia. He’s far too wrapped in his mortal raiment. Wear the mask by all means, especially if it’s so diabolically appealing in design, find the role you are most comfortable playing… ”

“The fool in your case,” Ethan said.

“Motley
is
the only wear. Give no offense— yet speak the truth. You’d be wise to follow my example, Mia. Ah, there’s that waiter again.”

We stayed out as long as we dared until false dawn lightened the sky, but still Philip rose early the next evening to go out. When he returned, I bounded out to meet him. He’d fed. His pallor was deeper, cheeks fresh and pink, looking even handsomer than the night before. The dark curls were neatly brushed, looking quite respectable by Ethan’s standards, but his suit was flashier, his tie louder and his manner anything but subdued. He leapt out of the car and landed on his feet before me, sweeping me into his arms in a parody of a passionate embrace. “Mia, come away to Venice and leave your moth-eaten lover to pine!” I burst into laughter. He released me, and I took his arm as we headed off to the house. “Where’s the old monster?”

“Reading.”

“Some boring philosopher, I’ll reckon?”

“Poetry, actually.”

“There’s
some
hope for him.” He burst through the door. “Sound the trumpets for my entrance!” He made a deep flourishing bow. “Good evening Ruthven— or is it Byron?”

“Do I hear bells?” Ethan said, not looking up from his book.

“Aye, they toll for thee, ungrateful son of the blood,” Philip said, ominously creeping up behind Ethan’s chair.

“Where have you been?”

“In search of the ravishing waiter from last night—
Vincenzo.
” Philip reclined on the sofa Mark Antony style, as I draped myself around the back of Ethan’s chair. “As you see, I took a page from Ethan’s book and dressed to dazzle his mortal eyes.”

“That tie
is
blinding,” Ethan commented.

“Somber weeds are for mournful Calibans like you. I’m a spirit of the air!”

Ethan smirked. “From ear to ear that is.”

“Go on,” I urged Philip.

Ethan glanced up from his book. “Ten-thousand lira, he let him go.”

Philip ignored him and continued to elucidate on his conquest, “I again descended to the temple of Jazz, and spirited lovely, young Vincenzo away to a small hotel.”

“No mean feat, considering how you terrified him last night,” Ethan remarked.

“I expressed my admiration for his breathtaking beauty.”