Cara Mia - Book One of the Immortyl Revolution (6 page)

Joe remained by the door, unsure of how to begin. She studied his face for a moment. “Guess we have a deal, Doctor.”

He took out his notebook and took a seat. “I want you to tell me whatever you can, without embellishment, pertinent information on your behavior, without the sensationalism of your journal.”

She laughed. “Vampire stories have to be sensational or they aren’t much fun. It’s a full-blown Gothic tale with dark corners and mysterious strangers. I’m afraid it’s the only way I know.”

“Be serious, I’m trying to help you.”

“A girl can’t survive in my racket if she’s too serious. My
modus operandi
is to amuse. Two things at which I’m very accomplished— one is a witty turn of phrase— the other I’ll leave to the imagination. I know you have an
active
imagination.”

“Just answer my questions and I won’t bother you any more.”

“But I find you so nice to look at.” The dark eyes gave him the once over, rosebud mouth parting slightly in a smile. “You don’t like when I compliment you?”

A little stab started behind his eyes. “Just call me Joe. If we’re going to work together, we should be on a first name basis. Don’t you think so, Mia?”

The doll’s mask became an evil pixie’s. “You’re right,
Youssef.
That
is
your real name?”

“Yes,
Maria
— that’s your real name?”

“Demons in our past we’d rather forget. Yours hail from Teheran, apparently.”

“I was born there. How did you know?”

She settled in the armchair, drawing her legs under her in a little girl pose, like some centerfold. If this wasn’t a demon from hell what was? All innocence, the prim little flower mouth, and eyes kind of lost and bewildered— it was an illusion. This
thing
was malignant.

“Dr. Youssef Ansari, creator of
The Enigma
, a revolutionary new kind of PET scan, the man who holds the key to the soul, so they say. I do my homework. Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me.”

“I’d like to start with a few simple questions I jotted down in regard to what I read in your notebook.” He removed the notes from his pocket. “You were very badly beaten that night?”

“You would ask.”

“Not personal details— just curious about the healing process of your body. Wounds heal fast?”

She shrugged. “Depends on how severe.”

“What was the most severe injury you’ve sustained?”

“Physically or spiritually?”

“Physically, of course.”

“Took a bullet in the shoulder. Took about a week to heal completely. Blood vessels closed off right away, but the hole was there awhile.”

“Did it hurt?”

She looked at him. “Of course. I feel pain.”

“I see.” He wrote this fact down then looked up again. “So after a severe beating you were able to regain consciousness in a very short time, but it left you struggling and in need of… uh… nourishment?”

“Blood?” She sneered. “Go on, you’re dying to ask. Who was he?”

“I’m not trying to dissect your personal experiences but I did wonder. It wasn’t Kurt?”

“Kurt? No. My master.”

“
Master?
He changed you?”

“That’s a whole other story.”

Joe abruptly changed subject. “Do you normally feel cold that intensely?”

“Not like mortals— but it was below zero and I’d lost a lot of blood. When he dumped me into that alley he sucked back a lot of what he’d given thirty-six years before. If he’d taken more I wouldn’t have regained consciousness— just lain there until morning and
hasta la vista baby
. He wanted me to suffer before fate took care of me.”

Joe leaned forward. “Fate?”

“Survival is tricky. Consider the practicalities doctor. It’s vital I have a roof over my head at sunrise. I require clothes on my back. I need real food too— not just blood. So, I need money. Manhattan isn’t cheap. Ever tried to rent an apartment without identification or a bank account? No birth certificate, no driver’s license or social security card. Legally speaking, I didn’t exist. But that’s just the easy stuff. I also require additional
nourishment
every week to ten days. That’s a lot of corpses to get rid of. I have to dig shallow graves, dump them into rivers or cut them up into little pieces, all without being seen. Wouldn’t do to have New York’s finest snooping around. Still— that’s not the worst of it. Imagine a lone woman in the ancient world, no man to protect her— I’m fair game. I had to deal with my own kind and that’s always a delicate situation.”

“I don’t understand.”

“A girl on her own among that band of perverts and miscreants? Think about it. They follow whatever custom was fashionable in their time, or in the case of my contemporaries reject enlightened ways in favor of older ones. I’m mere chattel. I don’t have the benefit of laws to protect my rights. Technically, I’m discarded property. But I’m sure our quaint, old-fashioned customs are of no interest?”

“Behavior is often driven by biological predisposition.”

Her mouth twisted up. “Yeah, they’re human and they still act like it. Strip away the mantle of civilization and what’s there?”

“This pimp— is he typical of the sort of victims you seek out?”

“It’s easier to take down sleazoids. No one likes them or will miss them much. Besides, pimps are a favorite flavor of mine.”

Joe winced. “
Flavor?
We, that is to say,
human beings
have different flavors?”

“It’s vampire-speak, certain victims give a certain psychological release. Revenge is sweet Joe— but pimps are small game. My master trained me to seduce and kill powerful men, a fine art. I know all sorts of kinky tricks if you’re interested. In any case there’s more to it than sex. What’s most important is to pinpoint a man’s weakness and exploit it for all it’s worth. Luring a man to your bed is no great feat if you’re attractive— stealing his soul away— now there’s the prize.”

“I’m not much for metaphysics.”

Her bee-stung mouth twitched. “No, you’re the objective man of science. Neurons firing— biochemical transmitters— that’s the meaning of life.”

“Something like that.”

She chuckled. “Everything on a map with a key, but it’s not that simple, my friend.”

He changed the subject. “How long have you been… like this?”

“I can sit hear and answer questions till the bats come home or just tell you as it all happened, be your Sheherazade and beguile you for a thousand and one nights.”

“We don’t have that much time.”

“I have all the time in the world. Where shall I begin?”

“At the beginning would be a good place. How did you become a vampire?”

Mia began, “First off, we don’t refer to ourselves by that vulgar term. We prefer
Immortyl,
with a Y. Of course I could care less, call a spade a spade, I say… ”

“Remember those three chicks in Dracula? His so-called
brides
who attack Harker? Ever wonder what their story was? How’d they end up there and what did they do with their considerable time? It wasn’t like he just flew into my bedroom window as a bat or something. There are circumstances leading up.

My parents emigrated from Italy in nineteen thirty. He was the son of a minor aristocrat and she was a servant. She was pregnant. He was an operatic tenor. Needless to say, they weren’t exactly well off. My mother died at my birth, and my father followed when I was eleven. After an abusive Catholic upbringing by my father’s spinster sister Selena, I ran off to Manhattan to become an actress.

Two years of pounding the pavement got me a break in a play directed by an acting teacher of mine, a married man who took me as his protegee and mistress. The play was Ibsen’s
Master Builder.
Not that that means a thing to you, Joe, but the antagonist Hilde is a dream part for a young actress, no simpering ingenue, but a first-class demon with the power to drive a man to his death. It’s a sexual power struggle between a young woman, Hilde, and the older titular character, Solness. At this point, I was barely aware of the awesome power of this primal force, but I was a quick learner.

I’ll never forget that nasty, rainy December night when I first met my fate. I was busy smearing cold cream on my face to remove my make up when the assistant stage manager knocked on the door of the dressing room I shared with two female cast members. I was always the last one out. This was my time to go over the performance mentally and analyze what had worked and what hadn’t, to retain anything new I’d found in the character.

“Hey Mia, some guy out in the lobby wants to meet you.”

The occasional audience member wanted to chat but most of these guys weren’t really interested in my acting. Making a face in the mirror I called back, “Anyone important?”

“Never heard of him, but this one’s created quite a stir with the female staff.”

Well, that was different. Apparently, this one was a
looker
. What would be the harm? “Be right out. Let him into the green room,” I hollered.

The first sight of him was if I’d been dealt a blow to the gut, a good sock right in the old breadbasket. I had to gasp for air. If a god walked on earth, surely this was one. And yet he looked vaguely familiar… The naughty boy had the audacity to take the form of my erotic fantasies. Gorgeous body, tall, strong, high cheekbones, straight flawlessly formed nose, firm and determined jaw, all crowned with a mass of thick, straight, coal black hair. But it was his eyes that ripped my heart out of my chest. They were blue, not the bright blue of cornflowers on a summer’s day, or the soft blue of a robin’s egg in spring, but the cold blue of frozen winter seas, almost white in their chilly brilliance, the irises surrounded by a thin black ring that caused them to stand out in stunning contrast to his lustrous midnight hair.

He smiled at me, arrogance in his full mouth. What a bad, bad boy! His expensive black suit hung on that six-four frame like it’d been placed there by a legion of devils out to enslave hapless females who crossed his path.

A long white manicured hand reached out to mine. I averted my eyes. The luster of this creature was too brilliant for mortal sight. Power emanated from him and I was drawn irresistibly— knees weak, dripping
wet
. My heart raced in my chest to keep up with the frantic pace of the intimate pictures forming in my brain.

I stole another glance. Icy eyes locked on mine and a most intriguing grin enlivened his hauteur. Recognition, something in my expression he liked.

When at last he spoke, I melted. His voice was deep and rich as a perfectly tuned cello, and to top it off a soft southern accent, infinitely pleasing in its highs and lows, warm and lazy as a summer breeze. “Miss Disantini? Very pleased to make your acquaintance. I enjoyed your performance immensely. You have an extraordinary gift. I shall be keeping my eye on you.”

My mouth parted. I lost all sense of place and time, imprisoned like Merlin, rendered powerless in the crystalline ice caves of his eyes. Yet, in spite of the chill, there was heat in my veins. If he’d said come, I’d have gone— no question. I managed to summon my voice. “Thank you, Mr… .”

A flush overcame me. My knees sagged. He caught my elbow and steadied me. The marble-hard hand was hot through the wool of my dress. His eyes mocked me as if they were used to young women swooning under their gaze. “Miss Disantini? Are you poorly?”

I lied of course. “Just a little tired after my performance.”

“Such a role requires great insight.” He sounded like he knew what he was talking about. “You’ve captured her spirit very well and that’s not an easy task.”

I was baffled by his knowledge. “You’re an actor?”

Well, he
looked
like a matinee idol. Cold eyes lit up and his face creased in merriment, he laughed, guffawed even, a rich rolling sound from deep within his chest.

“Miss Disantini, you’re a very charming young lady. Might I ask— ”

He never finished the sentence because my lover, Richard, came into the Green Room, calling out to me impatiently. The beautiful stranger threw him a withering look.

I hated to tear myself away from this apparition of delight. “Master’s voice— gotta run.”

“Until we meet again Miss Disantini. A privilege.”

I half expected him to bend over and kiss my hand he was so very courtly and archaic, yet he merely gripped it firmly and then turned to go. I tingled all over. Cast and crew parted like the Red Sea to let him pass, not one head topping his. I’d never seen anything like him. He positively
glittered
.

In the bedroom that night, I met Richard’s caresses with a fervor that surprised us both, but it wasn’t him I made love to. It was the dark one of my dreams.

The play had gotten me notice and I was asked to audition to replace another young actress in a Broadway hit. I would take over when my run ended in
The Master Builder
. My career was going along swimmingly. February of nineteen fifty, I turned twenty. Richard planned to take me out after the show for dinner, dancing and the whole nine yards. I splurged on a new evening dress, black satin, cut down to there. I felt sophisticated and devastatingly chic in it. The saleswoman assured me black was my color. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that.

What had become of my stranger? Probably squiring swan-necked debutantes in limousines, drinking champagne from their slippers and that bullshit, I assured myself. He looked like he had a pedigree worthy of the royal family. What could he possibly want with a five-foot-two daughter of immigrants?

After the show, I sat at the dressing table as was my habit, going over the play, humming and removing makeup, when Richard rushed into the room in a fluster. His wife had decided to attend the performance with some friends. He ran off to intercept them while I wiped the last traces of make up away. My face looked pale and oh so very young. Who was I? Some little wop from Brooklyn he’d picked up from his acting class. She was older, rich and for-god-sakes married to him.