Max didn't fall for it. "I think I can get Cindy from down the street to babysit,'" he said. "I'll see you at six."
Forget the battle, the whole war was already a lost cause. Kristina was putting herself through hell just so she could have that one special weekend in the mountains with Max before she told him it was over, and it was selfish and unfair of her to do it.
But then, she had never claimed to be perfect.
* * *
CHAPTER 16
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Two of Kristina's European colleagues were still at the shop when Max arrived that evening, at five after six. Between them, Adrian and Enrique had purchased nearly everything in the place, and the few items they hadn't claimed had been sold via telephone and fax to still other dealers. Both men had hired shipping companies, and Kristina's treasures were being bound up in bubble wrap, taped into boxes, and put into huge wooden crates with shredded paper for padding.
Adrian and Enrique oversaw the whole process, each one jealously guarding his spoil, and many things had already been taken away in trucks. Adrian's purchases would go to a small shop in Avignon, and Enrique owned an exclusive place in Toronto.
Max, who had had no idea what to expect, in that charming way of mortals, was flabbergasted to find the shop in the process of being emptied.
Adrian and Enrique paused in their noisy supervisory duties just long enough to assess the newcomer, then ignored him. He was definitely not their type.
Max was still standing just inside the door, looking stunned, when Kristina went to him, took his hand, and gently pulled him into the back room, where they could have a modicum—though not much more—of privacy.
"What in hell is going on here?" Max demanded in a loud whisper. Kristina knew he was worried, not angry.
"There are some things I need to tell you," she said. "We established that this morning. Now, are you ready to go out for pizza and some intense conversation, or shall we stay here and make sure Adrian and Enrique don't kill each other?"
Max's large, football player's shoulders rolled under his sports jacket; he might have flung out his arms if the back room hadn't been so small and so jammed with Kristina's personal belongings—the microwave, the stash of herbal teas, the mugs, the table and chairs. There was also a small desk, which held a laptop computer, a miniature printer, and her fax machine.
"There are definitely some things you need to tell me. How about starting right now?"
She moved close to him, slipped her arms around his waist, laid her cheek against his chest. He smelled of a recent shower and crisp, fresh air, and she wished she could hold Max like that forever.
It was then, of all times, that she realized who he was—or more properly, who he had been, once upon a time. The knowledge nearly buckled her knees, but she wouldn't let herself fold up now. There were too many things to be done.
"I don't want to talk here," she said, blinking back tears, her forehead pressed against Max's breastbone. "Please—there's a quiet place down the street, with candlelight and soft music and tables tucked away in the shadows. Let's go there."
Max held her tightly for a moment, then took her shoulders in his hands and looked down into her eyes. "Fine." he said. "But what about those hairdresser types out there? Do you trust them?"
Kristina couldn't help smiling at Max's description of her colleagues. "They're art and antiques dealers, Max, not cat burglars. Besides, I've already put through their Gold Card numbers. Thanks to the wonders of electronics, the money for what they've bought is being transferred into my business account even as we speak."
He smiled at that, and kissed her forehead, but she knew he was still troubled. "Let's get out of here," he said. "Unlike most people, I get hungry when I'm stressed."
In the main part of the shop the circus of labeling, packing, and arguing in four languages continued. Kristina explained that she and Max were leaving, and would be back later to lock up. She didn't bother with introductions.
It was a short walk to Luigi's Ristorante, only a block or so, and the night was cold. The stars were out, but seemed somehow more distant than before, as though they had taken a step back from a doubtful Earth. Max held Kristina's hand, but neither of them spoke until they had checked Kristina's coat and taken a seat at one of the most private tables.
They chose a red wine and ordered the house specialty: a wonderful, thick-crusted pizza with an astronomical calorie count, preceded by insalata mista—a simple mixed salad.
Max held his peace until the greens arrived. Then he stabbed a forkful of lettuce leaves and said, "All right, Kristina. What's the deal?"
"Are you asking why I showed up at your house in the middle of the night or why I'm shutting down my business?"
Max laid his fork down again, the food untouched. "Both," he said. He looked like a man who didn't want to hear the answer he himself had demanded.
"Unfortunately it wouldn't be quite accurate to start with either of those events," Kristina said, resigned. Amazingly, she found she had an appetite and began to nibble at her salad. She hoped she wasn't going to turn out to be one of those mortals who ate when they were stressed, like Max—with her circle of friends and relations, she'd double her weight in a month. "I've discovered something very interesting about myself, Max. I'm human. I mean, fully, completely, flesh-and-blood human."
She had expected him to be pleased, but as Kristina watched Max's reaction, she saw something peculiar in his face. Not fear, exactly. She couldn't be sure what it was she'd glimpsed, and it wasn't the right time to ask. He began to eat.
"Maybe you were always mortal and just didn't know it."
Kristina shook her head. "I had magical powers, and they're gone now. My father has performed tests—he was—is—a doctor, you know. There's no doubt that I've changed."
Max let out a long sigh, polished off his salad, and started on the breadsticks. "Why didn't you tell me last night?"
"It was late, and I felt bad enough about disrupting your household that way as it was. Besides, the timing wasn't right."
"Okay. Let's move on to that. What brought you to my door in the wee small hours, with Barabbas at your heels, looking as though you'd just barely outrun the devil?"'
"Maybe I had," Kristina said, reaching for her wine, a rich Chianti, and taking a thoughtful sip. She set the glass aside. "I wanted to protect you and the children, and I knew I couldn't manage without my magic. So I brought Barabbas to serve as a sort of watchdog."
Max leaned forward, his second breadstick forgotten in his hand. "Protect us from what?" he pressed quietly.
Kristina was still a little wounded that he wasn't happier about her being mortal, which didn't make sense, of course, because she was going to have to tell him, very soon, that they couldn't see each other anymore. What she would never tell him was that Benecia and Canaan had plans to possess his children; he could do nothing to save them and would only be tormented by the knowledge that they were in danger.
And he'd hate her for bringing that peril into their lives.
"Just—things in general," she answered after a long, painful silence, during which she indulged in several more sips of wine. "I've already explained about my unfortunate connections with the supernatural underworld, Max. Please don't force me to say more, because it would serve absolutely no purpose."
Max was quiet, indulging in his own wine, though in gulps rather than sips. Finally, pale under his year-around suntan, he said, "Let's get back to the subject of your mortality for a moment. I don't give a damn about your lost magic, and it isn't your job to protect me or my family anyway, though I appreciate the effort. Does this mean that you can die, like everybody else?''
The food arrived, with exquisitely bad timing. They both sat in silence while the waiter gave them plates and forks and red-and-white-checked napkins, then cut the succulent pizza into wide sections dripping cheese.
Kristina watched Max the whole time, feeling as though she'd been struck. Maybe Max had never
truly cared for her at all. Maybe he'd only wanted her because he thought she couldn't get sick or be killed in an accident. The way Sandy had been.
"Yes," she said when the solicitous waiter had finally left them alone. "I'm as vulnerable as anyone else." She tried to smile but didn't quite achieve it. "Guess I take after my father's side of the family—he was still a mere man when I was conceived."
Max waited until Kristina had taken a serving of the steaming, fragrant pizza for herself, then slid a double helping onto his own plate. He ate with his fingers, while Kristina used a fork.
"Why are you closing the shop?'' he asked, after refilling both their wineglasses. She knew, though, that he was still mulling over what she'd just told him, that she wasn't going to live forever.
Kristina bit her lower lip. Lying had never come easily to her, and it was almost impossible with Max. She was already straining the limits of her abilities. "I guess I'm tired of working for a living," she said. "I don't have to, you know—I have more than enough money."
"I'd guessed that," Max replied. "That you weren't poor, I mean. But you've got to admit the decision might seem sudden to the casual onlooker."
"I'm impulsive," Kristina said with a little shrug. She hadn't meant to sound flippant, but there was so much she couldn't say. Not yet.
"Am I about to be dumped?" Another Max-ism. If you want to know something, ask. A simple concept, in theory at least, but damn hard to emulate in practice. Or so it seemed to Kristina, who felt mired in lies and omissions.
She didn't want to give up Thanksgiving dinner with a real family, or the long, delicious weekend in the snowy mountains. It was pure selfishness, and she knew it, but there it was. The rest of her life looked too long and too lonely to survive, without the comfort of these last few precious memories.
"I was wondering the same thing," Kristina said. "Whether or not you'd decided to break things off."
"I don't know," he finally replied, meeting her gaze straight on. She loved him for that, for so many things. "I love you, Kristina—I'd like nothing better than to marry you and make babies—but it scares the hell out of me, and I'm not talking about warlocks and vampires here. It's the idea that you could—that what happened with Sandy could happen all over again—"
Kristina reached out and touched his hand. "It's okay, Max," she said softly. "I understand."
He interlaced his fingers with hers and squeezed. "I'm not going to ask you what your plans are," he said hoarsely, "because I don't think I could deal with the answer right now. So let's just take things one day, one moment at a time, at least until after this weekend. Agreed?"
Kristina swallowed a throatful of tears. "Agreed," she said.
They ate a good deal of the pizza, and then Max walked Kristina back to the shop, where Enrique and Adrian were still packing and giving orders and arguing. Kristina gave Adrian a spare key—she had several, because of the new door—and asked him to lock up when they were finished.
Adrian kissed her on both cheeks, which made Enrique feel compelled to do the same, though he seemed a bit put out that his competitor had been the one chosen to close the shop. Max waited patiently by the door, then drove Kristina to her car, which was parked in a lot several blocks away.
"Feel like spending the night?'' he asked, getting out of the Blazer to open her door for her and see her inside and properly seatbelted.
Kristina considered, then shook her head. She'd imposed enough as it was by showing up unannounced the night before. Another appearance would probably worry Bree and Eliette, or at least confuse them. "I could send Barabbas over, though."
Max rolled his eyes. "Thanks," he said, "but no, thanks." He bent and kissed her through the open window of the driver's door. "Try not to worry so much," he said, when it was over. He'd left her dizzy, but he didn't seem to have a clue how his kisses made her feel. "There are fiends and ghouls in the world, mortal and otherwise. I wouldn't have believed the 'otherwise', if it hadn't been for you, but you reminded me of something else, Kristina. Something I'd almost completely forgotten, because I was so furious that a woman as sweet and smart and innocent as Sandy could die like that."
There were tears on Kristina's face, and she didn't try to hide them. Nor did she speak.
Max dried her cheeks, first one and then the other, with the edge of his thumb. "You made me remember how much good there is in the world. For every demon, there's an angel."
An old memory brushed Kristina's heart, like the soft, feathered wing of a passing cherubim. Once, when she was very young, Benecia Havermail had told Kristina that she was doomed, being the child of two vampires, and would surely burn in hell forever. Kristina had been terrified and had run to her governess, the unflappable Phillie, with the news that she was damned.
"Heaven bears you no ill will, child," Phillie had said, smoothing Kristina's hair with a tender motion of her hand. "While the bodies of innocents sometimes suffer, their spirits are inviolate. Do you understand what that means?"
Kristina, being seven or eight at the time, and uncommonly bright, had gotten the gist. Flesh was temporary, spirit was eternal.
She brought herself back to the here and now, heartened, but still wishing for Phillie. How reassuring it would have been to tell her troubles to her old friend, the way she had as a little girl, as a young bride, as a lonely wanderer.
"You'll be okay?" Max asked, caressing her cheek.
Kristina nodded, and as she pulled away she said a little prayer that Eliette and Bree would be guarded, with special care.
There was no word from Dathan, or from Valerian, her parents, or any of the other vampires of her acquaintance, that night. Only Barabbas greeted her, trotting over and plopping down beside the chair in her bedroom, when she sat down to read another of the ancient volumes she had borrowed from her mother.
She couldn't have said why she bothered, for even if she found a spell to protect Bree and Eliette and Max, it would be of no real use, now that her magic was gone.
She learned nothing at all in fact, and her sleep that night was crowded with dreams, all of which stayed just out of conscious reach when she awakened in the morning.
After showering, dressing, and feeding Barabbas, Kristina drove back down to the shop. Adrian had locked the place, as promised, and he and Enrique and all their little hired elves were gone.
The place was practically empty, except for those things that had still to be boxed for shipment to other dealers. Kristina could have hired the work done, of course, but she wanted to be busy, to keep her mind off Benecia Havermail's aspirations to be human and well away from the absolute necessity of breaking things off with Max. She most certainly didn't want to consider the implications of her inevitable union with the warlock, so she kept her brain as blank as she could and worked furiously until the sun had gone down and she was exhausted.
Again there were no visitations from supernatural creatures, and Kristina was boundlessly grateful. She made a simple supper, attended to Barabbas's canine needs—i.e., a walk and a bowl of kibbles—and finally settled herself in front of the family room TV. Unable to face the old letters to Phillie that still remained to be read, or the volumes that were yielding no solutions to her problems, she tuned in to the shopping channel and sat sipping herbal tea. By the end of the evening, she owned two gold bracelets and a combination grill and waffle maker.
She would figure out what to do with this largess some other time.
Morning brought some good news, however minor. Her period was over.
Kristina went through the showering, dressing, and eating ritual and, clad in jeans and a sweatshirt, returned to the shop to finish packing the last of her stock. Only a few items had not been sold; she would take those home and, like the loot from the shopping channel, dispense with them later.
By noon a delivery van had arrived, and the driver was wheeling boxes out to his truck in relays. Kristina signed the necessary papers, supplied her account number, and then stood in the near-empty s
hop, wanting to cry but not quite able to manage it. She'd loved building the business, but she knew it was the process of doing that that she'd truly cared about, not the establishment itself.
She wondered, with wry depression, what her duties would be as queen of the warlocks. How could there even be a queen of the warlocks, for pity's sake, if witches, the female of the species, were an entirely separate group? Come to that, how could there be warlocks or witches if the two genders hated each other too much to mate?
Kristina had decided to donate the microwave, table and chair, fax machine, etc., to a charitable group. They arrived with a truck of their own and took away the contents of the back room, the place that had been her refuge during hectic work days. She threw in the unsold antiques for good measure so she wouldn't have to carry them to her car. and then went home.
She'd been in the house approximately five minutes when Daisy called. From the electronic choppiness of the transmission, Kristina guessed that her friend was using the cell phone she carried in her fanny pack.
"'You might tell a person you're closing up shop," snapped Valerian's bride, "instead of just folding your tent like some sheik and stealing silently off into the night."
Kristina smiled, even though she felt more like crying. Daisy usually had a cheering effect on her, and she hoped her upcoming, lifetime alliance with Dathan wouldn't interfere with their friendship. "Sorry," she said. "It was a sudden decision."
"Like agreeing to become Dathan's bride?" Daisy demanded between crackles. "Damn, I always forget to charge this thing. Stay where you are—I'm coming right over."
Kristina sighed, put on water for tea, and waited.
Daisy arrived within twenty minutes. Barabbas greeted her with pitiful delight, squirming at her feet like a puppy.
"You've got to take him back to your place," Kristina said. "I can't bear the guilt—I feel like the villainess in a Lassie movie."
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