by Kirk Zurosky
“Would you believe that the Queen was the one who sought me out because of a prophecy that I was the only man on this earth who could make her be with child?” I said.
“Uh no, not really, because that doesn’t happen to normal men, but I do have to hand it to you, Sirius,” Oliver said. “You do know how to make it complicated. And I mean really, really complicated with some really, really powerful women, who are objectively, ridiculously beautiful.”
Before I could respond, the door of the villa opened, and out stepped a handsome middle-aged man dressed in a simple tunic and breeches. “No,” I said. “After all these centuries it cannot be . . .”
The man walked down to us and extended a hand. “Hello, friends of Oliver von Cliffingham. My name is Don Indigo, welcome to my home.”
“Soldier,” I said. “It is me, Sirio Sinestra, though I now go by Sirius Sinister. Do you remember me from long ago in Segovia?”
Don Indigo looked at me curiously. “I have never been to Segovia, good sir,” he said. “Kind of a family thing. Though Spaniards by birth, we avoid the mother country. And I do not believe you and I have ever met.”
I remembered that the Don Indigo I knew had a scar on the bridge of his nose, but this man was unblemished. He had never seen the horrors of battle as had his namesake. “I am sorry, you are correct, good sir,” I said averting my eyes. “I must have been mistaken.”
“You are correct and incorrect all at the same time, my dear Sirius,” Oliver said, nodding to Don Indigo. “You see, Sirius, you knew Don’s great-great-great-grandfather, who was the original Don Indigo. I forgot how Don favors him. Let us toast to his memory later, as he was truly a special man. But, Don, let me tell you the good news! I want you to meet somebody very, very special to me.” He put an arm around Lovely and beamed like the proud papa he was. “This is Lovely, and he is my son!”
“You never told me you had a son,” Don Indigo exclaimed. “But I can clearly see the resemblance. Let us go inside and toast to old family members and new!”
I trailed behind Don Indigo, Oliver, and Lovely, who minute by minute seemed to be growing more comfortable with the notion that Oliver was his father. I had made the decision with great trepidation to travel to this amazing Tuscan countryside, but as the sun began its descent, I took great comfort in the fact that I had clearly done something good in spite of all of my past transgressions. Lovely and Oliver now had each other, and each would never, ever be alone again because they were family. I knew that they both would not rest until Iyonna was set free. I looked at the first emerging stars, and the moon rising into the night sky, and suddenly missed all my daughters, big and small. But no matter where we all were in this big world of ours, or whether we were alone or together, one thing remained constant—we were family too. I would leave in the morning for Sa Dragonera, since my mission here had been a total success.
We entered the villa, and I gasped since, though it seemed rather impressive from the outside, I was not prepared for what I saw when I walked into the massive atrium. The ceiling was impossibly high, and it seemed to be changing in front of my eyes from a brilliant sky-blue to the dark of the night. I stopped and kept staring at it, and stars began winking at me as night took hold of the outside world. “What magic is this?” I said out loud, but Oliver and Don Indigo had kept walking and did not hear me. To my left and right instead of stone columns were great oaks that grew nearly to the sky-ceiling, their branches creating a canopy under which we walked down some marble stairs onto a mossy green carpet, soft as a pillow under our feet. I bent to touch the moss, which was so green and plush that it did not look real, but clearly it was as Garlic was busying herself with rolling around on it with utter joy I had not seen in her since the gardens of Persephone. As beautiful as this place was, nothing compared to Persephone’s work in the garden, and for that matter in the bedroom too.
I caught up with the group and saw Lovely was in deep conversation with his father, so I was left to my own devices. They had much to catch up on and did not need me intruding. We passed through the atrium, over a wooden bridge under which a stream rushed happily over a rocky bed of river stones. I scratched my head in confusion as the stream appeared to erupt from one corner of the room and disappear on the other side. Who had a stream that ran through their house? Apparently the same person who had an elevator made of gold, I mused, as we ascended very slowly to a higher level of the house. “Elevator,” I said to Oliver, pointing down at the rising floor. “Been on one of these before, but this one is a bit more pleasant. This one is going up!”
Oliver laughed and led us out of the elevator and down a wide marble hallway lit by strange glass candles that had no flames in them but just trapped light. We entered a great dining hall and were seated at a table seemingly hewn from a single piece of oak, inlaid with gold vines and cherubs. Grapes grew on long trellises that surrounded the table, and the ceiling was painted the warm blue of the morning sky. Bigger versions of those strange flameless candles illuminated the room with a warm sunny light giving the feel of sitting in the vineyards outside the villa. We eased into chairs made out of wine barrels. Garlic hopped up onto one, spied a house cat in the arbor of grapes, and licked her lips. She preferred to catch her dinner if possible.
Don Indigo caught her eye. “Do not bother with our poor kitty, Garlic,” he said. “Not when she catches any mice that dare breach our threshold, and when we are serving a feast fit for vampire, vampire Maltese, troll, merman, and mortal.” He clapped his hands and a bevy of beautiful servant girls flitted among us, serving plates upon plates of the most tender morsels. One delightful young girl bent to fill my wine and dipped in a little closer to me than she intended, and our heads nearly collided. She blushed nicely as I inhaled her fine perfume that smelled of lavender and nervousness all at once. Yes, this meal came with lots of tender morsels indeed.
After a fine meal and many flagons of even finer wine, Garlic and I were led down a labyrinth of hallways into a bedchamber that appeared to have a roof of pure clear glass. How was that possible? It was December in Tuscany, and I knew the air had a chill bite outside this amazing villa, but I felt nothing but cozy warmth within me, and not just from the wine. I sat down on the bed not feeling the least bit tired and stared up at the starry night. I heard soft footsteps approaching and was pleasantly surprised to see the embarrassed young servant girl from the banquet, carrying an ornate tray upon which were perched two cordial glasses and a bottle of one of the House of Indigo’s finest dessert wines.
“I do not think the other glass is for Garlic,” I said to my rosy-cheeked guest. Garlic yawned, ignoring me, and curled up into a ball on a thick rug next to a fireplace that roared to life as I spoke. Would the wonders of this house never cease?
“It is a rule of the House of Indigo that guests never drink alone,” the girl said.
“A great rule,” I said, taking the glass she had offered and patting a spot on the bed next to me. “I must say, I am enjoying my first visit to the House of Indigo so far.” I held up my glass. “Alla vostra salute!” She sat down next to me, and I enjoyed the scent of her delicious perfume once again. Ah, still lavender, but not a hint of nerves this time—only curiosity. To her health indeed, as her olive skin glowed radiantly in the moonlight, and her green eyes sparkled when she laughed at my jokes. The wine was delicious and our conversation light and airy. When the wine was finished, she set the glasses back on the tray and left. Our eyes met on her way out the door, and I knew by the look she gave me that I did not have to do or say anything. I watched the play of her lithe form under her skirt as she walked away. She would be back.
I stripped off my clothes, found an amazing heated tub in a hidden alcove of the room, and washed the days of travel from my body. I closed my eyes and settled against the back of the tub, and sighed happily. Then I heard a small splash and felt the touch of soft olive skin against my own. I opened my eyes and decided th
e pretty servant girl was even prettier in her natural state. “It is a rule of the House of Indigo that guests never bathe alone,” she said. I could get used to the House of Indigo.
I was already clean, but I wasn’t going to let that stop her from giving me another bath. I was equally happy to be her servant boy, lathering her curves and growing more and more excited as I rinsed the soap off her tan shoulders, small high breasts with the most delightful brown nipples, and supple, toned thighs firm from doing her house duties.
“Let me turn down the sheets,” she said, stepping out of the tub and wrapping herself in a towel.
As she attended to the bed, I dried off, and tucked my towel around my waist. “Are there any other rules of the House of Indigo that I need to know about?” I asked her.
She removed my towel, and her eyes lingered on my body for a moment or two before she dropped her own towel to the floor. “Mmmm,” she said. “Did I mention the rule of the House of Indigo that guests do not sleep alone?”
“You did not,” I said as she sat back on the bed with her legs spread, propped up on her elbows. “But, I am a rule follower.”
Her skin was so smooth to the touch that I wanted to feel every inch of it. Once I brought my lips to her ankles, I saw no reason to stop there, and continued on to her inner thighs. She did not like being teased, and interlocked her fingers in my hair, guiding my mouth to where she wanted me to give her pleasure. I reached to caress those perfect little round breasts, rubbing her nipples between my fingers, and properly serviced the servant girl. Her body tensed, and she pulled my face up from between her thighs.
“No more of that,” she gasped. Reaching for my phallus, she rolled on her side and drew her knees up slightly. “I want this,” she said.
“And, this you shall have,” I said, entering her and causing her to climax immediately.
“That is legendary,” she exclaimed.
Well, that did it. I was now all about making sure that she was going to be pleasured in mythic proportions. Back and forth I thrust, changing speed and angle, but always giving her what she wanted. She was not shy, moving to the positions that she wanted to be in and dictating what we were doing. Finally, she had enough, and rolled flat on her stomach with her legs close together. I climbed on top of her, and with our bodies glistening with the sweat of our exertion, I was inside her once more, and this time we both knew my end was near. I gave her all I had before I finished and dropped to the bed beside her.
She ran her finger across my stomach, getting some of my sweat on her finger. Licking it, she smiled. “The last rule was that no guest climaxes alone in the House of Indigo,” she said. “So now, we are done.”
“I think I like this House of Indigo,” I said as she nestled close to me, and we drifted off to sleep.
I awoke not with the servant girl in my bed for round two, but instead with a vampire Maltese perched on my head, snoring. “Get off, you!” I exclaimed, moving her to the side. We were sadly quite alone, and after I dressed in the fine silks that had been laid out for me, another servant appeared—a burly man, to my great disappointment—and he led me back to the atrium where I met up with Lovely and Oliver.
I looked up past the trees to the ceiling, now showing gray clouds, and for a moment thought I felt a bit of rain on my face. I looked out to see that it was indeed raining. “Don Indigo,” I said, “your house is most unique. How is it that what is going on outside appears here on the inside?”
Don Indigo beamed with pride. “Mr. Sinister,” he said, “there are centuries of workmanship and generations of Indigo ingenuity that have all come together to make this house all that it is, and all that it will be.”
“So you are not going to tell me?”
Don Indigo shook his head. “I cannot,” he said. “As I have made the promise to my ancestors to keep the family secrets, well . . . secret.”
That actually made perfect sense to me, since there were so many unscrupulous characters I had come across in my travels that would seek to use this house’s magic for their own nefarious plans. I shuddered to think of what Andrew Murfield or Baron Orcinus would do with it. Actually, I knew what they would do. Take it as their own or destroy it. “All right then,” I said. “Can I at least have a tour of the grounds?”
Oliver looked outside at the rain that was now beginning to fall even harder. I wondered what it sounded like on the glass ceiling in my bedroom. I saw my companion from the previous night walk by, carrying a tray, and she winked. I wondered what a day of lavender and me being even harder than the rain would bring. Oliver shook his head in mock disappointment as he had watched my eyes and read my face. “I see the more things change the more they stay the same, eh, Sirius?”
“It is what I know, and what I do,” I said brusquely. “I enjoy women like I enjoy wine. I just seem to sample a whole lot more vintages than most.”
“Well, in that case,” he said, “let us start in the wine cellar. Remember long ago in Port Royal, I told you about it?”
“Right!” I exclaimed, and then it hit me. “Wait a moment. So this is where the Bane of the Monster and Love Conquers All come from! From this amazing place. I was so worried about you meeting Lovely that I actually forgot about what Don Indigo’s wine had done for me.”
Lovely snapped his fingers. “Sirius,” he said, “I remember those wines from the stories you told us all on the beach. I have to say I thought you that were trying to impress your daughters with such wild stories, but now I realize, after spending some time with you that—”
“They are all true,” his father finished for him. “Sirius does not have to make up stories. His life is wild enough on its own.” Garlic barked, feeling a little left out it seemed. “And Garlic’s too!”
“If only I could thank your ancestor, Don Indigo,” I said.
“My dear ancestor was a very talented man,” said the Don Indigo of the here and now. “Our family lore celebrates that you spared his life and gave him the gold to buy this blessed land and house. That is a gift that keeps bearing fruit—if you will. So come now, to the cellar we shall go!”
This time we headed in an entirely different direction and walked down a hallway that I could see dead-ended at a stone wall. Don Indigo stopped halfway down the passage and pushed on the wall with a series of intricate patterns. There was an audible hiss of air, and the wall swung in as if it was on a huge hinge, and we found ourselves facing another stone wall. Don Indigo waited until the door closed again, leaving us in absolute darkness, and I could hear him touching the wall he faced. It swung open, and we descended a long series of spiral steps carved from one impossibly large piece of crystal. Passageways and ladders of gold crisscrossed the staircase as we descended lower and lower. At one point the stream from inside the house rushed down a wall of the cavern, sending a fine mist into the air, which Garlic sniffed cautiously. She barked and bared her fangs, and the sound bounced back off the staircase right back to her sensitive little ears. The air had seemed cooler when we entered the great cavern, but the temperature had not changed as we went lower and lower.
Finally, we reached the bottom, and there before my eyes were thousands of barrels of wine in a vast network of caverns that spanned as far as my eye could see. The strange lights particular to the villa lined the walls, and I put my finger on one and felt heat, but I was not burned. “House secret?” I said to Don Indigo, who just smiled. As we walked, Don Indigo told Lovely and me about the wine-making process, which I found fascinating for about an instant, if that. Lovely, however, hung on his every word, and I could see he was truly a chip off the old block. I wandered away from Don Indigo and found Oliver inspecting a barrel. Next to him was a locked chamber made from a sort of strange bronze metal that drew my attention.
“What’s in there?” I asked, rubbing a hand over the door, and pulling it back when I felt it was hot to the touch. “Isn’t wine supposed to be stored i
n a cool place?”
Oliver caught my eye. “That chamber is for the special vintages,” he said. He pounded on the door, and I heard the unmistakable sound of something very big and very scaly move away from the door. “Blasted dragon likes to sit sentry on the door. I don’t know how many times I have told him that guard the door means don’t let anyone pass, not actually guard the door. Dragons can be so confoundedly literal sometime.”
“There is a dragon in that chamber?” I asked. “What, Cerberus was not available?”
Oliver went quiet for a second as if considering what I had just said. “One cannot be too careful letting such rarities get into the wrong hands.”
“So there are more wines like Bane of the Monster and Love Conquers All?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” Oliver said. “Perhaps.”
“Family secrets again, eh?” My eyes saw a dusty bottle with a 1604 vintage label. I grabbed it off the shelf and saw Don Indigo stop talking to Lovely and walk over to me nervously. “Come on now, is this bottle really over one hundred years old?” I asked him.
Don Indigo gently took the bottle from me, replacing it like a newborn babe back in its cradle. “It is,” he said exhaling. “And it is the last of its vintage, so it is quite valuable.”
“People pay money for old, dusty wine?”
“Not old,” Oliver said. “Aged. There is a difference. A big difference. Wines need to age properly to get them to a more desirable taste.”
“That is odd,” I said. “I have a whole collection of old blood to sell you back in Harvis’s vault if you want it. If people like old, I mean aged wine, surely some immortal or mortal crazy would like the blood of the famous and mostly evil mortals and half-breeds Dad and I assassinated.” I walked back over to the odd brass vault and pounded on it for emphasis. I turned and faced the group, smiling as I heard the dragon slither away again with an exaggerated hiss of air that I swore I nearly felt on my head. Dragons were indeed such reptilian drama queens—all about making an entrance and an exit.