Ghosts of Atlantis (Immortal Montero Book 3)

by Greg Mongrain

  “With what?”

  “Standing, maybe?”

  “I’ll be back,” I said, doing my best Schwarzenegger. I set down the shot glass, glanced at my watch. Aliena would be upstairs for fifteen or twenty minutes.

  The first few steps away from the bar required a bit of concentration, but I finally stationed myself near one of the niches in the wall, enjoying the alcohol buzz before it dissipated.

  Go-Go dancers gyrated in their cages, suspended above the crowd. Their tight one-piece outfits clearly showed they possessed no hidden weapons. The girl on the left was not dancing alone. Glowing luminescent white, a skinny, tuxedo-clad spirit twirled in time to her movements, occasionally doffing his top hat to women passing below.

  “I have seen you at 49, but we have never been introduced.”

  I turned. She had appeared next to me, elegant and stunning, her face perfectly symmetrical, with eyes as black as her hair. She looked like the woman to whom Darius had spoken at Carmen’s execution.

  “Kristina,” she said.

  “Sebastian.”

  I kissed her proffered hand, nearly blinded by a thick diamond bracelet encircling her wrist, the flawless stones twinkling against the inky backdrop of her black satin glove. A yellow-gold signet ring featuring a three-pronged spear inside three circles of diamonds gleamed on her finger. She had wrapped herself tightly in a sapphire-blue cheongsam edged in black and gold. Below the chaste, banded collar, cutouts in the dress formed a chrysanthemum, artfully revealing Kristina’s golden skin and the deep shadow between her breasts.

  “Are you here with Aliena?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  The subtle change in her expression as she surveyed my face and throat activated the fight-or-flight pump of adrenaline that is a millennia-old response to danger. No matter how many times a vampire’s predatory gaze fell on me, my visceral reaction was the same.

  “Were you in Malibu Creek Park earlier this evening?” I asked.

  “Yes. Dreadful.”

  “Do you come here to hunt?”

  “Many of us do.” She smiled, her canines partially extended, her jet eyes fixed on my jugular. “Rachella says you won’t let anyone else take a drink. Only Aliena.”

  “It is an intimate act.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” she said, irises glinting crimson. “I’d prefer to rip you apart.”

  I had forgotten that most vampires were experts at feigned intimacy. It was an adaptive behavior developed to maintain their anonymity. Many drunken people only vaguely remembered the person with whom they went home. And since blood loss magnified this lack of memory, the vampire could feed without exposing her identity.

  But that only mattered when they did not intend to kill. If they planned to take a person’s life, they often did it like beasts falling on helpless prey. For the human, that was an excruciating way to go, as horrifying as being eaten by a wild animal.

  “I guarantee,” Kristina said, “you will not enjoy it or find anything sensual about it.”

  Startled by her hostility, I instinctively stepped back a pace. The vampire moved with me. More than hunger filled her eyes. Hatred blazed there as well, animosity that seemed directed at me specifically.

  “At least Rachella offered me her body,” I told her, deliberately shifting my gaze to the holes in her dress. “Your figure might make me change my mind.”

  Her lip curled. “I would never let you touch me.”

  An alarm began tolling in my mind. Kristina nearly had me backed into a dark cubbyhole. Moving closer, she looked around, her canines shimmering. Natasha and her friends watched from across the room. No help there.

  Trying to think of something clever, I asked, “May I bring you something to drink?” I couldn’t believe that was the first thing that came to mind. What in God’s name was I saying?

  “Mm hmm,” she nodded.

  She leaned forward. Refusing to leave myself no retreat, I stepped sideways, away from the wall, sucking in my breath so as not to scrape the bulging bosom of her dress. For a moment, her hand rested on my arm as she prepared to shove me into the niche. Then she looked above my shoulder and stepped back, her expression one I couldn’t interpret at first, because it seemed out of place.

  Arms wrapped me from behind, followed by Aliena’s giggle in my ear. “Let’s dance,” she said, oblivious to Kristina’s presence. She pulled me into the mass of gyrating bodies, where we began turning in time to the music.

  Kristina watched from the edge of the crowd, that baffling yet familiar expression on her face again. I finally was able to interpret its meaning.

  She looked triumphant.

  Chapter 7

  Friday, February 13, 11:58 p.m.

  Aliena grabbed my ass, planted a kiss on my mouth, beamed at me. “You make me very happy,” she said, giddy. She leaned toward my ear. “I want to tell you a secret, Sebastian. I have wondered what it would be like to make love to you for over fifty years.” Long nails stroked the back of my neck.

  Oblivious of the other dancers, we kissed, swaying under the dim lights. She lacked her usual restraint in a public place, locking me in a passionate embrace for several long moments until my body began to respond, heated by her words as much as her presence.

  “Darling,” I said when we broke apart, “I’ve been wondering what making love to you would be like for over a century.”

  She laughed, her cheeks dusky rose, her lower lip glistening. “I know! That always excited me so. How I loved to tease you!” A soft kiss, large brown eyes staring into mine. “I am sorry for that.” She drew a finger along my cheek. “Dear Sebastian, always kind, always a gentleman and a man.” Another beaming smile. “My man.”

  “Always.”

  The song ended. Some dancers moved off the floor and others came on as another song began. Aliena and I gravitated toward the center. I glanced at my watch, confirmed the time was after midnight.

  The moment had arrived. I had only thought of it a month ago, but I knew, deep down, I had wanted to ask her this question for a long time. I took a breath, commended my soul to God, and ordered Eros to pay attention for a moment.

  I touched my nose to Aliena’s. “My darling love, I never want this dance to end.” I pulled the black box from my pocket, disengaged from her arms, and knelt in front of her. I opened the small top. The diamond sparkled in the glittering light. “Will you marry me?”

  From the first time I envisioned this moment, my greatest fear was not her honest refusal, but her laughter at the absurdity of a marriage proposal between immortals. Holding my breath, I waited for her reaction, watching her face closely.

  She did not laugh. With parted lips, she took the ring and slid it on her finger. To a smattering of applause from the couples dancing near, I stood, pocketed the velvet box, and took her in my arms.

  “Will you be my bride?”

  “Oh, Sebastian,” she said, giving me a quick kiss, “yes, yes, I would love to marry you.”

  “My sweetheart,” I whispered. Hand in her thick hair, I pulled her mouth to mine.

  Aliena and I revolved in our own universe, enclosed in a bubble for two, our souls mingling, our spirits supporting one another like auras in a Kirlian photograph.

  Chapter 8

  Saturday, February 14, 12:21 a.m.

  Aliena and I shared a timeless eternity floating on the dance floor of Bar Sinister. We never broke eye contact once. This connection transformed our slow kisses into emotional jolts piquant in their intensity.

  Only a conscious effort kept my hands from traveling.

  “Sebastian,” she said, voice husky, “I want you to teach me everything. Tonight.”

  I gave her a severe stare. “If you’re teasing me this time, I will spank you until my arm falls off.”

  “Mmm,” she said, “I deserve a good spanking.”

  It was dark, and no one was looking, and I couldn’t help it. I squeezed one lusciously curved cheek, noticing how warm her skin felt
through her jeans. “As your husband, it will be necessary for me to discipline you from time to time.”

  “Yes, Mr. Montero.” She ran the tip of her tongue along her upper lip, mesmerizing me.

  “We talked earlier about a trip to Tarragona. Would you like to be married in Spain?”

  “I would adore that.”

  “Next week?”

  “Oh yes,” she said. “Whenever you wish.”

  Feeling lighter than air, I crushed her to me, kissed her neck. “You have made my dreams come true, my darling. And for a thousand years, we will celebrate Valentine’s Day as our engagement anniversary.”

  “That’s so wonderful.” Her voice sounded distant.

  I realized my chest and abdomen were lightly coated with sweat. Aliena’s body radiated a fiery heat. “Are you feeling well, my dear?”

  “I’m so hot,” she said. Her eyelids fluttered. Tiny pinpricks of red dotted her hairline.

  “Aliena?”

  “I feel strange.”

  She slouched against me, face suddenly pasty. Fearing she would faint, I slipped my arm around her waist and maneuvered us through the crowd. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  Supporting Aliena as if she were drunk, I got us clear of the dancers and headed for the exit. As I crossed the room, Natasha and Kristina stood close together. They watched me drag Aliena down the crimson hall to the entrance.

  Once outside the club, Aliena went limp, causing me to stagger as we approached the valet’s station.

  “Take this,” Aliena said, handing me her Moon tarot card.

  I grabbed it, turned back into the building, entering the scarlet hallway. I would text Hector later and have him pick up the Ferrari.

  “Here,” Aliena said at the first door on the right.

  The door opened to a room filled with paintings. Once inside I closed the door.

  “Sebastian? I’m burning up.”

  Where our bodies touched, my clothes stuck to me, damp with perspiration. Aliena’s body felt as hot as fresh lava. The first feathers of fear tickled the back of my neck.

  “What happened upstairs? What did you do?”

  “I had a glass of blood, as I always do.” Her eyes glazed.

  I held the tarot card up. “Misadventure.” The gold border pulsed and the card began to grow. Once it reached the size of a doorway, I carried Aliena through.

  A blast of air boomed from above, and then I was standing in my living room next to the fireplace with the afterimage of stars in space on my eyes. A tarot card, the Prince of Wands, shone brightly in the brick before blinking and disappearing. The Moon card lay at my feet.

  “Aliena? Are you all right?”

  She seemed not to hear me. More red drops spotted her forehead, some large enough to trickle into her eyebrows. Her head tilted and the left side of her face pressed against my chest. “Sebastian?” She reached up and dropped her hand on my shoulder. “Something’s wrong with me.” Her body slumped. I had never seen her in such a state. She looked like someone with a high fever. But that wasn’t possible.

  Vampires were invincible while the sun was down and nothing could hurt them. Certainly not drinking blood. But there was no denying Aliena’s symptoms, or their horribly familiar meaning.

  My fiancée appeared to have been poisoned.

  Chapter 9

  When Don Alejandro and I came out of the house into the sunshine, Karina sat on a stone bench in the middle of rows of flowers, reading a book. Women were not generally encouraged to read, so not many outside of a nunnery were literate. This was an unexpected, but pleasant, surprise.

  She wore a layered purple gown. Her thin veil lay across her shoulder, leaving her face exposed. Thick black hair tumbled to her shoulders.

  Alejandro and I strode across the patio. At the sound of our approaching boots, the girl looked up.

  “Oh!” She closed the book with a snap, dropped it in her lap, and pulled her veil up with one hand. The title of the book faced up: El Libro de Buen Amor by Juan Ruiz. The Book of Good Love.

  “Mija,” Don Alejandro began, “I would like you to meet Don Sebastian, the man your father and I told you about. Sebastian Montero, may I present my granddaughter, Señorita Karina Cruz.”

  “Señorita, it’s an honor,” I said, bowing.

  “Good morning, señor.” She fastened the veil while I kissed her extended hand.

  “Are you reading again, my dear?” Alejandro said, giving me a broad smile.

  “Yes, Grandpapa. Again.”

  “It’s not so often,” he assured me. “Well…” He walked back into the house.

  I sat next to the girl, gestured at the book. “You know many of Ruiz’s ideas were based on Ovid’s Art of Love?” I expected to embarrass her with my reference to such a risqué topic.

  She gave me a visual inspection before answering. “Yes. My aunt Constanza taught me French, Italian, and Latin. Have you read the Canzoniere?”

  “I have. How did you come by Ruiz’s book?”

  “Constanza gave it to me for my seventh birthday. Grandpapa has given me several books.” She looked into the distance. “I enjoy reading more than most of the people in Barcelona.”

  The shadow on her was plain. She had a vaguely haunted air. It appeared she knew very well who her fiancé was, and what she could expect as his wife.

  “Have you written anything?” I asked.

  She glanced at the house. “No, of course not.”

  “Why not?” Behind the gauzy material of her veil were soft cheekbones, a small nose.

  “Señor Montero! If my parents knew…oh!”

  “Your secret is safe with me, señorita. I would love to read your poetry.”

  “Oh no!” She clasped her hands tightly. “Please, you mustn’t say…there’s nothing…”

  “I think it’s wonderful,” I told her.

  She opened her mouth, but no sounds came out. Finally, “You do?”

  “Very much so.”

  “But it’s against the rules.”

  “That,” I told her, “makes your writing all the more impressive.”

  Eyes wide, she whispered, “Where have you come from?”

  Equally serious, I whispered, “Tarragona.”

  We laughed together. Her appraising stare turned to a look of fascination. She said in French, “Do you read poetry, monsieur?”

  “Mais oui, mademoiselle.” I recited a passage from the French translation of her book.

  “You don’t have the trace of an accent.”

  “Your French is excellent as well,” I told her.

  “I don’t know anyone else who reads French poetry. Constanza died three years ago.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “I miss her.” A tear slipped down her cheek. I pretended it was not visible beneath her veil. “Now only Grandpapa speaks French with me.” She focused on my sword. “Have you fought in the wars?”

  “Yes.”

  “Grandpapa said he invited you here to discuss a business matter?”

  “Yes, and to meet your parents. Don Alejandro and my father were old friends, and I have always esteemed him highly.”

  “I heard my father and grandpa talking about you.” With a frown, she added, “You don’t look like the man they described.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The way they talked about you, I expected you to be much older.”

  “Alejandro and your father are very kind.” I stood, kissed her hand. “Meeting you has been a pleasure.”

  “For me, too,” she said.

  “Until dinner.” I bowed and left the garden.

  I retired to my rooms, mind churning as I contemplated the match with Karina, musing on the bargain I had made, and considering my options. Count Santella’s predictable reaction narrowed my choices.

  No soothsayer needed to warn me my future held many deaths. Nor that some of them could be my own.

  At dinner that evening, Don Alejandro wasted no time heralding the go
od news. There were six of us, Alejandro at the head, with me directly to his right and Karina’s father next to me. The women—Karina, her mother, and her aunt Margarida—were on the Don’s left, directly opposite us. Once we sat, my view of the other side of the table was partially blocked by thick candles, carafes of wine, and bottles of olive oil. Alejandro remained standing.

  “Tonight, we celebrate marvelous news for our family,” he began, holding up his wine goblet. “Karina, I am happy to tell you Señor Montero has asked for your hand in marriage. Your father and I have given him our consent. I hope that pleases—are you well, my dear?”

  Karina swayed as if rocked by unseen winds, eyes unfocused. Her mother, obviously recognizing the symptoms, pinched her cheek. The young girl shook and pushed her mother’s hand away. When her gaze cleared, she regarded me as if seeing me for the first time. I toasted her with my wine glass.

  “I do hope he meets with your approval, mija.”

  When Karina did not answer, her mother made a movement under the table and she jumped.

  “Oh, yes, Grandpapa.” She glanced at me with a dazed expression. “I’m honored, Señor Montero.”

  “Good, my dear, very good.” Don Alejandro sat.

  The servants began the meal. While Alejandro and I toasted with her father, trading old war stories, Karina watched me surreptitiously. Though plates were placed in front of her and taken away, I did not see her eat a thing.

  But the resigned fear which had possessed her in the garden had been replaced by a familiar, buoyant expression.

  Hope.

  Chapter 10

  Saturday, February 14, 1:27 a.m.

  I lay Aliena on the couch. She shivered and moaned, seemingly senseless. With a soft cry, she fainted.

  Before I could leave the room to get a towel for the blood on her brow, she jerked up and let out a scream of pain. I yelled, startled. Turning back, I knelt in front of her.