by Michele Hauf
“Keep an eye on him. Sure. No problem.” Not as if she could look away from all that musician numminess, was there?
Twisting at the waist, she could no longer see Paganini’s figure walking along the roadside. He’d put some distance between them. But she’d find him. Shouldn’t be that hard to track a nineteenth-century musician who had just clambered out of his coffin. Had she just thought of him as nummy?
“You need to get laid, Santiago, if the dead guys are starting to look good to you.”
When had she last—? She didn’t even want to think about it.
Paganini had said his blood might be off. Meaning, he probably didn’t know what the heck he was. Either that, or he had been freaked she was a vampire.
Then again, no one ever really wanted to get bitten by a vampire. At least, no one smart.
Thinking of which... Exhaustion clung to her limbs. She needed to drink blood for a burst of renewal until she could steal a few winks for a true refresher.
She hopped off the hood and slid in behind the steering wheel. She suspected Paganini wouldn’t go far because he had to be hungry, too. She had time to find a meal before pursuing the former dead guy.
* * *
The tavern was a welcome respite from the sun’s sweltering heat that had worked up his perspiration during the walk along the black road. Nicolo had removed his coat and folded it over an arm while walking, and now he felt as if he’d walked into a different atmosphere. It was as if a thousand fans blew cool air on him, yet he couldn’t feel the wind of said fans. So refreshing!
No one sat by the long stretch of bar, and the barkeep nodded to him before asking what he wanted.
“Beer?” Nicolo tried. He wasn’t sure what the modern taverns served, but beer had been around for ages. “Have you food, as well?”
“Special is fish-and-chips. Our cook is Irish.” He shrugged and set a glass mug of beer on the bar before Nicolo. “You want that?”
Nicolo nodded. “Yes, please.”
Fish sounded great. But he had no idea what chips were. He would be surprised. The lure of the golden liquid in the glass coaxed him quickly forward. He slid onto a bar stool and tilted back the liquid. Yes, beer. And quite tasty. He downed half in a long swallow.
Looking about, he marveled at the clutter of paintings on the walls. Yet, they weren’t exactly paintings. Done in blacks, grays and whites, they were each framed and depicted people smiling and holding beer mugs. Had they all been composed and painted in this very tavern? Interesting. In the window a sign that said Pull Tabs flashed red light. How was that possible to produce light of such a color with no flames in sight? And overhead, light beamed down from small glass globes. Not in candle form.
“Remarkable.”
He finished the beer and asked for another. “Tell me about that device,” he said to the barkeep and pointed to the framed rectangle above the rows of liquor bottles behind the bar. On it images moved, as if he were witnessing a scene in real life. Men kicked a small white ball across a green field. They wore similar clothing. It must be some sort of sport.
“The TV?” the barkeep asked. “Where are you from anyway?”
Nicolo shrugged. “I’ve...been away from things for a while.”
“One of those hippies who lives in a mountain for ten years?”
He wasn’t sure what a hippie was or why a person would want to live in a mountain, but Nicolo again shrugged and nodded. “Sure.”
“You look it. But the women love the long, messy hair nowadays, eh? That’s the rugby competition. England versus Ireland. The Wolfhounds are givin’ ’em hell. In case you haven’t seen a television for a while, it’s a big screen, digital, HD, all the bells and whistles. I can get a hundred and eighty channels. Pretty fancy, eh?”
Nicolo had no clue what the man had just said, so he instead sipped the beer and nodded subtly. The bells-and-whistles device was like a larger version of the mysterious box Summer kept on her. Must be some sort of knowledge receptacle. Most likely of the devil.
Yet he could not bemoan this incredible chilled atmosphere. He glanced about, tracking the ceiling and noting the barkeep’s odd look. Nicolo shrugged, “Your establishment fascinates me.”
“Sure.” Jabbing a tiny wooden stick into the corner of his mouth, the barkeep reached through an opening in the wall and yelled thanks to an unseen person.
A plate of hot food was set before him, and Nicolo leaned over to inhale the delicious aroma. Yet, hadn’t he ordered fish? Whatever it was on the plate, a long strip of something pale brown, did not resemble fish. And he assumed the thin strips of similar color were the chips? He didn’t want to be rude and ask, so he picked up a chip and tasted it.
A salty crunch ignited Nicolo’s taste buds, and he quickly finished the first. And the second, and another.
“Amazing,” he murmured and finished them all before even trying what would prove to indeed be fish.
“Pace yourself, buddy,” the barkeep said. “We’ve more if you’re that hungry.”
“Thank you. I find it delicious, and yet strange at the same time. May I ask you how a man might find his way to Paris from here?”
He needed to find that violin that Summer had said she’d sent on to Paris.
“You could take the train, rent a car or hop on a plane.”
“Hop on a plane?” Even as he said it, he could only imagine hopping onto something flat. “I don’t understand.”
“An airplane? You really don’t know much, do you? Do you have money?”
Nicolo nodded quickly. He’d figure out some means to recompense before leaving the establishment.
The door behind him creaked, and in wandered two women, chattering loudly. They sat at a table in the dark corner next to a front window, and the barkeep brought them two bottles of wine.
Nicolo turned his attention to them. They wore trousers so short they revealed skin all up to their thighs! And what gorgeous legs that glided a long way down to their feet, which boasted strappy shoes on them. And their shirts were cut so low he saw the crease between their abundant breasts. They must be freezing in this chilly establishment. But when the one winked at him and raised a bottle of wine in a toast, Nicolo’s grin grew.
He recognized an invitation when he saw one.
* * *
The donor had been dozing outside a quiet cottage that looked like something from a Kimball painting. It had gone down quickly. Summer had taken but a few sips. Enthralling him to think good thoughts and fight the inevitable madness, she had then stepped away. She never stayed to see what results would come of her bite. That was asking for emotional heartache. Once she’d drunk too long and had actually witnessed her donor’s descent into madness. He’d beat his forehead against a brick wall. His body had shuddered, and he’d clamped his arms about his chest, crying and wailing. She’d fled, hoping it would be temporary. It had to be, yes?
Her weird ability to change her donors was her dark nemesis.
“Find the dead guy,” she muttered, focusing her thoughts as she got out of the car and walked across the street.
The Sneezing Cow tavern was one of those cozy little hideaways at the edge of town that most tourists passed by for the peeling paint on the outer stucco walls and the general lack of signage stating it did, indeed, serve liquor. But the tiny drunk lemon motif in the window clued Summer that inside she could find limoncello, which was her favorite aperitif. She didn’t do human food, but the occasional refreshment was always welcome.
Summer walked inside the tavern, eyed the dark corner where two women giggled and noted they were draped over a man who sucked in the attention as if with a straw.
She made way to the bar where, after asking, she was promptly served an icy yellow drink. “Grazie,” she said. “He’s not giving you any problems, is he?”
The bartender pushed back his long gray hair and winced. He wobbled his hand before her as he said in Italian, “I’m not sure he’s going to pay.”
She picked out the words pay and not from his Italian. She knew Nicolo wouldn’t, because what man came alive after a hundred and seventy-five years of death with a credit card and bank accounts? Was she going to have to teach him about the world and babysit him until he got his feet on the ground? The prospect didn’t sound as awful as it should, considering her list of things she found attractive in a man had apparently grown longer with the addition of “recently deceased.”
But the women would have to go.
“I got it,” she said and laid enough cash on the counter to cover a good hour’s worth of drink. Bottles, not glasses, she guessed, as another side glance spied one of the brunettes tilting back a dark wine bottle to her lips. “He’s harmless.” She hoped.
With a wink from the bartender, Summer sipped her sour lemon drink, then turned to go corral her new ward. She’d gotten them both into this situation. Now to deal with it.
Paganini acknowledged her with a wide rogue’s grin as he spread out his arms to embrace each woman wedged against him. She had to stop thinking of him as Paganini. Nicolo was his first name. It would help her to idolize him less. And right now, that was easy enough with the sluts he’d found casting her shade.
“Summer, you will join me and my new friends for a drink?”
Thank the goddess she’d had that sip before coming in here. It would make dealing with this easier because she was cool and collected right now. “We should get back on the road,” she said. “I’m sure you’re eager to find your violin.”
“But you already know where it is.”
True. She’d lied to him about it being on its way to Paris. The guy was newly alive. He couldn’t be operating on all pistons yet. Fingers crossed.
Nicolo tilted back a long swallow from the wine bottle, then said, “What’s a little stop along the way to renew my memory of humanity?”
“Why are you talking about violins?” one of the women asked in a drunken slur. A shift of her shoulder lifted her double Ds closer to Nicolo’s grinning face.
Mercy, his taste in women was— She’d cut him some slack. He had only been alive again for a few hours. And in the short trek he’d taken from the coffin to the tavern, Summer guessed the selection of women had not been overwhelmingly vast or varied. They were tourists looking for a good time with a sexy looker.
“I like drummers,” the other woman said as she licked Nicolo’s ear.
“Timpani?” He bristled and gave Summer a wink. “I am a violinist, ladies.”
“Sounds dirty,” the licker said. “You want to violin me?”
Summer rolled her eyes. Enough. She didn’t need this kind of torture.
“I’m parked outside,” she said to Nicolo. “I’ll walk slowly. But I am leaving. Which leaves you to either bone them and walk to Paris on your own—where you’ll find the violin—or hop in and ride shotgun.”
She’d let him figure out what that meant on his own.
Giggles followed in her wake. Summer did not turn around. A guy like him would probably choose the greater of the two evils. Heck, if she were newly risen from the grave she’d probably want to party it up, too. Who could know how much time the man had before he actually did begin to drop body parts and prove her zombie theory correct?
She wouldn’t mind the drive back to Paris alone. Yet she did have an order to keep an eye on the man. And she would. In her manner.
It was misting when she stepped outside. She slid into the driver’s seat, fired up the engine and flicked the windshield wipers on to the delay option. A few minutes to struggle with her ultimatum was all the man should need. She really should be nicer to him. Nicolo was like a newborn in this modern age. Everything must be new to him. Women in pants! Who’da thought? Of course, lust never changed. Sluts in bars!
And was she feeling jealous that he’d chosen such low-class choices for his first act of debauchery as a living man?
A man? What was he, anyway?
“There’s got to be someone who can take a look at him and know. Read his essence. Maybe a witch.” She grabbed her cell phone and scrolled through the contacts. “Verity.”
Verity Van Velde was a powerful witch who had a thing about knowing other people’s souls. Maybe she could touch Nicolo and know what he was? Because if he really was evil incarnate then Summer would have to suck it up and take him out. She would not be responsible for unleashing Beneath on the world.
The passenger door opened and Nicolo, smelling of wine and salty fries, slid inside. His velvet pants were sprinkled with rain droplets. He tested the seat by bouncing up and down, then slid a hand over the dashboard. It must have met his standards because he settled in. “You waited for me? I knew you would.”
“How’s that?” she said as she shifted into gear. She should have started rolling down the street, just to give him the illusion that she didn’t care.
“You like me,” he offered.
“Yes, well, I am your only friend. And please don’t call anyone who drags her tongue down your face a friend.”
“That was pleasant. The women in this age are much more open than I’ve been accustomed to. Yet still very much the same when it comes to lust. And the clothing! You women wear trousers and leave your shirts unbuttoned to reveal so much bosom. Marvelous.”
“I suppose petticoats and corsets were your thing, eh?”
“Those damned corsets did cause some extra effort for a man on a mission.”
“I bet.” She smiled despite herself. “I imagine bras will fascinate you and lead you on a quest of discovery.”
“What is a bra?”
“It’s a modern-day corset.” She wasn’t wearing one, so she wasn’t about to lift her shirt for an example. “Holds up the girls.”
“The girls? Ah, your breasts? Can I take a look?”
“You’re not as smooth as you think you are.”
“I would beg to differ. After I told the one woman that I understood her pain she melted into my arms for a nice snuggle.”
“Her pain?”
He turned on the seat to face her, gesturing casually as he spoke. “When I touched her I got a flash of her life. I did not understand the images of her pouting over a mystery device such as you showed me and crying for days on end, but I knew it was painful for her. So, I worked with it.”
“You got a flash of her life?”
He nodded. “Same as when I touched you.”
“Huh. You never had that ability before? In your previous life?”
“No. Do you think it’s a condition of my new existence?”
“I’m sure it is. But whether or not it’s good, bad or ugly remains to be learned. How about we head west for the French border? If I drive all night we should gain Paris by morning. You can take a nap.”
“I don’t feel tired. But I do wish I’d have brought along that last bottle of wine. Might we stop by another tavern along the way?”
“Depends on how nice you are to me.”
He tilted a genuinely concerned look at her. “I have no reason not to be nice to you, Summer the vampire.”
“True. And I did give you a second chance at life.”
“Yes, well, at what price?”
She glanced at him. The guy tilted his head as if to say “You did this to me.”
And she could undo it. Maybe. No matter, he’d better be nice to her.
“You said you resisted the offer from the Big Guy?” she asked.
“The Big Guy—oh, er, the Dark One?”
Good. He was on board about not speaking Himself’s name too much.
“Of course I resisted. Wouldn’t you?”
“Ye
s. But power is not an easy thing to resist. And playing such an exquisite violin.”
“The not playing was the hardest part. But you know, the black violin that raised me from the grave was not mine?”
“That’s the part where I get confused. I thought your prized violin was on display in a museum.”
“Il Cannone?” Summer knew that was the nickname he’d given his prized violin. It referred to the explosive sound he had been able to produce with the instrument. “It is still around?” he asked.
“As far as I know, it’s still in a museum in Genoa. The Guarnerius?”
“Yes, made by Guiseppe Guarneri. I played that instrument for decades. It was my beloved. But after I fell ill I couldn’t make my fingers move as quickly or hit the right notes. I donated it to the city of Genoa as a means to put that torture out of my life.”
“So how does this other violin come into play? The black one I found?”
“It is the one the devil Him—er, the Dark One offered me. He told me I would be restored to health and could play again. Would have all the powers he possessed. Would become a god walking this mortal realm. He made me that offer many times over my lifetime.”
“Really? And you always refused? That takes a lot of courage and bravery.”
Nicolo shrugged. “I was talented by my own right. I did not need the dark evil. Nor would I ever accept. I did not want my son to see his father become a monster. But the Big Guy—as you call him—did not relent in his temptations.”
“I give you credit for resisting. I had a run-in with him once.”
“Is that so? What great temptations did he offer you?”
“None. I was just a baby. He kidnapped me and used me as bait to get my brother, Johnny, to come to him. He was trying to steal Kambriel’s soul, and Johnny was in love with her. It’s a long story. Suffice it to say, Johnny got me out of there safely. But ever since I’ve had an allergy to demons.”
“How does that affect you?”
“Whenever one is around I start sneezing. It’s weird, but kind of handy when you want to avoid the bastards.”