Page 7 of Night's Reckoning
Then again, most kids had to deal with parents who didn’t understand technology, so Ben couldn’t complain too much. Of course, human parents wouldn’t fry electronics if they got too close to them, but that was mostly a fire vampire problem.
The train to Naples took nearly three hours, so Ben took a nap in the afternoon sun beaming through the window and woke a little before seven feeling refreshed. He patted his face with cool water in the bathroom and took stock of his injuries.
It wasn’t the worst he’d ever looked, but it was close. Most of the time when he had cuts or open wounds, Tenzin would heal them with some of her blood. Humans couldn’t ingest vampire blood unless they were nearly exsanguinated and on the edge of death. But vampire blood could heal open wounds. It could hide bite marks and help bruising along.
He dabbed a little concealer over the worst of the marks and let his dark hair fall over his swollen eye. His olive skin had grown darker since he’d been in Italy. He’d been spending as much time in the sun as he could, partly for safety and partly to remind himself he was human.
Human. Not vampire.
He stared in the mirror, the eyes staring back at him bloodshot from the violence they’d seen.
Persian eyes.Tenzin had told him once that he had Persian eyes. He didn’t even know what that meant.
Ben had dark brown eyes rimmed with thick lashes. Regular brown eyes. Olive skin. Dark curly hair. His blood was an even mix of Lebanese and Puerto Rican, which meant when he was in Italy, he blended in just fine. He blended in through most of Europe, the Middle East, and both Americas. Ben liked blending in. It made work much easier.
He walked back to his seat and gathered his belongings just as the train came to a stop. Most of the compartment was filled with tourists from all over the world. American. African. Asian.
A group of college-aged girls from China rushed past him, their happy chatter informing him they were excited about seeing Pompeii. Ben smiled and kept walking. He’d never seen Pompeii, but he’d met people who were alive when Vesuvius erupted. That had to count for something.
He walked outside Napoli Centrale and looked for a cab. He had less than three hours before he met with Filomena, and he still had some research to do.
3
Filomena, vampire governor of Naples, met Ben at a small restaurant near the waterfront on the Bay of Naples. It was hidden down an alley near the Castel dell’Ovo and specialized in a particular kind of fried fish that Ben loved.
Since Filomena was governor partly because of actions spurred by Ben and Tenzin several years before, Ben felt safe with her even if Fabia worried.
She was sipping a tall glass of prosecco when Ben arrived. He bent down, kissed both her cheeks with his cracked lips, and sat across from her.
Filomena’s eyes went wide. “How many were there?”
“Six and a vampire.”
She pursed her lips. “In that case, you’re looking good.”
“Thanks.” He paused while the waiter set down a glass of prosecco and a small tray of crostini. “You’re looking gorgeous. Of course, you always look gorgeous.”
She glanced down at her pale blue blouse and silk scarf. “Thank you.”
It was the absolute truth without a hint of flattery. While most vampires tended to have above-average looks—immortal creatures of the night did like pretty things—Filomena was a true beauty. She’d been turned in her late thirties if Ben had to guess. She was tall for her age and had long wavy hair the color of dark caramel. Her features were dramatic, and her cheekbones looked as if they’d been carved from marble.
She’d propositioned Ben more than once. He’d always been tempted, but he’d never given in. Sex with vampires was complicated. Sex with political vampires? Even more so.
“So?” She waited for him.
Ben picked up a menu. “Do you mind if I order? I skipped lunch because I had to transfer in Florence.”
“So you were in Tuscany?”
Ben waved over the server, who’d been hovering just out of earshot. “Have you tried the pasta with sea urchins? How is that?”
Filomena spoke directly to the waiter. “Tellil mostrothat this man is my guest and he’s hungry. He eats everything—make him something I would like.”
The server nodded. “Very well.” Then he took the menu from Ben’s hands with a slightly apologetic smile. “Signore.”
“Sure,” Ben said. “What she said.” He leaned back in his chair, stretched out his legs, and crossed his ankles.“Il mostro?”
“The chef is a monster, but he’s a talented one. This is where I come when I want to eat human food.” She sipped her wine. “So, you were in the north?”
