Page 18 of The Vampire Always Rises
“I beg your pardon?” Allie sounded mildly outraged.
“Oh, I just ... I meant because I ... we ... uh ...” I gave a little cough and stopped.
“You didn’t by any chance engage in some carnal activities when you fed Merrick?” Allie asked, the outrage changing to amusement. “Don’t be embarrassed if you did—it’s a very common effect, given the nature of the feeding. I mean, what could be more intimate? Although generally it’s limited to Beloveds, it can happen when the respective parties are not engaged otherwise.”
“Oh, good,” I said, slumping even more. “I was worried I’d have to have my lady garden exorcised or something. Although if Merrick didn’t kill anyone, then the point is moot. I don’t blame him for hunting down his sister’s killer.”
“No more do I. Regardless of our feelings, the Revelation is now threatening Dark Ones, and the Four Horsemen specifically.”
“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?” I asked, startled.
She laughed. “No, although I take it that was the source of their name. The Four Horsemen is the name that Merrick and three other Dark Ones have given themselves. They are more or less an elite police force that tackles any threats that affect vampires and mortals alike. Right now they’re focused on the Revelation.”
“Gotcha. How ... er ... how is Merrick?”
“He was fine when I last saw him. He’s gone now.”
For some reason that I couldn’t pinpoint—and admittedly didn’t particularly want to analyze—my spirits dropped even lower at that news. I had a sudden yearning to see Merrick again, to look in those lovely eyes, and to feel the cool silk of his hair on my cheek ... not to mention other parts of him visiting parts of me.
I shifted in the chair, and tried to think of something intelligent to say, but Allie covered the phone and murmured something I couldn’t hear, then came back and said with false brightness, “I’m so glad you’re settled. It was a pleasure seeing you. Do come back and visit us another time. I must be off. Christian wants to take the children out, and it means loads and loads of sunscreen for him. Good-bye!”
She hung up before I could thank her for her thoughtfulness, leaving me with much to think over.
And think I did. For a day I kicked around the hotel and town, doing tourist things, but not really present—my mind seemed to be caught up with the idea of seeing Merrick again, and ... and ... “And what?” I asked myself the following night, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. “And holding him? Offering him comfort for the pain of losing his sister in such a horrible manner? Having incredibly awesome sex again?”
Inner Tempest liked that idea a whole lot. I told her she was a shameless hussy, and pretended I didn’t wholeheartedly agree with her. “What you need,” I told my reflection, “is something to distract your hoohaw from the idea of Merrick and his hoohaw. Hmm. Do men have hoohaws? Maybe they have a manhaw?” I sighed, and padded out of the bathroom, and onto the bed, punching the pillow a few times to make it comfortable.
“Let’s see. You have six days before Ellis arrives to distract you from your complete lack of vampire in your life. One of those days was going to be for Cousin Carlo, but I guess I can see if he wants me early.”
One pleasant if slightly awkward phone conversation later, I was packing for departure to Carlo’s house in Genoa the following morning. Once there, I had to admit I was impressed how my father’s Italian side of the family was doing. The house had a huge fence around the perimeter of what looked like a large estate sitting high on a hill, with a view of the glittering sea beyond, white ships dotting the deep cerulean of the water. I showed my passport to the security camera at the gate, and after a few minutes, my taxi was allowed to enter the grounds, and deposited me at a solid white stone villa, all colonnades and large windows. Beyond the house, hills rose, dotted with olive and orange trees, brilliant red and yellow flowers, and the odd occasional palm tree swaying with stately grace in the breeze that lifted off the harbor.
“Hi, I’m Tempest,” I said to the man who opened the door. “Are you Carlo?”
“No,” the man said. He was a little taller than me, but built like a wrestler, with no neck, thick shoulders, and a barrel chest. He also had a nose that had clearly been broken more than once. But it was his eyes that sent little shivers of worry down my arms. They were a dull hazel color and completely devoid of any humanity. It was like looking at a photograph of eyes.
This must be what a sociopath looks like,Inner Tempest commented. I had to agree, but, despite that, forced a smile to my lips and entered the cool darkness of the house, stumbling blindly for a few seconds until my eyes adjusted from the dazzling sunshine to the dark interior.
I was taken to a room that was lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, the white drapes fluttering in the breeze, a full view of the sea beyond. Sitting behind a desk that was cluttered with two laptops, several stacks of spreadsheet printouts, and a variety of what looked like medieval torture instruments was a man who bore absolutely no resemblance to my father.
“Hello. You must be Cousin Carlo. I’m Tempest.”
Carlo was probably twenty years older than me, balding with a rusty brown fringe of hair, and a thick Mario Bros. mustache. “Ah? Oh, Tempest.” He stood up and came around the desk to shake my hand. “You are welcome, very welcome. I’m pleased to see Raymond’s daughter at last. You had a good trip out? Yes? Good. You admire the view? Yes? Good. Giovanni! My cousin’s daughter will havea room that will give her a view of the sea. You will like to swim every day? Yes? It shall be as you desire. Giovanni will ensure a car is at your disposal.”
The man with the flat eyes took my luggage and, with a murmur in Italian, left the room. Carlo embraced me, kissing both cheeks. “It is very good to have you here. You like Italy, yes? There is a pool you may also swim in. You swim? Yes? Good. You will wish to see your room.” With an arm around me, he spun me around and marched me out of the room, and into the main hall, where a wrought iron and marble staircase curved upward in a graceful arc. “There is much to see in Genoa. You will wish to see it all, yes? Giovanni will see to anything you need. Dinner is at eight. You need not dress for it—we are very informal here. Ah, there is Giovanni now. He will see to it that you lack for nothing.”
Before I could do more than say hello and offer up a few stunted syllables as replies, which were summarily ignored, I was hustled up the stairs and deposited in an airy room with French doors that opened onto a lovely balcony.
My brief experience with Cousin Carlo pretty much set the standard for the rest of the day. Whenever I tried to have a conversation with him, intent on getting to know him, he seemed affable enough, but almost immediately fobbed me off onto Giovanni with an offer to go sightseeing, or shopping, or sailing, or any of the myriad other options available to tourists.
Needless to say, I dreaded time with Giovanni and his dead eyes. By the following morning, I had learned to stop trying to converse with Carlo, and kept to myself.
By that evening, I wandered through the grove of olive trees, wondering if it was something about me personally that Carlo objected to, or if he had a dislike of women in general. There were no other females in the house; I’d seen only two other people, both men, one of whom was the cook, and the other some sort of handyman-gardener.
“It’s got to be me,” I said morosely. “Or it’s Papa. Maybe Carlo found out about the cult, and figures I’m as crazy as Papa. In which case, what am I going to do?”
“Suffer,” a man’s voice said from behind me. I spun around, but a black bag was pulled down over my head and upper body. Before I could scream, the breath was knocked out of my lungs when the man picked me up and flung me onto his shoulder. “Suffer like you’ve never suffered before. And after that, you will tell me where I can find Victor. If you refuse, you’ll die.”
Anger washed over me, a foreign sort of anger, one fueled by a great sadness tinged with a sense of loneliness so profound, it left me speechless with despair.
