Vampires Need Not...Apply? (21 page)

“Ixtab? I know I don’t have to say this, but we need him.”

Silence. “I know.” There were less than eight months left to open the portal. “What I don’t understand is how you can be so calm and so happy.”

“I have faith. And I have Kinich.”

“So, you don’t believe the end is near?” Ixtab asked.

“No. I don’t. Because you are going to fix this. That portal will open; we will get our warriors back and win. There is no other possible outcome.”

Ixtab wished she were as confident as Penelope. But in all her thousands of years, she’d never seen the cards so stacked against them. Most of all, she’d never seen one of Cimil’s prophecies be wrong; although now, they all understood that Cimil couldn’t truly see the future—she merely spoke to the dead, who apparently lived in another dimension where time ceased to exist, which was an entirely different conundrum all together. Still, she’d never seen Cimil once be wrong. If she said the world would end before the autumnal equinox, then it would.

Ixtab sighed. “I’ll get the vampire physicist back.”
Somehow.
Maybe she was making this into a bigger deal than it was? She’d only called him by another man’s name. It was an honest mistake. And once she explained the reason behind it, he would understand.
Or perhaps he will find it disturbing that he looks like the lost love of your life and believe that’s the only reason you want him.

Then again, Antonio had fared well with all of the oddities thrown his way. Extremely well. Magical tablets, vampirism, deities. Nothing seemed to faze him.

Except you…

* * *

Somewhere in Europe…

Giant, furry pink suitcase in hand, Cimil skidded on her red platform shoes into the ultra-baroque-style living room of Roberto’s vampire lair. “Honey!” she screamed “Have you seen my pony?”

There was no reply. “Roberto! Pony! Now!”

Again, no reply.

Cimil stomped her foot. “One would think a vampire might have better hearing.”

Cimil turned and slammed into a tall, cold wall. “Ugh! I hate it when you sneak up on me like that. Have you seen my pony? It’s time to go, and you can’t be late. You must be there when the portal opens and make sure nothing goes wrong!”

Roberto didn’t respond.

Cimil sighed. “I know they’re expecting
me
, not you, but that doesn’t matter.”

Roberto blinked.

“Of course, I’m worried,” Cimil replied. “Ixtab has to get sucked in with the incubus, and the Maaskab cannot leave. The events are all tied together and there’s a point zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-one chance that the physicist will fail. Got it?”

Roberto, with his black eyes and equally black hair, shook his head slowly. Then again, Roberto seemed to do everything as if he had all the time in the world. Which they didn’t. That clock was ticking, and there was no room for errors. Not this time.

“Gasp!” shook her finger at him. “You ate him! Didn’t you? You ate Mr. Mylittle!”

Roberto shrugged casually.

“Dammit!” Cimil smacked him on the chest. “I told you to stop eating my pets—except for the clowns. They’re okay, but fangs off the others!”

Roberto simply stared.

“Oh, don’t you give me that look,” she quibbled. “It was no honest mistake. You knew that pony was special. Hell in a bicycle basket! We’ll talk this later; we’ll miss our plane! Grab the luggage, would you?”

Roberto dipped his head and followed her out the door.

No, no room for mistakes now. Everything was going according to plan, and it was up to her to ensure things stayed that way.

Antonio’s family lived about an hour northwest of Barcelona in one of the oldest winemaking regions of Europe near Vilafranca del Penedès. The area also held the distinction of housing the Santa Maria de Montserrat abbey, home to the world’s oldest, functioning printing press and the sacred Black Madonna. Ironically, it had been the monastery Francisco belonged to. Maybe that’s why Ixtab hadn’t visited this place for centuries and opted to spend most of her time in densely populated cities that provided plentiful distractions from her woes.

As the town car wound up the tree-lined hillside, neat little rows of skeletal, hibernating vines blanketing every visible mile, she couldn’t help but remember how the world once looked. Life was so much simpler before its taming. For humans and for deities.

Really now? Back then, only the most powerful and wealthy of humans were entitled to a good life free from starvation, tyranny, and oppression.
And modern medicine, well, what a horrible misery life was for the masses before its existence. There was a time, not so long ago, that mothers watched their children die from the flu. They were lucky if a few survived to adulthood. Yes, everyone struggled. As for deities, well, back then, life wasn’t a box of assorted doughnuts, either, now that she really thought about it. Unlike her other brethren, her power of releasing one’s soul from darkness required a more… personal touch, one might say. Long journeys over oceans on rickety wooden boats, weeks on horseback or by foot, it could take twelve months to travel from the portal in Mexico to eastern Europe or Asia.

Funny how one always yearned for the past, simpler times, but conveniently forgot the difficulties. That was her problem, really. Wasn’t it? She lived in the past, a made-up, perfect past with Francisco. But it didn’t exist. It never had. And now she was throwing away something real for a fantasy. Yes, there was a reason she called out Francisco when Antonio had been touching her so intimately. In her heart, she truly hadn’t let go. What she needed to do was live in the present. Not the past, not the future where one hopes for better days ahead, but the present. Because now is all anyone truly has.

Okay, well right
now,
you need to get your groveling speech ready.

Right.

Ixtab flipped open the manila folder she’d been carrying in her bag and thumbed through Antonio’s file once again. Penelope had supplied it several weeks ago, but for some reason, she hadn’t given it much thought. It was one of the more fascinating mortal family histories, with generations of royalty dating back to the 700s. What struck her as odd, however, wasn’t their exaggerated wealth—they had more money, land, and assets across the globe than the world’s largest company—but that over the last several centuries, they’d stayed out of the limelight. No political ties, no newspaper articles, no Oprah specials. And humans were obsessed with such powerful families—the Kennedys, the English royal family, the Gates, the Wiggles—but the Aceros were an unknown.

Ixtab gazed out the tinted window of the backseat. Though the day was sunny, the cold seeped through the glass. Or maybe something else caused the chill in her bones. As the car passed the open gates, with the name Acero in wrought iron proudly arched over the lane, she distinctly felt the growing presence of a dark energy. Her teeth began to chatter.

“Le subo la temperatura, señorita?”
asked the driver.

“No, gracias.”
He could raise the thermostat to one hundred and it wouldn’t make a lick of a difference. For whatever reason Antonio came here, she now knew it wouldn’t be good. No mortal, or immortal for that matter, would want to come here.
Yet this is his home? He grew up here?

The car traveled along the hillside overlooking acres of slumbering vines below until they reached another gate, this one closed. The driver pulled up to the intercom and lowered his window.

Before he spoke, the spiked iron gates slid open, creaking and whining the entire way as if setting the scene for a horror movie about to unravel.

Damn. This place was creepy. And
this
coming from the Goddess of Suicide.

The car pulled forward to an empty, gravel-covered, circular driveway. The large three-story home—a simple Spanish-style with tiled, arched doorways and wrought iron balconies with flowing red vines—had to be a hundred-plus years old.

The flutter of a curtain from the top story window caught Ixtab’s eye, but the face quickly shrank back into the shadows. Ixtab’s heart plucked away at an unsteady rhythm inside her chest. Why was she so nervous? Was it the darkness she sensed or the fact that she was about to see Antonio?

She slipped from the car and grabbed her bag from the Uchben driver, who of course knew the drill.
“Gracias. Y quédate circa, por favor.”

The driver nodded and indicated he’d stay in the nearby town. Good. Who knew how long she would be here. Five minutes or five weeks. Whatever it took to make things right with Antonio.

She walked up and rang the doorbell, but no one came. They’d already seen her arrive, so why not? Did Antonio simply think she’d scamper away?

She waited another moment and decided to open it herself. Heck, she was a deity.
Leave the social norms to the humans.

“Hello?” The oxidized hinges of the thick wooden door creaked as she stepped inside the dimly lit entryway with a vaulted ceiling. The floor was tiled with faded blue and reddish-brown Moroccan tiles, and to each side, a grand tiled staircase curved up to a landing.

She dropped her bag next to the large potted plant and gazed up. “Hello?” she called out.

A burst of warm air collided with her face and sent her mind spinning. The aroma carried memories with it. Powerful memories. The smell of roasting chili peppers and dried flowers from the market in Santiago where she’d once strolled with Francisco. The smell of rosemary and lemons—Francisco always smelled of the tonics used to bathe the sick.

Dammit, goddess. You have to let go! You will lose Antonio if you don’t.

“May I help you?”

Ixtab jumped.

A petite woman with one lazy eye and dark hair pulled back, wearing a traditional maid’s uniform, appeared.

“I’m here to see Antonio,” Ixtab said.

The woman’s one good eye scrutinized Ixtab’s draping, black outfit.

“It’s all the rage in Paris,” Ixtab said dryly. “Let me know if you want me to hook you up. But I warn you, prepare to be mobbed by flocks of nude male models.”

The woman narrowed her one good eye. “I am Kirstie. Follow me, please.”

That seemed like an oddly peppy name for such a sour-looking woman. “Fine, your loss, Kirstie; I can’t seem to keep the hotties off me.”
Of course, they all die, but who’s asking?

The woman led Ixtab up the right-hand staircase to where the landing expanded into a great room with Saltillo tiles, a large fireplace, and a sitting area that connected to a long hallway with large windows to one side and arched doorways leading to other rooms. “Wait here, please.”

Ixtab took a seat on the soft white sofa and watched the strange woman disappear down the hallway.

Antonio appeared out of nowhere. “Why the hell are you here?”

Christ!
Ixtab jumped again. What was with these people sneaking up?

Ixtab looked at Antonio and instantly melted. A barrage of emotions and sensations washed over her. One out of the three was naughty.

Number one: Not naughty. Seeing Antonio again instantly loosened that horrible tension constricting the flow of energy in her chest. She could finally breathe again, and her heart fluttered away at a cheerful pace as if it were clapping and jumping up and down, overwhelmed with jubilation.

Number two: Not naughty. She couldn’t help but take notice of how tired Antonio looked. It saddened her because she knew this was her doing. She’d chased him away, wounded his pride. He was the one person in all the world she’d give anything to make happy, yet she’d done the opposite.

Number three: Naughty. Her girly goddess parts started a little square dance. Despite his worn appearance, he still looked delicious. He’d ditched the sexy leather pants for a pair of his trademark faded jeans and a navy-blue Hollister tee that one might accuse of being one size too small. Not Ixtab, however. At the first moment possible, she’d find a lame excuse to get him to reach for something, somewhere on a very high shelf, which would allow her a peek of his sleek, sexy lower abs that she already knew included a manly trail of dark hair leading the way to a very wonderful place.

Stop that. You came to grovel and come clean with him. This is your chance.

“You still haven’t eaten, have you?” she asked.

“You came all this way to nag me?” He crossed his thick arms over his wide chest.

“No. I came to…”
Beg you to forgive me.
“… Talk. Can we go somewhere more private, Antonio?” She knew that creepy Kirstie lurked in the shadows, listening.

Antonio’s deep green eyes narrowed. “You remembered my name. How gracious of you, Oh Divine One.”

Ixtab’s entire face tightened with the jab. “I deserved that. I know. But if you could give me ten—or fifteen—actually, given my age and the length of the story, I might need sixty minutes. Each day. For a week.”

He frowned and made a little “no way” grumble.

“Please? Besides, if you don’t hear me out, your cougar fantasies may never come true.”

He gripped his waist with one hand. “A seventy-thousand-year-old isn’t even close to ‘
cougar
.’ You’re more saber-toothed tiger.”

Touché.
“And yet, I wager you to find a female of legal age purer than me.” She raised her eyebrows. “Pure as the driven snow, and more eager to melt than Thanksgiving turkey.”

A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. “Sorry. Not into poultry.”

“How about gravy?” she asked.

“No.”

“Ah yes. A vegetarian. Pumpkin pie, then?” Yumm… who could resist?

“Not hungry.”

Okay. This conversation had taken a very odd culinary detour and was heading for a dark cavern filled with lonely, cold nights.

She sighed, reached out, and placed her hand on his bulky upper arm. How she’d missed touching him. Gods, it was euphoric. “Please. I don’t want to talk about holiday dinners. I just want a few minutes. Listen to what I have to say, and then I’ll leave if you like. It’s important.”

His harsh expression instantly softened. And dammit if she didn’t see the bags under his eyes disappear. Or had she imagined it? It was as if he’d suddenly transformed into a vision of vampire health. Even that hard line of lips now held a hint of curve on one side.