Cara MIA - By Book One of the Immortyl Revolution - By Denise Verrico Page 0,47
a dead thing? She laughs, she cries, her flesh is warm.”
“So it is,” Ethan mused
“Arrgh! Nineteenth century ghouls with your graveyard poets and gothic tales, you’re all obsessed with death!”
“Life’s but a walking shadow. I believe those words were written in your day?” Ethan chided.
Philip grinned. “A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
I giggled. “Must you quote the Scottish play?”
Philip heaved me up over his shoulder. “Pardon me, as I carry this female bastard hence and bear it to some remote and desert place quite out of our dominions.”
I laughed but as he recited the passage I had a premonition— this was what Leontes said when he banished his daughter Perdita in A Winter’s Tale.
“And that thou should leave it without more mercy
to it’s own protection and favor of the climate.
As by strange fortune it came to us
I do in justice charge thee on thy soul’s peril and thy body’s torture
that thou commend it strangely to some place where chance might nurse it or end it.”
Philip carried me out the back door to the terrace, dumping me unceremoniously into the fountain. “Your baptism, lady!”
Shrieking and sputtering I leapt from the water, diving at him full force. It was like hitting a brick wall, but he fell backward off of his feet and crashed to the pavement stones. We laughed and wrestled, as I tickled him.
“Ethan help, your falcon has mistaken me for prey!”
Ethan stood over us, shaking his head. “Mia, do act like a lady. Let him go. He’s not man enough for you.”
“I can take on a dozen like her a night,” Philip boasted, pinching me extravagantly on the bottom.
“But you don’t.”
“That’s fine talk coming from you. I like her… She’s divinely endowed high and low.” He rolled over top of me. “Shall we make the beast with two backs?”
“You aren’t fit for polite company,” Ethan scolded.
I scrambled from beneath Philip, announcing loudly, “I’m going in to change.”
Philip sighed. “Like a Directoire beauty— frock all wet and clinging.”
“You’re a libidinous nightmare,” I told him.
I went upstairs and threw on a new dress, before I went downstairs to join them, finding them looking out at the moonlit bay from the terrace, chatting. Then Philip said something really interesting.
“The money will be wired shortly. Find out all you can.”
“Quiet. We’re watched sometimes. Dirk’s being positioned for second in command. The alphas uniformly hate him but Gaius keeps him close.”
“Thoroughly nasty sort.”
“Worse. He’s got his eye on Mia.”
“Gaius pesters Brovik for her. Let this play out. She could be the key for us. Brovik could put Dirk’s obsession to good use. Careful though— we don’t want her hurt.”
“I wouldn’t allow that.”
“I could stay here on this terrace under the moon, smelling the perfume of these roses forever.” Philip sighed and looked over the water. “The view here is magnificent at twilight.”
“One wonders how it is by day.”
“You two are a picture of melancholia,” I said.
Ethan lovingly swept his eyes over me. “We were admiring the view. It’s brightened considerably with your presence.”
“Here… a present,” Philip said, presenting me with an antique mandolin. “The poor child needs amusement. You know— she might take to piano. I know an excellent tutor.”
“Bit far to travel for lessons.”
“Afraid of other lessons she might learn?”
“From the master perhaps— not the apprentice— that would really surprise me.”
Phillip took the mandolin and sat down on the stone bench, strumming it. “Nevertheless, you must go.
“Oh mistress mine where are you roaming?
Oh mistress mine, where are you roaming?
Can’t you hear your true loves calling?
Who can sing both high and low?”
“Philip, please,” Ethan begged. “Cease, your noise.”
“He has a fine voice!” I protested.
“You see— this one has taste.”
“Sing something else,” I pleaded.
Philip cocked his head and changed keys, singing mournfully.
“Fortune my foe, why dost thou frown on me?
And will my favors never greater be?
Wilt thou, I say, forever breed me pain?
And wilt thou not restore my joys again?”
Ethan snatched the mandolin away. “Enough, unless you’d like to sport this over that obscene tie. Put it away before he sings again.”
I took the instrument inside, and then joined them on the terrace again. Philip now reclined picturesquely on the balustrade, admiring a rosebud he’d plucked. “Did you ever see such a garden?”
“Not since Eden,” I replied.
Philip smiled, dangling his fingers on the paving stones and pulling out moss that grew between the cracks. “Our Eve is certainly destined to bring about the fall. She’ll not rest until she’s eaten of the tree of knowledge.”