Cara MIA - By Book One of the Immortyl Revolution - By Denise Verrico Page 0,82

is forever eighteen years old, and feels all the immediacy of that age.”

He looked up from the keys with an ironic little gleam. “Well— lucky you.”

“Lucky me.”

One moment he was all he looked, a lovely, charming boy, the next something else entirely, wise, knowing and deep, an ancient elf of the forest whose solemn eyes concealed a wellspring of passion and oceans of rage, that escaped in tantalizing drops when he played or made love. Yet, I couldn’t taste all he contained, because he was Brovik’s slave and I was forbidden to trespass there. I had to be content with his body, but believe me Joe, it was a great consolation prize.

I held out my hand. “Come back to bed.”

He lay down on his back. I raised myself over him, tracing the tattoo on his forearm with my fingertip. “The blood didn’t fade it.”

“Brovik said it could be removed. I refused.”

“Why?”

Shadows fell over his face. “To remind me… ”

“Of what?”

Kurt looked into a very different place than the one he saw when he played. “Bargains with the devil. It’s too painful to speak of.” He pulled me down to him, whispering into my neck, “For now, let’s forget… ”

SIXTEEN

* * * *

Kurt held some major demons at bay, but respecting his wishes, I didn’t question him further and thoroughly enjoyed his company. Longing for the experiences we’d both missed as mortal kids, we’d hang out in the Village among the students, not to hunt but to hear their banter and feel their excitement. Here Kurt wasn’t his usual solemn and dignified self, but frenetic and playful, as we ran from shops and restaurants to downtown clubs, and then back to my bed.

He liked rock music, which surprised me, spending hours searching out stores where he bought piles of records that he paid for with an American Express card, while I looked enviously on.

“Must be nice to buy whatever you want,” I said, on one of those occasions.

Boyish mischief sparkled in his smile. “What would you like? I’ll buy it. Anything. How about the entire store?” He picked up an album from a display. “Here, Chopin, I will buy for you— yes?” I shook my head no. “Why is it wrong to accept gifts from your lover?”

“That’s what my suitors call the jewelry they give. I consider it payment for services rendered.”

“Not from me. You liked the books I used to give, didn’t you?”

“Books are different. You were sharing a part of your soul.” I pressed up against him. “You’re the only gift I desire. The gift that keeps on giving, and giving and giving.”

He choked back laughter. “Please, you embarrass me.”

We passed a bodega on the way out of the record store, where large buckets full of red roses and other flowers stood reminding me of the night Ethan had danced with me in the ballroom full of roses, presenting me with rubies. Now that was barter. But it also reminded me of the last moment I stood in the sun. I brushed away the demon whispering in my ear, as Kurt searched among the flowers, until he was satisfied with one perfect, blood red rose.

He kissed me softly and presented it. “This won’t offend?”

“No, it’s lovely. Thanks.”

We wandered hand-in-hand down Bleeker Street, among crowds of unsuspecting kids, blending in perfectly, old enough to be their grandparents and not quite human.

I’d often waken during the day to find Kurt talking business on the phone, with mortals in Brovik’s employ. He’d sometimes leave at twilight to meet them dressed in a dark suit, and tinted glasses, his golden curls gelled darker. He appeared slightly older, if hardly his true age. I’d wrinkle my nose, telling him he looked like a nerd. But, on those evenings when he was free, I’d wake to find him at the piano composing.

He still responded evasively whenever I attempted to draw him out about his past and we never discussed our condition. We acted as mortal lovers do, went out, had fun, and then fell onto my futon to make fevered love. But finally one night, vampirism rudely butted in.

A light burned in the bathroom when I awoke. The rest of the apartment was dark, the heavy blinds and curtains still closed. Drowsily aroused, I rolled over to snuggle up to Kurt, but he was gone. The sun hadn’t set yet. Where was he?

Rising from the tangle of bedclothes, I crept up on him as he stood naked before the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection,