Cara MIA - By Book One of the Immortyl Revolution - By Denise Verrico Page 0,88

him, but he hasn’t remained where he is for a thousand years without being cautious.”

“Philip, I’m scared. You know how Ethan is.”

“Kurt is the one for you, but you’re too stupid to see it. Don’t let Ethan destroy this. He will, if you give him an inch.”

I spied Kurt, a seraph wending his way through the clouds of smoke issuing from hundreds of cigarettes dangling from mortal lips, politely rebuffing a boy who stopped him to ask for a light. Kurt shook his head, flashing a sweet smile. The smoker, not so easily put off, grabbed Kurt’s arm, and whispered into his ear to ask for something else. This was a good time to come to his rescue.

“Let’s get out of here. This smoke is awful,” I said to Philip, rising and pushing through the crowd toward Kurt. “Come on, I need fresh air.” I took Kurt’s hand and dragged him away from the hopeful smoker.

The sky was unusually filled with stars. In Manhattan, we generally make do with artificial lights as they tend to make stars invisible, but on nights of extreme clarity they shine, fewer than in other places but they manage. We decided to walk down to the battery. Philip was subdued as we looked out over the harbor toward the green goddess Liberty. Kurt said little, clinging to me like he was afraid I’d run off. Conversation felt strained and stale.

Philip bid us goodbye once we returned to my place, and drove off to a hotel. Kurt watched the first flashes of dawn lighting the horizon from my window. “You’re uncertain of what you’ll do.”

I laid my head against his shoulder. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’ve never told me, Mia,” he whispered. “You know I do.”

I brushed back a stray lock from his forehead and kissed his cheek. We couldn’t even speak the word, maybe because it had too many bad connotations for us. It’s much bandied about, but seldom true. It has much more to do with ownership, and being owned, or just plain bloodletting. This thing Kurt and I had, was unheard of.

Red-orange stripes illuminated his face as he peered through the blind. “I can’t bear to lose you again.”

I hung onto him. For once in my lousy life something went right and I was in grave danger of screwing it up in my usual style.

But Ethan didn’t make an appearance. I was relieved, thinking he’d changed his mind. Then, a few weeks later, hunger drove me out of my air-conditioned lair to a bar at the South Street Seaport, where I picked up a Wall Street sleaze, coercing him with the promise of a blowjob in his car. He didn’t realize I was the one seeking oral gratification. I dumped him in the East River and headed uptown beneath the FDR. Cars horns blared as the traffic above came to a standstill.

The streets were damp with early evening rain, making the air like inside of a greenhouse. Pavement steamed with oily vapor. A sluggish little wind stirred the muggy air. My neck prickled as I caught the scent.

The smell of fish from Fulton Street masked just about everything but then I heard it, a heartbeat, getting faster and far too close. I couldn’t quite tell where it was coming from. Too many sounds bounced off the pillars supporting the roadway. I assumed a fighting stance and pulled my knife. “Show yourself!”

Ethan stepped from behind a pillar. “Very good, if you find yourself in an uncertain position, show no fear.” The hellish heat couldn’t thaw his beautiful coolness. He looked as if he never sweated— skin sculpted of snow, midnight hair perfect except for the one unruly lock, white shirt crisp and dark suit smooth. The diamond on his finger matched his icy eyes. “Cara mia, my soul.”

How could he put all those syllables into that one syllable word? For a second I was dumbfounded. Then thirty-six rotten years flooded back into my memory.

“You bastard!”

He leaned against one of the pillars casually folding his arms. “Miss me?”

“I’ve kept myself busy.”

Distaste flooded over him. “So, I’ve been told.” He offered his arm. “Come with me?”

I held my knife toward him. “Get any ideas and I swear I’ll cut your throat. You showed me how, remember?”

“You were a bright pupil, yet you succumbed to the charms of a boy.”

“He’s not a boy.”

“It’s Brovik’s way of punishing me.”

“Kurt and I don’t feel that way.”

A knowing smile danced on his face. “Just how do you feel, cara