When he grunted at this, she continued, “Anyway, at that time she had a long road of recovery ahead of her and while her mother knew Alicia would heal physically, she was afraid that she wouldn’t mend mentally and emotionally. Alicia was shutting down and shutting everyone out. Her mother was very scared for her.”
Ildaria took another drink of her Tahitian Treat, recalling the worry and fear of Alicia’s mother and her own rage and pain on learning what had happened.
“Did you fix her?” G.G. asked quietly.
She raised her head and eyed him warily. “What do you mean?”
He snorted at the question. “I know a lot of immortals. I know your abilities. Did you wipe the memory from Alicia? Help her get over it?”
Ildaria let her breath out on a gust of irritation and then shrugged. “I did what I could.” When he raised his eyebrows at that, she admitted, “I’m not old enough, or maybe it’s not practiced enough, that I was able to wipe her memory.”
“Practiced enough?” he asked with interest.
“I don’t read minds unless I have to,” she explained. “It feels . . . intrusive. Besides, some of the things you hear when reading the minds of others can be . . .” She paused and shook her head with disgust, and then explained, “Mostly the only minds I’ve read are those of would-be donors.”
“Donors?” G.G. asked, his eyes narrowing. “Immortals haven’t been allowed to feed off of mortals since shortly after the advent of blood banks. Not in North America anyway.” After a pause, he added thoughtfully, “And Punta Cana is in the Dominican Republic, part of the Carribean, which is also in North America.”
“Si, but the South American Council covers the Carribean, Central America, and South America too. Basically anything below the United States. It’s just called the South American Council to simplify matters,” she explained, and when he merely raised his eyebrows, she added, “But it’s not allowed there either . . . unless you take a boat out into international waters. Neither North American, nor South American rules apply if you’re in international waters.”
“Right,” he said grimly. “And you did that? Took people out on boats and fed on them rather than using immortal blood banks?”
They weren’t really questions, and he wasn’t looking very pleased at the thought. In fact, he was starting to look at her like he found her distasteful now. Ildaria didn’t know why that bothered her, but it did and she quickly explained, “Not by choice. The Dominican Republic has some pretty corrupt people, both mortal and immortal.” She paused briefly, and then added, “I suppose they have corruption here too, but the difference is that Lucian Argeneau isn’t corrupt. But down there, the head of the Council, Juan Villaverde, is very corrupt. And greedy. He owns a good portion of the beachfront property, but wants more, and inland property too if it’s in a lucrative area. Of course, he’s had no problem purchasing the property he wants from mortals. He just controls them and gets them to sell. But he can’t do that with the immortals who have owned and had shacks or huts on the land for ages. The other immortals would protest. Besides, some are old enough to be able to resist him and have held the property for a hundred years or longer. Long before they became tourist traps. So Juan has resorted to using other tricks to get what he wants.”
“Tricks huh?” G.G. said grimly.
“Yeah. Some work, some don’t, but the latest trick is that he bought up all the blood banks down there and has jacked up the prices on blood to the point that less affluent immortals are having to choose between buying the blood they need, or paying their mortgages, or taxes, or rents, or hydro if they have it. He’s forcing people out of their homes, taking them over and—” She broke off, shaking her head with disgust at the memory of what the man was doing to her neighbors and people she cared about.
Ildaria took in a deep breath, let it out, and then continued. “One of his sons, Vasco Villaverde, doesn’t agree with what his father is doing and wanted to help those of us the most affected by his father’s actions. So in an effort to get us the blood we needed, he geared up his old pirate ship, and—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” G.G. interrupted. “His old pirate ship?”