tie louder and his manner anything but subdued. He leapt out of the car and landed on his feet before me, sweeping me into his arms in a parody of a passionate embrace. “Mia, come away to Venice and leave your moth-eaten lover to pine!” I burst into laughter. He released me, and I took his arm as we headed off to the house. “Where’s the old monster?”
“Reading.”
“Some boring philosopher, I’ll reckon?”
“Poetry, actually.”
“There’s some hope for him.” He burst through the door. “Sound the trumpets for my entrance!” He made a deep flourishing bow. “Good evening Ruthven— or is it Byron?”
“Do I hear bells?” Ethan said, not looking up from his book.
“Aye, they toll for thee, ungrateful son of the blood,” Philip said, ominously creeping up behind Ethan’s chair.
“Where have you been?”
“In search of the ravishing waiter from last night— Vincenzo.” Philip reclined on the sofa Mark Antony style, as I draped myself around the back of Ethan’s chair. “As you see, I took a page from Ethan’s book and dressed to dazzle his mortal eyes.”
“That tie is blinding,” Ethan commented.
“Somber weeds are for mournful Calibans like you. I’m a spirit of the air!”
Ethan smirked. “From ear to ear that is.”
“Go on,” I urged Philip.
Ethan glanced up from his book. “Ten-thousand lira, he let him go.”
Philip ignored him and continued to elucidate on his conquest, “I again descended to the temple of Jazz, and spirited lovely, young Vincenzo away to a small hotel.”
“No mean feat, considering how you terrified him last night,” Ethan remarked.
“I expressed my admiration for his breathtaking beauty.”
Ethan smirked. “And his soon to be corrupted innocence.”
Philip sighed, contentedly, as he sank back against the sofa arm. “He’s simply too delicious to take so soon!”
Ethan shook his head. “Told you so.”
Philip closed his eyes, blissfully smiling, “I shall delay the gratification of my Immortyl desire and enjoy his more earthly charms.”
“He’ll live to a ripe old age,” Ethan interpreted.
Philip grabbed a bunch of grapes from a bowl on the table near the sofa. “If we kill all the beautiful ones what’ll be left?” he asked, as he popped a grape into his mouth.
Ethan watched Philip chew and swallow the fruit. “You have a point.”
“Interested in sharing him?” I proposed.
Ethan was scandalized. “Mia!”
Philip grinned. “Wicked— only I don’t think Ethan is keen on it. He wants to keep you to his selfish self.”
“You’re a corrupting influence on her.”
“Your tercel may be hooded and her jesses firmly in your grip, but perhaps she isn’t content to fly for you alone?”
“Mia, what do you have to say about this?”
“He’s my life,” I said, with proper awe.
“They all say that at first. That is all I’ll say on the subject. A little brotherly advice, little brother.” He snatched up Ethan’s volume of poems and declaimed loudly about the room, “What’s this rubbish? Dylan Thomas? How very moderne of you Ethan! Rage, Rage against the dying of the light.” He convulsed into laughter. “Melancholy monster! What a picture you are, looks that any of us would open our veins to have, even this handsome devil pales in your shadow, a lover of legendary prowess, even among us… Am I correct Mia?”
“Assuredly.”
“The wits and ability to take whatever he wants, which he does without scruple… A deadly killer, a remorseless predator.”
Ethan grinned. “Stop reciting my virtues.”
“I’m through— have a little modesty. All of this as well as a sensual morsel of a child who loves him without question and still he broods. Living corpse!” Philip made a cross with his fingers, wailing like a banshee. “Nosferatu-u-u!”
I collapsed on the sofa laughing so hard tears came.
Philip gestured to me dramatically. “Look at that! Is that 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.