Woman King - By Evette Davis Page 0,134

It was a selfish thing, burying them away. But for a few seconds, I wanted to feel happy, not be obligated to carry the lost and the dead with me in my heart.

“Did you reach your mother?” William inquired, pulling me back to earth.

I looked over and gazed at my future husband, pale and lovely in the dusk. My heart did a little flip in my chest watching him; he was mine and I was his, our blood mingled in our veins. William smiled at me, clearly hearing my thoughts. His smile was small and private, and I knew that he understood.

“I didn’t reach her but left a message,” I said. “She’s out at her gallery, so I don’t expect to hear back from her until tomorrow. She’ll work until very late and then go to bed. I was planning on inviting her to meet us tomorrow for drinks at a café nearby.”

“Do I get to meet your mother?” Josef asked, a petulant tone attached to the question. “Are you introducing the whole family?”

Good question, I mused. Hello, Mom, meet your new sons-in-law, they’re vampire brothers. But how could I not? In for a penny, in for a pound, I decided. “Yes, of course. After everything we’ve been through, I’m not hiding anything from my mother.”

That brought a rare, joyful smile from Josef. We passed the next hour amicably, making small talk while I nibbled away at the bread and cheese. Not long afterwards, it was decided that we needed to experience Paris nightlife. William suggested an old jazz club in the Latin Quarter, where he knew a full bar and reliable musicians could be found. There was a taxi stand near the apartment and within minutes we’d secured a cab. Josef slid in first, giving the driver directions in impeccable French.

“Did you speak French before the war?” I asked.

Josef looked over at William, a private memory shared between them. “No,” he said. “I spoke Czech primarily, a bit of Hungarian…a little German and English. French is something I acquired in my second life.”

The cab made its way toward the Latin Quarter. We were heading to a club located underground that didn’t open until 10 pm, wouldn’t really be in full swing until midnight, and closed only when the sun began to rise. The doorman greeted William and Josef by name, sending us inside with a hearty bonne soirée and a pat on the back. A helpful but flirtatious woman brought us to a table in the rear of the club. Drinks were promptly served and we sat back to enjoy the music.

A lone pianist under a spotlight began to play a sad, crisp lament that seemed to pay tribute to some far off place. Soon, a man appeared with a bass, then another with a trumpet, and voila, we were treated to a blues trio.

A few numbers into their set, William excused himself from the table and disappeared. He did not return again until he appeared on stage, a guitar in his hand. I watched, amused, as he and the pianist opened up a spirited rendition of “St. James Infirmary,” the piano grinding out the notes against an upright bass and guitar. I closed my eyes, listening as William played. He remained on the stage for a few more numbers and then finally set his guitar against the wall and returned to our table.

“Play here often?” I teased.

“A bit,” he said. “I know most these guys, a few of them are vampires, so it’s always easy to ask if I can sit in when I’m in town.”

Good music and an abundant list of drinks helped the night pass quickly. Eventually, I grew weary, jet lag finally catching up with me, and I asked if we could make our way back home. Josef scowled at first, clearly intent on staying until dawn.

“Feel free to stay,” I said. “I don’t want to be responsible for killing your fun.”

“I’ll see you both home and then go on from there,” he said, picking up my wrap and handing it to me.

****

CHAPTER 39

Josef proved as skillful at hailing a cab to get us home, as he was in jumpstarting our evening. I was beyond exhausted and allowed myself to be led out of the taxi and into the building.

Soon, I found myself squeezed into the elevator with both of them. It might have been fatigue, the tight space, the dim light of the ascenseur, perhaps even the vast amount of Champagne I’d drunk, but

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