Cool. Businesslike. In charge.
He was holding back, being what Constance needed. The mother in her approved, but the young woman that never got to live began to silently weep. “No, wait...” He was already dust. Bollocks!
Chapter 11
Alessandro was hoping for a perfect couple of hours, which meant old jeans, no sword, and no sister-in-law. Ashe hadn’t come back since last night. Even Holly wasn’t at home. She’d stayed late in the reading room in the university library. She’d left a note saying she would call when it was time to drive there and pick her up.
Seizing the moment, Alessandro retreated to the third floor of Holly’s house, where he’d turned a corner bedroom into a studio. There, he kept those things that were uniquely his.
The room was filled with instruments in stands, in cases, hanging on the wall—guitars, lutes, citterns, and other members of the long-necked, plucked family. Some had fat, pumpkin bellies; others were sleek. There was a solid-bodied Gibson and pieces of a French lute he meant to rebuild someday. Alessandro had owned hundreds of instruments over the centuries, but these were the voices he could not bear to part with.
When he had moved in with Holly, those had arrived first. The rest of his things—mostly books and an armory’s worth of weapons—had taken more time to put away. Piles of car magazines still tottered on the old desk, their pages stirred by the draft from the double-hung window. Truth be told, he liked things a little messy. He didn’t mind at all that Holly was a haphazard housekeeper, because he was the same way.
From where he sat, he could see outside, across the street and down the brush-covered cliff, the moon trailing a silver scarf across the calm water. It was a clear, cold night. Holly’s huge cat curled into a ball at one end of the lumpy Victorian sofa. Alessandro was sprawled with his favorite Martin acoustic at the other. He’d built a small fire, the pitchy scent of the wood blending with the must of damp wool carpet. The house felt content, the sort of drowsing quietude he associated with nesting chickens.
Alessandro switched on the radio, keeping the volume low enough that he could still hear himself running over and over the finger exercises he practiced every day, up and down the frets of the Martin’s glossy neck. Vampire speed was great, but that meant twice as much work to achieve perfect precision. Of course he would do better if he sat up straight, but he was too lazy to move.
The Kibble-ator—Kibs—uncurled and rolled onto his back in a full-body stretch, claws extended. Without breaking rhythm, Alessandro rubbed the cat’s stomach with one stockinged foot, listening to his passagework and the radio at the same time.
“This is Errata and you’re listening to CSUP at FM 101.5 in Fairview. That was the Happy Dead People with their latest release, Afterlife, After You. It’s ten o’clock and time for Unnatural Enquiry, the current issues portion of our show. I have with me a very special guest, George de Winter of the Clan Albion vampires. Welcome, George.”
“Good evening, Errata.”
Clan Albion? Who gave those villains airtime? Suddenly annoyed, Alessandro rolled off the couch, walking a few steps to put the guitar safely in its stand by the wall. Kibs flopped over, a boneless heap of stripes, and yawned.
On his way back to the couch, Alessandro turned up the volume of the old plug-in radio. The werecougar announcer was in fine form, her sultry voice making the patter sound like a come-on. “We’re here tonight to talk about nothing less than the state of the paranormal nation. Are we monsters or are we citizens of the world at large? Should we obey the same laws as our human neighbors? Scrap that, kiddies, and let’s ask why we should obey any laws at all besides the call of the wild?”
This can’t be good. Alessandro sat, absently petting Kibs as the cat waded onto his lap.
Errata went on. “Let’s begin with the basics. There’s no argument that humans and the human economy have the upper hand. Those in favor of integration say we should live, work, and pay taxes just like everybody else. They say we have to fit in and earn the trust of human law makers, and that means following a strict code of peaceful behavior.”
“That illustrates the whole problem with this new integration philosophy.” The vampire’s retort was so sharp, Kibs’s ears went back. “The laws of my people are not democratic. The strongest predators rule. We are not ‘everybody else.’ We are the nosferatu.”
“All right!” said Errata, nearly purring at the prospect of an on-air dust-up. “I think we know where our guest stands. Now how about our listeners? The phone lines are open. The question of the night: should we be monsters or model citizens?”
Alessandro sighed. Should I call in and state the obvious? Humans might be a food group, but they were by no means helpless. The invention of the computer and its many databases had made the whole swirl-the-cape-and-scuttle-off-to-the-next-village method of hiding a joke. Even if you could afford to change your identity every time the Van Helsing brigade got busy, reinventing yourself wasn’t as easy as the movies made it appear.
“I’d like to add something, Errata,” said George de Winter, sounding almost reasonable now. “Many people believe the nonhuman separatists are just dinosaurs unwilling to relinquish their glory days.”
Yeah, that’s about right. Alessandro leaned on the arm of the couch, propping up his head. And while you win your point, you’ll frighten the human majority into staking us all in our beds. Maybe it was time to remind Clan Albion to keep their heads down and their mouths shut. They seemed to need it about once a year.
De Winter continued. “I don’t think it’s a secret the humans don’t want us here. We don’t have equal rights. We pay taxes, but we can’t vote. We aren’t tried by a jury of our peers, but are subject to summary execution. I could go on, but simply put we’re second-class citizens. We want that to end.”
“By civil disobedience?” Errata asked.
“Rebels are simply oppressed individuals demanding their rights.”
De Winters had a valid point, but the chill in the vampire’s voice was Worse than a snarl. Kibs jumped to the floor with a heavy thud and waddled under the couch to hide. His own instincts roused, Alessandro inched to the edge of his seat.
A knock came at the study door. Alessandro jumped, so absorbed in the radio he hadn’t heard anyone come in. He looked up to see Holly open the door a few feet and peer in. “You busy?” she asked.
At the exhausted look on her face, he reached over and turned off the radio. “Not at all. I thought you were going to call for a ride. Are you done studying for tonight?”
“Yeah.”
She crossed the room, her fuzzy slippers silent on the carpet. Sinking onto the old sofa, she curled her feet up beside her and leaned against his shoulder. The warm weight of her body, the scent of her skin, was intoxicating. The scent of the night air clung in her hair, as if she’d just come in from outside. He circled her shoulder with his arm, the soft fuzz of her hoodie tickling his fingers. She closed her eyes.
“Why don’t you just go to bed?” he asked, amused. “You were up early.”
“I will in a minute. I just wanted to be here with you a while. I’m tired, but my brain won’t slow down. It’s all spazzed out like a werepuppy digging holes.” She tilted her face up to his. Her green eyes looked a little glazed.
“When’s your first exam again?”
She rested her head on his arm. “A week from tomorrow. Today. What time is it?”
“It’s only just after ten.”