Part 18 (1/2)

He wrapped his arms about his knees. ”Brovik sent a message through Gaius.”

I sat up, surprised that he uttered the name of his maker voluntarily. His eyes veiled as he spoke. ”He sends felicitations on the anniversary of your birth. This year is the centennial of my own birth in the blood, come December. Our presence is expected. I can't put him off any longer.”

My power to veil myself had become highly developed, but inside of me a battle raged, and I feared Brovik's power to strip away the illusion. My rival, the one who had stolen Ethan from his wife and children, who Ethan pined for, though never admitted it. Could he reach inside and pluck the soul from me as Ethan had once cautioned, with the most serene of smiles on his beautiful countenance? The demon haunting my dreams was fair as the sun with eyes like the sky I could walk under again. Who will go Who will go with him? with him? Those words echoed through the dark corners. What did they mean? Those words echoed through the dark corners. What did they mean?

Besides the heavy duty, gothic dreams, I spent a good deal of my waking hours wondering about how the antagonist's entrance into our little play would affect the action. Or was I actually the antagonist? Oh yes, that made much more sense. Their story had been in progress for a century. I was the latecomer. And Kurt, where would he fit in? From his letters, I believed I knew him better than I could ever hope to know Ethan. We shared cautious views about this endeavor our house was embarked on, but he had complete confidence in Brovik's motives, while I had deep misgivings about Ethan's.

Early that December, Kurt called on us again. The weather was unusually brisk for this warm climate. Did Brovik exercise power over the north wind? Ridiculous, I chided myself, only fairy tale vampires held power over the elements, but Brovik by this time had achieved mythic proportions in my imagination.

Ethan was already on the terrace when I arrived. Strong wind blew my hair over my face. I sc.r.a.ped it back with my hand. Kurt stood there with a wooden box of some kind in his hands. He smiled his bittersweet smile, bowing according to form, averting his eyes. I wouldn't have this from my dear friend.

I laid my hand on his arm. ”How are you?”

”As well as can be expected.” He looked up to meet my eyes head on. All we knew of one another, and wanted to know, pa.s.sed through that brief glance.

Ethan snapped, ”Mercy's sake, stop goggling like two teenagers! Spit out your message, boy, and go.”

Kurt moved briskly forward, presenting Ethan with the small beautifully carved chest. ”Brovik sends gifts in commemoration of your centennial, and orders you attend him.”

Kurt stole another glance at me.

Ethan took this in and smiled smugly. ”Oh, we'll come- but on one condition. You'll make yourself scarce insect, understand?”

Despite his eternally youthful looks, Kurt was thirty-five now, hardly a boy anymore. He replied, firm and unwavering, ”If you insist. My regrets, Mia.”

”How dare you address her?”

Kurt bowed and walked deliberately past Ethan, with a look matching the icy wind off the bay. But Ethan just stared out over the terrace for a long time. Then he did something I had never seen before.

Men's tears are difficult to watch, and I was unprepared for the naked despair scrawled in huge letters across his face. I approached warily. He motioned me away, turning his back on me. Another gust of cold came off the water. I drew my robe tighter about me as I stood there awkwardly. Ethan was in a place I'd never be welcome.

Frightening yet wonderful, to see the tightly wrapped bits of this tidy parcel unravel before my eyes, to finally glimpse the man beneath the vampiric trappings. All the way to Norway he spoke little. Ethan was terrified of airplanes, and Brovik had sent one to fetch us that bounced alarmingly, buffeted by high winds over the North Sea. Maybe the old Northman had some control over the elements after all.

Before morning we dropped down over a frozen expanse of water to a landing strip. The pilot unloaded our bags into the waiting car and opened the doors for us. The driver raced against the sun, even if it would only rise for a brief time. I pulled my black mink tighter around me, chilled by Ethan's silence, relieved to be on the ground again, but dreading the coming encounter.

Soon, we pulled up to a dock, where a small ferry was anch.o.r.ed. The driver opened the doors for us and carried our bags to the boat, then hurriedly got back into the car and sped away. The blond, bearded giant of a mortal at the boat's helm tipped his cap and spoke cordially in Norwegian. Ethan answered tersely in the same. The boatman smiled as he helped me aboard.

The ferry plowed slowly through chunks of floating ice and fog, to an island that appeared as suddenly as Avalon before my astonished eyes. A house was set high on a hill, bathed in floodlights, a sparkling modernist structure of concrete and gla.s.s. This was the home of a vampire of great antiquity? What had I expected, some drafty old castle? Not in Norway in any case. I'd done some exploratory reading when I learned of the patriarch's origins. Viking houses were mostly made of wood and long gone.

Nice guys these Old Norse. They enjoyed drinking from the skulls of their dead enemies and smothering people in peat bogs as an offering to the G.o.ds. Female slaves were usually the ones who gave the G.o.ds their due. Supposedly their own women held fairly high status in their society, but their pantheon of deities was as much a boys club as the one I was now a non-voting member of. Philip said he liked women. Skewered and roasted, I supposed.

We docked at the Island, and upon disembarking, walked along a stone drive to what appeared to be a tunnel with a large steel door. A hum started up as the door lifted. We entered an underground pa.s.sage, sort of a large garage with a couple of very nifty cars parked inside. The boatman carried our bags to a small elevator. I glanced up at naked rock above our heads. We were underneath the G.o.dd.a.m.ned hill. Didn't trolls live in caves under mountains? Not the quaint fairy tale trolls like in the Billy Goats Gruff Billy Goats Gruff, but the giant man-devouring monsters of Norse mythology?

The mortal set down the bags and left, strolling from the cavern and out the heavy steel door. He didn't make signs against the evil eye, or any other such superst.i.tious nonsense. Apparently it was business as usual, and he suspected nothing out of the ordinary about his employer- besides- Ethan gave him a large tip.

Ethan cautioned me to behave myself as we ascended, ”Not a word until he addresses you, got it?”

”I know the dance.”

”Not this one.”

Sure, I was terrified. My heart beat frantically, pumping adrenaline through my blood, believe me it was everything I could do not to run away in terror. The moment I'd antic.i.p.ated and dreaded for so long was upon me. In a moment I'd look on his face, the big cheese, the head demon.

The elevator glided to a stop and the door opened. The elder stood there before us. He wasn't as tall as Ethan but would have been considered a giant in his time, made somewhat on the same muscular lines as Ethan however. I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes but he took my chin firmly in hand and raised my face. I sensed great power, but that was all. He wasn't letting on anything else.

Trembling, I met his gaze, and was taken aback by what I saw, intensely blue eyes, the impossible blue of a Scandinavian summer sky, curious not cruel, and a smile as benign as Saint Francis feeding the little birds. His lean face was somewhat austere in contrast to the sensuality of Ethan's, and his pale hair neatly clipped in the current fas.h.i.+on.

Still, the non-threatening appearance didn't make me feel any better. In fact his very sunniness scared the tar out of me. There is something horrifying about a creature of the night embodying the diurnal in his form, like your destruction just constantly staring you in the face.

A soft, low voice with a hint of a lilt caressed me, ”Mia, Ethan's child. How lovely. I'm Brovik.”

Taking me by the arm, he led me into a large open room with stark white walls and highly vaulted ceilings supported by bleached birch beams. Beautiful warm golden woods were laid in geometric patterns on the floor with hand loomed woolen rugs strewn about. The furniture combined modern and antique, smooth planes juxtaposed with rustic carving. Niches in the walls held museum quality artifacts- no- better than museum quality. Circlets of gold and drinking vessels of horn, folk art, carvings with ancient runes, beside contemporary works from all over the globe. The centerpiece of the room, however, was a sleek grand piano. That would be Kurt's. How amazing it would be to hear him play it.

Ethan followed behind us silently to the large fireplace along the opposite wall. Did our host plan to throw me in and dispose of me to appease the G.o.ds?

”You're young and feel the cold,” he explained, as if reading my thoughts. ”Kurt stacked enough wood in your room to make a good fire, so you'll be warm.”

He seemed to expect an answer. I was s.h.i.+vering with fear, but I had to answer. Casting down my eyes, I whispered, ”Thank you my lord, I'm quite comfortable.”

He half-smiled as if something amused him, and turned his attention to Ethan. He didn't move to embrace him, standing quiet and reserved, observing us both. ”How good to see you, Ethan. Was your journey pleasant?”

Remembering Ethan's agony on the plane, an imp possessed me to giggle. The look Ethan threw wasn't pleased.

Brovik chuckled. ”Ethan hates airplanes. In spite of all the science and mathematics he studies, he feels the laws of physics and averages are against him.”

Ethan drew himself taller. ”I did not come to be made fun of.”

”No, it has been a long time.” Brovik turned back to me with a mischievous gleam in his eye. ”Mia, does he lock you away and beat you like Dracula's brides?”

”Brovik!” Ethan protested.

I replied wryly, ”Only when the moon is full.”

Brovik laughed out loud. ”You need a sense of humor with Ethan. He takes everything far too seriously. Kurt speaks highly of you. Unfortunately, urgent business called him to London.”

I ventured another look around. The number of windows surprised me. The place was half gla.s.s. Sunlight isn't a luxury we can afford. I could see if mortals lived in this house why they would want sunlight in a place where it was almost non-existent in winter.

”You find my house interesting?”

”I didn't expect it to be so modern, my lord.”

”Brovik. I don't go in for silly t.i.tles. I prefer modernist architecture. Not a lot of fuss, don't you agree? You'll see the rest tomorrow night. I promise to give the full tour but you've had a long trip.” He turned to Ethan. ”Kurt took great pains to make her comfortable. Let her rest. We must talk.” He embraced me, kissing my forehead. Again he raised my face to his, running his hand over my cheek. His fingertips were smooth and cool on my skin, but I melted in the heat of his eyes. ”You're my blood, as Ethan is my blood. What's his is mine. Sleep well little one.” He turned to leave. ”Ethan, don't be long.”

Ethan lifted our bags, and started off up a small flight of stairs to a gallery above the main room. I followed. The house had many levels. One staircase led to a room at the top of the house, to which Brovik ascended fluidly. He turned. Our eyes met and we appraised each other in that millisecond. Jesus, he was as Ethan said, with the most serene of smiles on that beautiful countenance, one that could seduce the soul out of you.

Ethan scolded, ”Don't gawk, for heaven's sake.”