The Immortal Greek

by Monica La Porta

  “This is the purple room.” Drako let her in, but remained outside.

  She was surprised he wouldn’t enter, but inwardly sent her thanks to the pantheon above because she needed a moment to compose herself.

  “I don’t think you’ll find anything here.”

  She had a hunch he was right, but would have never admitted so, and she had to follow her own handbook to the letter and search it anyway. Her strict adherence to rules and regulations was the reason she was the best enforcer the Council had. It didn’t matter to her that she was called names even in her presence because of her work ethic. In fact, she enjoyed that the rest of the paranormal community gave her a wide berth.

  Like the rest of Drako’s residence, the purple room was spotless. Not a molecule of dust was detected when she trailed her fingertips over the antique desk sitting by the corner. Cream and gold trimmed stationary with the AD initials lay on the leather cover on the desk. The picture was completed by an ink well and a plume. She snorted at the affectation.

  “Did you find anything?” He stepped inside the room.

  Startled, Ravenna turned on her heels. “No. I haven’t.” She noticed his sly expression had been replaced by concern, and something else that, had she known him any better, could have been interpreted as sadness. She shrugged the thought off.

  He walked to the desk, his eyes on the French doors opening into the balcony. “I want you to find how that boy got the Immortal Death.”

  A sudden current of air ruffled the papers on the desk, and the deep purple curtains framing one side of the French doors billowed out and engulfed Ravenna. He closed the gap between them and unraveled the curtain from her upper body. He completed the action without touching her. She felt disappointed.

  Unable to understand her own sentiments, a moment passed before she whispered, “Thank you.”

  He nodded and retreated outside of the room, then stopped at the doorframe where he leaned on it and waited for her to finish her search. She could feel his eyes lingering on her, and for once, she wished he would talk and say something outrageous so she could resume her loathing of him. His last statement had rung true and she wasn’t prepared for the playboy to be anything more than shallow. She didn’t want him to have a laudable trait. He was already handsome, rich, and successful. Alexander Drako was too handsome. And he smelled good. And he had kind eyes. And a bright smile. And she was at his house on official Council business. She inwardly groaned and smashed her palm against the iron-wrought railing of the balcony.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes.” She had to finish her search as fast as she could. She tried to blame her unprofessional behavior and wayward thoughts on the lack of sleep—she had been working for four days straight and maybe napped an hour a day. The resemblance of the boy’s death with Tommaso’s had also caught her unprepared. “I’m almost done here.” She leaned over the less illuminated corner in the balcony, but what at first had looked like something worth inspecting turned out to be a cast iron plant holder sporting several terracotta vases filled with succulents. Mentally worn-out, she walked back in and strode out into the hallway without glancing at Drako. “Let’s go back downstairs.”

  “As you wish.” Sounding as tired as she felt, he followed a step behind, then passed her and headed toward the staircase.

  On her way back, she noticed the long corridor had an alcove opening at an angle that made it impossible to see it from the other direction. “That’s clever architecture.”

  He slowed his pace and turned to look at her, his eyes following the direction of hers. “What…? Oh, that. The lovers’ nest.” The hint of a smile, a sincere child-like smile, made an appearance on his face. “I asked Coppedè to add this cozy spot and he named it such.” He entered the small space and plopped himself on the cushioned bench taking the whole width of the alcove, then reached for a light blue tassel dangling from the low ceiling and pulled it. A curtain the exact shade of the wall came down, and Drako disappeared behind it. “I spend hours here reading.”

  Ravenna was hit by a memory from her youth. “When I was a kid, I had something similar in my house.” Tommaso had showed her the hiding space beneath the servants’ stairs. Their secret house was big enough to contain the two of them, plus a night table Tommaso had cut the legs of to make shorter and two kids’ chairs. She didn’t know why she had just shared that with the playboy.

  Drako’s head peeped out of the curtain. He opened his mouth to say something, but she reached inside and yanked the tassel to raise the curtain. “I need to take a look at it.”

  He pushed himself out of the alcove, and with a flourish of his right hand, he showed her the inside. “By all means.”

  She replaced him on the bench and took a good look at the alcove. The inside was nothing more than a shallow nook, big enough for one person—or two very affectionate ones as its name implied. The place was painted light gray as the curtain and outside walls, but the cushion was the same light blue as the tassel. On the two opposite walls, white built-in shelves were filled with books. Drako liked to read about ancient mythology it seemed. She chastised herself for taking notice of his reading habits and redirected her focus once again to her investigation. Soft illumination came from two directional lights on the ceiling. She could have spent hours there too. Her gloved hand trailed over the cushion, then carefully under it. Something hard bumped against her probing fingers. Her heart raced as her gut feeling told her she had found her proof.

  Drako’s eyebrow shot up in a silent question.

  She retrieved the small object and exhaled the breath she had been holding. In her hand there was a small glass flask with a few dark drops left inside. She straightened the flask to send whatever was left of the potion to the bottom, carefully moved it to the other hand, then asked him the perfunctory question she had to ask.

  “Is this yours?”

  He regarded her with a cold expression. “No. It isn’t.”

  As she was looking for the lid under the cushion, Drako swore in Greek. Without warning, he hit the wall by the alcove with his fist. Taken by surprise by his outburst, she almost dropped the flask.

  “What was that for?” Meanwhile, she had also found the lid. The small glass ball nested on top of a minuscule cork was stuck between the cracks in the wooden beams supporting the cushion.

  “Why would anyone given the gift of eternal life want to die?” He stared down at her.

  At first, she thought his question was rhetorical and kept her focus on the task ahead. She closed the flask by pressing down the lid, then made to leave the alcove pushing on her heels only to find his hand outstretched toward her.

  He waited for her to take hold of his hand, then gently helped her out. “Why would a young man, the whole of eternity before him, drink that and jump from a balcony?”

  His words penetrated through the barrier she had put in place to deal with situations like that. She repressed the tears wanting to come out, angry at him once again for making her think about Tommaso. All of a sudden, the recorder burned a hole in the pocket of her skirt. She took it out and turned it on. “Alexander Drako, you must come with me to Castel Sant’ Angelo to report to the Council liaison.”

  ****

  Alexander saw the tension in the taut lines of her face and the way her hand had become rigid in his before she had dropped it as if it were made of lava. For a moment, she had transformed into a woman before his eyes; the next moment, the recorder was out and the enforcer had come back with it.

  “Now?” He felt deflated. The punch he had driven through the wall, leaving an indent on the bricks beneath the stucco, had only scratched his fist and done nothing to release his tension. All the innuendos, the constant effort to tease her had affected him. At first, he had needed the diversion to forget about the boy lying dead outside. Then he had seen a challenge in her icy demeanor, only to be intrigued by how easy she was to read. Now, crude reality had interrupted his game of cat and mouse, reminding hi
m of the senseless death that had occurred in his own house.

  She took a few steps into the hallway before turning and giving him her coldest stare yet. “Alexander Drako, you are the primary suspect in the case of John Doe’s suicidal death due to Immortal Death’s consumption. You might refuse to collaborate, in which case I suggest you to call your lawyer—”

  He waved his hand in the air, suddenly too tired to keep sparring with her. “Did you drive here or did you take a cab?” When she took a moment to answer, he passed her on his way to the garage. “If you don’t have a ride, feel free to come with me.” He didn’t wait for her to make up her mind and strode to the stairway, then crossed the living room, and passed through the industrial kitchen where he often cooked. Finally, he took the small corridor leading to a set of stairs that ended with the garage on the first level and the food cellars on the second. He was already entering his Mercedes convertible when the clicking of her heels echoed in the cavernous space where he stored his city cars.

  “I can’t let you out of my sight.” Her onyx eyes sparkled with anger as she approached him and handed him her briefcase.

  Any other time, he would have told her he wouldn’t want it any other way and possibly with the lights on. He would have gone as far as to suggest several positions she could still have him in sight while tied to his bed, whispering in her ears how it would please him to see her displayed. She naked and he completely dressed. He knew she would be outraged because she had actually considered it, if only for a moment before feeling deeply ashamed of her desires. And when he would walk past her and touch her arm by mistake, she would find it difficult to repress a moan and would call a cab, professionalism and rules be damned.

  Instead, he rounded the car to come stand by the passenger’s door, which he opened for her. “Please.” He gave her time to arrange herself inside the small car, noticing how she pulled her legs together by the side, her thighs closed, her ankles united. Her black hair slid along the front of her shirt, and she put it back behind her shoulder, revealing a white pearl earring on her round lobe. Instinctively, he knew those earrings were hers, whereas the bracelet was a gift. She was a pearl woman, not a diamond one. He liked that thought. All his liaisons had ended with a diamond token—back when it was customary to dismiss one’s mistresses with a gift. Only two women had received pearls from him.

  Her sharp intake of breath was followed by, “We should go.”

  He realized he had been staring at her ear longer than required, longer than she needed to know he had been looking at her. He walked to the back, popped open the trunk where he stored her briefcase, then went to the driver’s side. Once inside, he was enveloped in her scent and immediately pushed the button to lower the canopy, then thought of asking if she was okay with it.

  Without saying a word, she nodded, then looked at the opposite side. He commanded the garage door open, then waited for it to roll up to the ceiling, and thought it was taking much longer than usual. He hit the gas and let the open convertible out of the house and into the street, barely missing an incoming car.

  The enforcer didn’t comment on his driving skills and he didn’t say anything. The whole ride was an awkward affair of half-said sentences on her end and recklessly pushing the Mercedes to its limits on his. One moment he wanted to strangle her, the next he wanted to kiss her so much it left him aching. He hated her, then lusted after her in the span of two blinks. He thought of himself as a rational man, motivated by the simplest of drives, adoring women topmost on his list. Yet, after a few hours in Ravenna Del Sarto’s presence, he had already acted beastly on several occasions. He always flirted with women, no matter their age, and he was always pleasant, but he hadn’t flirted with her, and he had been anything but pleasant to her. While racing through the still deserted streets of the historic center of Rome, his thoughts went back to the visit to his playroom. He had taken great pleasure in cornering her. He knew he should have been ashamed of what he had done. He had never used his charm that way before. The human women he invited to play with him were not only willing, but oftentimes begged for his special attentions.

  “This is the third red light you’ve ignored.” The enforcer primly sat on the red leather seat, on her face a disdainful look all for him.

  He imagined her bottom up on his knees. This time, she was wearing a thong with a little bow at its center. “I thought you were in a hurry to finish your duty.” He pushed the accelerator, flattening her athletic body against the seat. His eyes lingered on the safety belt strapped across her chest, and his hands tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. Physical discomfort took hold and his mood darkened. He went back to the previous vignette, adding fluffy white handcuffs to her united wrists resting over the hollow of her back. She had dimples. His mood lightened, his discomfort grew. “I’ll pay any fine that comes my way. Relax.”

  “It’s not that easy since I’m the one dealing with the bureaucracy of covering your back when you do anything that put paranormals into the spotlight.” She passed her right hand over her skirt, then brought it up to comb her hair. A useless gesture while riding in a convertible. “I hate paperwork and having to call the special squad to cover our traces in the human world.”

  He fought the urge to uncover her pearl earring by easing her hair behind her left ear. When the charms in her bracelet rattled, he almost asked her to throw it out of the car. The image of Ravenna—in his fantasy he had already dispensed the formalities—sitting now by him, her body completely naked against the red leather seat, wearing a long strand of pearls around her throat and trailing down her breasts made him jump the fourth red light and put them on a collision course with a car crossing the intersection. He was partial to pearls.

  Alexander swerved, narrowly missing the oncoming car, then, after raising his hand in apology, he brought the Mercedes back on course and drove the rest of the way to Castel Sant’ Angelo taking care to focus on the road. Dressing her back in his mind helped.

  Once he parked in the underground garage reserved to the paranormal community, he exited the car, walked to the passenger door, and opened it for Ravenna.

  She raised one eyebrow and refused his proffered hand. “Are we done with the macho trip?”

  He sighed and lowered his hand. “I sincerely apologize.” He waited for her to acknowledge his act of contrition, but she looked at him, her mouth open, and a bewildered expression painted on her face.

  She blinked, then shook her head, and exited the car by herself.

  He opened the trunk to retrieve her briefcase and handed it to her, being careful to avoid touching her. “This is a waste of our time. Samuel will tell you I’d never be involved in anything concerning the Immortal Death.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “You said we were going to talk to the Paranormal Community Liaison…”

  She pinched the skin between her eyes. “You and the fallen angel are friends.”

  “Yes, we are. Why do you seem upset about it?” He didn’t bother securing his car. That garage was the safest place to park a vehicle. When, once every few years, he had his car collection driven from his villa in Amalfi to Rome for antique car shows or charity events and fundraisers, his precious Bugattis, Aston Martins, Ferraris, and Lamborghinis were parked there.

  “Because now I understand why my vacation was cut short by your friend.” Ramrod straight, she hurried her pace and left him behind.

  She was on heels—sexy heels. He shook his head to disperse yet another image of those shapely legs bared to his eyes, that skirt gone, her shirt barely covering her back and showing him glimpses of black lace. A moment later, the lace was gone and so was the shirt, but the fluffy handcuffs and the pearls trailing down her shoulder blades were back. He propelled his body forward, and caught up with her.

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” He was painfully aware he needed a cold shower as soon as possible.

  “Samuel didn’t call me because I’m the best in my field.
He wanted to be sure you got the best the Council could offer.” She was at the door leading to the Promenade, the series of corridors that, unbeknownst to the modern Roman citizens, crossed the whole city and connected one historical site to the next, creating a subterranean grid that once had partially belonged to the Suburra—the city under the city of Rome.

  “I don’t even know if I should be offended by your comment.” He opened the door for her, which seemed to enrage the enforcer. He raised his hands in the air. “Okay, you know what? I give up. I don’t know what your deal is, and right now I don’t care enough to ask.” Although, he would have cared to spank her. No need for questions and answers. He left her behind and took the first archway on his left, then followed the narrow ledge bordering the underground river flowing dark and silent under the domed ceiling of the corridor. Paranormals referred to the river as the Styx. He had always thought it was an appropriate name since in Greek mythology the Styx formed the boundaries between Earth and Hades, the underworld. After a few minutes, he stopped hearing the sound of her heels and almost turned and waited for her to catch up with him. Then he remembered the effect the woman had on him and decided the best course of action was to run in the opposite direction.

  He let the calming sound of the flowing river ease his nerves and walked the remaining distance to Samuel’s office with a different spirit. The Promenade was one of the places in Rome he enjoyed walking the most. The corridors ran either along the Styx or inside the Suburra, the ancient and very much real underworld that had once housed all sorts of illegal and dark affairs. Roman statues were disseminated throughout the place, contained in excavated niches and illuminated by white light. Roman and even Etruscan villas had been partially dug out and left out on a permanent museum display, giving glimpses of what life had been centuries ago. He knew first-hand, but not all the paranormals were as old as he and his friend Marcus were. He remembered when he was Marcus’s Greek tutor as if it were yesterday, yet two thousand years had passed.