The Last Etruscan

by Lyn Brittan

  “Mmhhh.”

  “Good. Nothing in there will harm me, but it may help protect you from my enemies.” Fanchon Marie tried to concentrate on his words, but he teased a nipple with this thumb and index finger. He tugged and rolled the little bud, nearly to the point of pain. A wonderful and exquisite torture.

  “We will strengthen it later today. Second rule, no more hexes or potions between us. Understood?”

  All she could do was nod as he continued his ministrations. That seemed to be fair enough. “We have established that you desire me, and you know I want you, so no more use in pretending anything else. I will not stand for it.”

  Fanchon Marie mumbled her acquiescence as Luca started grinding his penis though her flimsy jersey knit bottoms. “And we are getting married. Our families depend on this and so does this city. We are preventing a war by doing it, and we will fight another one, together, if we need to.”

  “Luca—”

  “Shhh.... We will discuss the terms later. Now, the situation necessitates we have a little communion.”

  Wait. What?

  “Communion. A promise and a gift from heaven.” Luca knelled down and slowly pulled down her panties. “There’s nothing more perfect than this.”

  Oh, the unholy bastard. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Not this, called that, in an old church? Wrong. But Fanchon Marie released all the tension from her body as he worshipped her. They’d go to hell together for this one. She enjoyed every sacred move. There was nothing fast or aggressive about his motions. He took his time, and let his tongue explore every fold of her core. He kissed, lapped, and sucked on each moistened inch of flesh. Never had a ticket and hand-basket to hell been more worth it.

  ****

  It was killing him. The sight, the smell and, oh god, the taste. Each lap or flick of his tongue caused an explosion of delight. Her body carried a similar essence to young honey: sweet, but with a sharp tang. He loved it. Luca knew he’d die a happy man if he could exist off a diet of this and whiskey. Perhaps this with whiskey.

  “Don’t move.” Luca jetted towards his console and returned holding a crystal decanter. “A forty-five-year-old single malt whiskey. Worth at least a couple hundred thousand dollars.” Luca dropped to his knees, opened the container, and poured his favorite drink into his brand new favorite drinking glass.

  “Luca, don’t!”

  His slurping shut her up. Luca’s mind raced -- the heady mixture of sweet and tangy had him struggling to keep control. Unable to wait any longer, well, able but not really inclined to, Luca dragged his woman down to the floor. They straddled each other, face to face. Fanchon Marie gasped as he entered her, nails digging into his back for the duration of the ride. It was a long one.

  ****

  Hours later Fanchon Marie rested, curled up in one of Luca’s oversized robes on his oversized patio, sipping an oversized glass of well-aged whiskey under the midday sun. Why the hell not?

  Luca lounged on the edge of the settee, skin touching hers. Well-manicured fingers strummed his guitar. He didn’t have on a stitch of clothes and sat only with a towel from this morning’s shower beneath him. Vanity was a beautiful thing. Without warning, he cut off in mid-tune, slapping his full hand against all the strings. “Fanchon Marie, starting now, it is only me. I will kill anyone else who touches you.”

  “Word. Ditto.”

  A toothy smile crossed his lips before he turned around and played again. “Gregorio and the boys have been at your apartment, trying to cleanse the place. They have found the bit of Breznik there. He left a tuft of his own hair as a conduit. At least, we presume it is his. I must confirm it when I get there, but having only that small piece – well, your magic will be stronger than mine in the cleansing of it.”

  It would. What elements of magic the Roma lacked, her bloodlines carried well. The reverse was equally true. What couldn’t they do together, she wondered. This little thing? No problem.

  “I can do it. We’ll need a butchered pig though.”

  Fanchon Marie thought she heard him curse something under his breath about dirty Vodou magic, but like so many things recently, she let it slide. His attentions this morning earned him a complete pass for at least a twenty-four hour time period.

  “Fine, I will speak with Gregorio. You go get in the shower. I shall join you in a minute.” Luca rose to leave, but she had to stop him.

  “Wait. About our marriage—”

  He gave her the Am I The Only Adult Here Look again. “Fanchon Marie—”

  “I know, but hear me out. It’s happening, and yes, you’re right. This, whatever this is, is good, and I want to keep it that way. So...so don’t ask for more than I can give.” Don’t ask me to love you. Though unsaid, the sentiment hung like a noose around both their necks.

  His usually expressive face went black. Hooded eyes gave nothing away when he nodded in response. Another grunt and he headed out into the hallway.

  Fanchon Marie jolted to the shower. No way she wanted to give him time to join her at that awkward exchange. Less than ten minutes passed before she started to towel off and was interrupted by Luca.

  The arrogant Rom Baro said nothing as he removed the towel, tossed her over his shoulder, and marched them back into the shower.

  “Hey!”

  “Stop screaming so I can really give you something to scream about.”

  He did...and she enjoyed every freaking minute of it.

  Chapter Six

  “Maybe we should go to my parents for help.”

  Though this car ride has been much more pleasant than the first, this wasn’t the conversation he’d intended on having. “We will not be doing that. Shall I let them and the Morlena Clan think I cannot protect you? No. I have a handle on this.” Luca paused as he pulled into her driveway. “For now, we will shoulder up your personal protection and—”

  “So I can stay in my own home?”

  Why did she have to sound so damned hopeful about it? “I am having a separate bedroom set up for you in our home. However, you should know that I have every intention—”

  “Yeah, I know what your intentions are,” Fanchon Marie said, looking every bit the petulant child. “Let’s just go.”

  Walking through the front door, Luca felt possessiveness take over his...well...his everything. The spiritual cleaning crew he’d commanded over earlier was all male threats. The gazes of his friends and cousins out here cleaning her property lingered a bit too long for his tastes.

  Luca wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Stephan, Nikolas, may I formally introduce you to my future wife, Fanchon Marie?”

  He’d known these boys since they’d been born. Knew their personal romantic conquests and frequently shared laugh over their women and sometimes the women themselves. But not this one. Feeling every bit the teenager, Luca grabbed Fanchon Marie by both shoulders and swooped in for a claim staking kiss.

  “Neanderthal much?”

  So Fanchon Marie hadn’t appreciated the little display, but he sure felt better having done it.

  “Before you club me over the head and drag me back to the cave, I have rituals that must be performed. You can come if you.” Fanchon Marie paused before adding, a little too dramatically. “Actually, why don’t you stay here with the rest of the little boys.”

  “No. If you think I intend to leave you alone—”

  She didn’t let him finish. “Now, is that because you worry for my safety or because you want to keep running around playing Captain Caveman?”

  “Both. The house is better. You are no longer being directly watched, but Breznik had so tightly bound himself into this place that it’ll take more time than we initially thought to purify it. And before you ask, yes I knew earlier, but hoped to delay the inevitable fight. As for the ‘Captain Caveman’ part, without exactly catching the cultural reference, I simply say that I am a man, you are my woman and that is what we do.”

  Fanchon Marie shot a dismissive hand in the air. “Whatever. She muttered abou
t choosing battles before speaking again. “I’ll go gather the rest of my supplies while you get the pig. Meet me out back in ten minutes.”

  He was there in three. He followed her around, keeping enough distance to let her work, but close enough to pounce if needed. Still, this bit was her show from beginning to end. Roma and Vodou magic were worlds apart, and he saw no point in interceding and possibly screwing it up.

  He watched Fanchon Marie put down the bag she carried and haul logs before stoking a fire that somehow burned a terrible shade of neon green infused with florescent orange.

  “I need his hair.”

  Luca handed over the bundle and prepared himself to enjoy the show. No matter how often he had seen magic or how many types he’d viewed over the years, watching masterful work of this nature still have him a thrill. Giving her an even broader berth, Luca kept his cool as she hummed a low song that caused the flames to take humanoid shapes. His woman was clearly one of the great ones. Her ancestors would have smiled to see it. The confidence she exuded only made Luca’s insides tighten all the more in pride. He found it difficult to exactly make out the words of her New Orleans version of French, but he caught enough to get the gist. Someone done her wrong and those figures, whatever they were, planned to help her.

  Both parties satisfied by the conversation, Fanchon Marie took Breznik’s hair and divided it into three equal pieces. The first part she spat on and buried and the second portion, she handed back to Luca.

  “Throw it out the window when we drive down the highway.”

  The third portion was cast into the fire, much to the delight of the creatures inside.

  “This will weaken him, Luca. If nothing else, I’ve brought you some more time.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  Fanchon Marie looked over her shoulder to toss him a smile before continuing her work. Next, she took a long stick of wood, still burning at one end. She flipped it over, fire side up, then dropped to her knees. Inch by inch she crawled until she created a nearly complete circle around the bonfire.

  She called out to him again. “I need you to bring me that pig now. Don’t break the circle and only come to the edge. I’ll meet you at the opening.”

  She would never carry it on her own. “It is too heavy for you, Cara.”

  Shocked, though he shouldn’t be, Luca’s spirit again swelled with satisfaction. His little Fanchon Marie dragged the dead beast, weighing nearly as much if not more than she did, right to the fire. She threw her whole back into it the movement, and she jerked the animal over the blaze. Luca smiled. He would enjoy helping sooth her tired muscles later tonight. Thankful for the high fence that protected their actions, Luca leaned against the side of the house as the smell of cooked pork wafted through the cloudy, murky air. He hoped the rain would hold off a bit longer.

  The minutes ticked away. Fanchon Marie took out two strips of leather and a dagger from her bag of tricks. With a single movement, she separated the pig’s tail from the rest of its body. She gathered all the bristles and tied them into two separate bundles. One set she added to the gris gris around her neck. The other she tossed to Luca.

  “Keep this in your pocket.”

  “Worried about me, Fanchon Marie?”

  “Tragically, yes. This will protect you against any Vodou spells. Not sure about Roma magic, but I figure it can’t hurt.” She rubbed her hands on her long, brightly-colored skirt. “I’m nearly done here.”

  “Take your time, I have nothing–” Luca never got the chance to finish his sentence. Something happened, and it took him awhile to figure out just what. When he did, he let the curses fly. A porcelain fist had connected with the right side of his face. That’s what knocked him back several steps.

  “I don’t know that the hell you fools are doing, but knock it off.”

  ****

  Fanchon Marie jumped at the sound of another voice then again at the sight of the man who it belonged to. Luca didn’t look happy to see him. A six foot two blond god lounged in her backyard. In terms of looks, he sure did give Luca a run for his money. If you went for that, dashing, Nordic, I’ve swooped down out of Valhalla sort of thing.

  The stranger wasn’t alone. Beside him, blending into the vegetation was a woman smaller than Fanchon Marie. Her face was pleasant but guarded. The cracking of flesh and bone interrupted her investigations.

  Luca, and He Who Shall Be Called “Thor,” tumbled on the ground. Neither of the hulking men held back any punches. They looked like men with a single purpose: to pound each other’s brains into the ground. They did a fair job of it, too. Luca gave as good as he got, but every punch that landed on his face also landed in the pit of Fanchon Marie’s stomach.

  Who were these two? She couldn’t make out what they were or where they came from. Thor Man didn’t look like any of the Morlena she’d seen over the years and certainly not the wavy-haired little thing next to him, but that didn’t matter. She wasn’t about to let anyone mess with her man. She closed her eyes to concentrate on the power in the land. Absorbing it. Willing it to come to her.

  With nanoseconds to spare before the curse passed her lips, the little one spoke to the rolling ball of testosterone in her backyard. “Male stupidity aside, this is about to get ugly. Luca, your mate looks ready to attack Sean, and I can’t let that happen. At the same time, I kinda have a feeling you’re gonna be pissed if I intercede. What we have, boys, is a conundrum. Unless you both knock it off, the situation will continue to deteriorate until we are forced to leave. And we will. We’ll leave with me taking my homemade New England clam chowder that I know you love so much. Don’t make me have labored over the stove for you, Luca, for nothing.”

  The bitch had the nerve to actually produce the clam chowder in a tiffin from behind her back. “I also made some your favorite dessert, tiramisu,” she said.

  Stop.

  Once again, Fanchon Marie wished for a reality pause button. She spoke, unable to hold back any longer. “Wait, who the hell are you? Why is that one trying to kill him? What are you accusing us of?” And why the hell are you making Luca homemade meals?

  Bloody, but rising, Luca finally spoke. “Callie, how nice to see you again.” The woman nodded. “Wish I could say the same, Sean.”

  The blond, Sean, looked at Luca and ignored the greeting, but did return to his earlier question. “I’ll repeat myself for your thick Romani skull. Whatever you’re doing, stop it. Now. For the record, that’s a threat.”

  Luca stepped forward to shield Fanchon Marie. “Watch it, dog.”

  Sean laughed outright. Until this very second, he hadn’t seemed capable. Fanchon Marie’s head swung over to the right. The little one grinned, maintaining the same look of serenity she’d had while the men were ripping each other apart.

  “You’re one to talk Luca. Last chance, tell me—”

  “No, you tell me.” Luca put his finger in the center of Sean’s chest, causing them both to draw in sharply. The promise of another fight appeared. “What are you talking about?” Fanchon Marie slid her hand into his at the sound his rising voice, hoping to calm him down.

  Sean sniffed the air then turned to Callie who did the same. Though she couldn’t make out what was being shared, the two were communicating. It didn’t take a genius or even a long acquaintanceship with these two to realize they had a connection, an easiness beyond the kind of old lovers or friends. They spoke to each other in an oral shorthand supplemented with a mixture of guttural noises, gestures, and looks.

  Finally, they each turned back to face Fanchon Marie and Luca. “Someone’s messing with the magic. Even you ought to be able to smell it. The air is heavy and thick with something bad. I wouldn’t care, but it makes Callie uncomfortable.”

  Fanchon Marie finally found the nerve to speak to Sean. “And?”

  The Norwegian shot her and evil look then leaned in.

  “Watch it, Sean.”

  Sean didn’t address Luca’s latest comment. Instead he said, “And I don’t
like that.”

  Fanchon Marie shivered. She couldn’t help it. Thor scared the crap out of her, and she felt nothing but relief when he turned away from her and back to Luca. “Well if it’s not you, then we need to talk. The cemeteries reek more than usual, which means the dead are restless. They’re getting riled up. Something or someone is messing with them. Mostly, I can deal and happily kill any magical creature you put in front of me, but I’m not inclined to tussle with ghosts and spirits.”

  “Nor me. Stronzo!” Luca raked his hands though his hair. “I think I have an idea of who is responsible. I didn’t know it’d gotten so bad that those not Roma or Vodou could notice.”

  “Well?” The Sean man...creature...demigod...thing, wore the cloak of impatience well.

  “Well what?” Luca looked him up and down. “Are you intending to help or just wasting my time?”

  The Viking shrugged.

  “You either help or leave town. Got it? I don’t want your kind around here.”

  “Our kind. Short version.”

  Fanchon Marie’s head jerked at that. “Our kind,” what had that meant? The situation, however, didn’t give her any time to ask.

  “They are piss poor and power hungry.”

  “Long version,” Callie requested.

  Luca rolled a fist into his open hand. “We think Breznik and the Morlena Clan are behind it. They have been in the area since before the Louisiana Purchase but had been pushed to the back country by the Vodou families. Their blood is weak, and their magic isn’t as strong as ours, but they have been screaming for their own place in the city. Their poverty has only increased over the generations and want the money that comes along with the title. I hoped the banks would rid of them of their seat long before I did. Anyway, the fact that I am about to marry into the region’s most powerful Vodou family has sent them over the edge. They claim I am sullying the Roma bloodline.”