The Last Etruscan

by Lyn Brittan

  “You know a thing or two about diluted blood, dontcha, Mutt?”

  “My Roma blood is a strong as—”

  “Look, I get it. I do,” he said with a wave of his hand.

  “Are you going to help or not?”

  “Sean, we can help.” The little one spoke but was dismissed by a pale hand.

  “Not help,” the blond corrected.

  “Then get out of my town and don’t come back. I have a lot of shit to take out right now, and I’d hate to see you caught in the crossfire.” Luca strolled right past Sean to grab Callie’s hand. “You, of course, are always welcome in my home. Stay for dinner. Sean can pick you up later tonight.”

  The trollop leaned in to kiss Luca. Well, it was a chaste peck...on the cheek, but Fanchon Marie didn’t like it. She felt white hot rage flood into her fingertips. The urge to have that rage present itself as flying projectiles of energy nearly overcame her. It didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Whew! I’m catching a whiff of something strong. Jealousy, I think. Hmmm, I can’t tell whose is worse, hers or Sean’s! Relax, babe,” she said to Fanchon Marie. “My heart does not belong to our sweet Prince Luca. This tub of food does. Sean is really giving me the stink eye, so I’d better leave.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll be back when the gypsies have finished playing king of the hill. If we’re lucky, this one will be riding his vardo off into the sunset. May the best man win.”

  Fanchon Marie watched them leave as silently as they’d entered. They merely faded away into the brush. “Luca, what are they? They feel more than human, but I picked up no real magic from them.”

  “Werewolves. Shh, give them ten minutes. They can hear for miles.”

  Werewolves? They were rumored to be everywhere, though she’d never met any before.

  They’d been back inside and had a drink before feeling comfortable enough to start speaking again.

  “So those werewolves, can you trust them?”

  Luca poured himself another glass of wine and joined her on the plush couch. “It is more of an issue of can you avoid pissing them off? They only trust each other. But to address the unasked question, Sean will act on his own if he believes Callie is threatened or when she herself feels nervous. If Breznik actions freak her out, all the better for us.”

  Fanchon Marie felt herself being pulled to Luca’s end of the couch. He positioned his mouth in the hollow under her jaw. “Don’t you worry my sweet, Fanchon Marie. I promise to protect you from the big, bad wolf.”

  “What about the mean, angry wannabe king?”

  “Mmhmm.” He rolled the m’s against her throat.

  “And who’ll keep me safe from the Roma ruler? The big, bad Rom Baro?”

  Luca lifted the shirt over her head. “Oh my dear, it is my sad duty to inform you that what a prince of the Roma wants, he gets.” Fanchon Marie slid back into the cushions, while Luca positioned a knee between the apex of her legs. Then he rotated it.

  Fanchon Marie prepared to lose herself to every sensation he promised to create when a bellowing Gregorio called Luca’s name from below.

  “Don’t move. Five minutes. Do. Not. Move.”

  ****

  Note to self: Kill Gregorio. This had better be good. The stairs creaked under his pounding descent.

  His cousins shuffled his feet. “Umm, sorry.” At least he had the decency to look repentant.

  “Again.”

  “Yes, again, but I would not have interrupted if it wasn’t important. We thought everything was about done, but then the boys started catching something marimé – extremely unclean. Whatever Fanchon Marie did riled them up. Your earlier worries were correct. The Morlena are using the dead, the mulló for power.”

  “Sí, the wolves confirmed it.”

  Gregorio sucked in so much air that choked. “They were here? Sorry, we—”

  Luca waved a hand. “It is fine, Gregorio.” Any wolf, but especially those two, was impossible to track with Roma and most other, forms of magic. “Fanchon Marie is coming back home with us. Still, double up the protection around both houses. As for the mulló spirits, call the ones around here to Fanchon Marie’s bonfire, I must make ready the patrin for death. If what the wolf said is true, they are being forced to rise all over city.”

  Luca saw many restless nights in his future. Only the Rom Baro could do a proper soul settling patrin, and he got the impression that the undead planned on filling up his already tight schedule. He didn’t have much of a choice though. Without his words of blessing and chants of lamentations, the souls would never rest again. “Go get Fanchon Marie. I can put them to rest, but we need someone who can speak to them properly. Move!”

  While Gregorio took off, Luca collected the items needed to put the poor bastards back to sleep. The Fata should not have to experience this second life. Especially, not this close to Beltane.

  “Beltane.” He hated to even say the word. It was the one month that all Roma feared, though humans would too, if they really understood it. Modern calendars had it listed as the month of May, but for those in the know, it was the month when the veil between the world of the living and the domain of the dead could be easily lifted, even by novices. Beltane was one of four times during the year when every would-be witch and hack removed Ouija boards and spell books from the shops. Not worth the risk. Mirrors were avoided and smarter barkeeps halted sales of Bloody Marys for thirty-one days. No one wanted to risk bringing her around.

  He bent over and collected the necessary pieces: gnarled branches, herbs, broken stones, and a bird’s nest. Luca laid out all the implements for the ritual as Fanchon Marie and Gregorio arrived.

  “Cara, come here. Do not remove your hand from mine at any point in the process. Gregorio, take the rest of the boys and leave. You know how they get.” Raised mulló had a nasty habit of trying to take over the bodies of anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby. The earlier they were returned, the better it was for everyone. He looked down as Fanchon Marie sent a quick elbow to his ribs. “Maybe a quick refresher for me?”

  Luca understood. Vodou dead came back as zombies, stupid but mostly harmless. These, not so much. “When mulló rise, they’re mostly sad, wanting to go back to sleep. They still have their old memories. While they are weakened, they can be restrained and then controlled by the Roma who called them. As time progresses though, they become angry, dangerous, and demanding of a new life.”

  “Which is why Gregorio and the rest have to leave.”

  “Exactly. I can protect only a few of us at a time.” Though, he didn’t much feel the need to test out how many. “Only Breznik is stupid enough to try this. Is he that big of a fool to think he can control so many of them? One or two perhaps, but more? And for an extended amount of time? He must be more delusional than even I thought.”

  “Only one way to find out,” she said. “Call ‘em over.”

  One at a time, the shades drifted over the moist grass. Probably out of disgust, they kept a wide distance from each other. Their sunken, drained eyes swiveled in dry sockets to dart from Fanchon Marie’s face to Luca’s and back again in confusion. Pitiful. They were people once but now wasted to nothingness -- thin skin stretched over bone. In the absence of muscle, sometimes those bones poked though flesh like white snowcaps against a grey sky.

  “I am Fanchon Marie, daughter of the Beltremieux, and this is Nicolae Luca Dobrega, the Rom Baro. We want to know who has done this to you.”

  Spinning figures twisted and howled. Luca’s face coiled at the sound but not Fanchon Marie’s. Their screeches would come out as clear as the speech of anyone else. It would take his ears awhile longer to settle into their wailing speech patterns. When they did, his felt the loss of ignorance. He would have preferred it to this. They spoke all at once a mixture of facts, please and nonsense.

  “Army.”

  “Release us!”

  “Marguerite.”

  “Pain.”

  “Marimé”

  “Morlena.�
�

  “Luca, they confirmed that the Morlena did this. I think Breznik trying to raise an army. We have what we need, now help them return.”

  “Happily.”

  Luca chanted his own magic words and Fanchon Marie watched him save his people. As disgusted as the Roma were with the dead, Luca still patiently guided them all though the veil in the old tongue. He may not have been able to clearly hear the full words of their gratitude, but she must have, and it brought tears to her eyes.

  “Cara mia....”

  “You’re more than...you’re much more....”

  It hit him. She cried not only for the lost souls, but for his.

  “You’re...good,” she said.

  “Fanchon Marie.”

  Fingers outlined her jaw and lifted it as he swooped in for a kiss. This one, different the others before it. Kind. Soft. Loving. Grateful.

  “They are resting now. I hope this time it will be forever. I fear we will have to do this for many days, possibly weeks to come. For now though, I want to take you home. Relax with you. Be with you.”

  “Relax? How can you say that after—”

  “Shhh, Cara mia.” He pulled her into a warm embrace. “It’ll take some time before we are both energized enough to help any others. No, Fanchon Marie, do not interrupt, do not fight me, do not question me, just relax.” Luca swept her into his arms and carried her into the home. He didn’t speak until he’d laid her down in the lounger on the patio and placed a glass of wine in her hand. He didn’t join her. Not yet.

  “Gregorio,” he said into a recently produced cell phone. “I was right. Their magic is so worthless they are resorting to stealing energy from the dead. I will need to make the patrin for countless souls – prepare the supplies. We will go to the major cemeteries first.... I know...we have no choice. This has to be done before Beltane begins. Otherwise, the city will be overrun with the dead and the Morlena.”

  Chapter Seven

  Fanchon Marie woke up with a tightening arm looped around her waist. No wait, a gigantic, tightening arm. Geez, everything about this man screamed huge. She allowed her index finger to wander up and down its length, marveling at the perfection of even this one part of his body.

  He must have felt like exploring, too, though his caresses were a lot less innocent. Luca’s tongue made fantastic swirls along the back of her neck. He stopped himself every few seconds to nip and suck the tender skin there.

  “Are you feeling better, Cara?”

  She placed a chaste kiss on his forearm in response.

  “Good. Do you think you can get used to waking up like this?”

  If she was being honest with herself, she could. Fine, another kiss on the arm for Luca.

  “Then know I will do whatever it takes to make you happy. I will walk through hell to protect you. I’ll bust my ass, as they say, to keep you happy. I’ll bust yours, if you’re kinky enough.”

  She slapped his hand away but couldn’t keep the, dare it be mentioned, joy out of her voice. She was happy. In a jacked up, forced marriage, dead walking the streets sorta way.

  Then she heard it, that deep sigh of his that served as a preamble to bad news. “What is it? Spit it out.”

  “We need to move the wedding up to a much earlier date.”

  “How early?”

  “Next week.”

  “Luca!”

  “Quiet. Listen, now.” Luca gently pulled her shoulder until she lay flat on her back. His free hand traced the lines of her torso. “If we wait until after Beltane as intended, it will be too late. The Morlena will have too much power by then”

  “But our guests, the cake, everything—”

  “I will give you one of the boys to use as a personal bridal slave.” He must have caught a look on her face. A perfectly arched eyebrow rose along with a playful smirk and Luca said, “I will give you Sophie. Use her in any way you see fit.”

  “Luca, please, I’ll need a few more days than that.”

  “Sorry. Too dangerous.”

  “It’s my wedding! And even if it’s just to you, I still deserve to have my day.” She knew her Bitch Flag flew at full height, but this WAS her day for crying out loud. “Please, Luca, I’m begging you.”

  “I can give you until the first day of Beltane, but no more. You have to keep this silent though. Tell no one of what is happening.”

  Fanchon Marie’s face curled into a confused look.

  “We don’t need to give Breznik any indication that we are moving forward with the wedding until everything is finalized. Besides, the amount of hell I’m going to receive for a wedding on the first of May is not something I’m willing to deal with any earlier than I have to.”

  “And our honeymoon?” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. And for good reason. The conceited idiot – her conceited idiot – looked like he fought the urge to strut across the patio.

  “So eager to get me in bed?”

  “Not necessarily, Sir-Loves-A-Lot. Just want to know what I can look forward to.”

  Luca lowered himself to nuzzle her chin with his stubble. “You can look forward to a time of mind blowing sex. I am thinking someplace cold. You see,” Luca looked around playfully before breathing into her ear. “I am a secret cuddle bug.”

  The absurdness of this huge, powerful, Alpha, Royal Almighty Roma using such a sophomoric, girly and wholly American phrase, sent Fanchon Marie into a fit of laughter. Luca followed suit. With tears in his eyes, he admitted, “Maybe I could have phrased that better.”

  A still laughing Fanchon Marie agreed. “Yeah, maybe. Cuddle Bug.”

  “You mention that to no one.”

  Close to recovering, she nodded. “Sure, fine. Cudd—”

  “FANCHON!” His mismatched eyes flashed in not-yet-but-almost anger. Good Lord, he’d said it, not her!

  “Moving along, my family has an estate in the Alps – been in the family for centuries. Ski in the morning, mess up the sheets at night, sounds good, no?”

  “No and Yes. Can’t ski.” She caught his look of surprise. “Well look around you, Luca. There’s no snow in New Orleans.”

  Luca turned as if examining his surroundings. “Well,” he said, drawing out the word to an annoying length. “That is true. I forgot. No airplanes either, huh? You Americans are more backwards than I thought.”

  She softly punched him in the chest, though his kisses softened the blows. They deepened until she moaned loudly into his mouth. Her sounds pushed him onwards. Confident hands played around her waist then sunk lower.

  A throaty “Luca” gave him permission to go farther. He pulled her up in a seated position, but only for the two seconds it took to climb behind her.

  He licked his fingers loudly, commenting on her taste, then plunged them back into her.

  “Lu-Luca…s-s-top.” Nimble fingers probed and pulled, almost making her forget that they were outside, on her balcony overlooking the city. Almost. “Luca, please. Anyone can see us!”

  “Everyone can see us.” The cocky Rom Baro removed his fingers to roughly rotate his palm over the whole of her mound. She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed her pleasure into his shoulder. “And so what if they do?” he asked. “This is my damned city.”

  Fanchon Marie had seconds to come down from her orgasm before he carried her to the railing, put his hands over hers, and entered her from behind. If it hadn’t felt so good, she would’ve been pissed.

  ****

  When Luca screamed his release, he expected to hear Fanchon Marie’s, too. He did, as well as the screams of someone else. An out of breath Fanchon Marie froze against him.

  “Luca, I hear the dead. We have to hurry.”

  They righted each other’s clothes and took the stairs two at a time, until they reached the streets below. The shouting stopped long ago and in a town known for it, no one else seemed to have noticed the sounds or cared.

  Finding the source proved amazingly easy. A wave of magic looped around the block into the ba
ckyard of an apartment complex. They followed the trail until it led them to a third floor apartment. The door swayed open with a rare southern breeze.

  “Hello?” Luca stuck his head in first and cursed at the sight before him. A mulló crouched over the body of a young woman, draining her of energy and life. This one disgusted him. Unlike the pitiful ones from a few hours earlier, this one had come into his own. It was less than dead. Desiccated and yet oddly vibrant. Its grey skin had gone a dusky purple and throbbed with a motion reminiscent of a heartbeat. For too long it had been free. The desire to take over human life had mutated it into something profane.

  Fanchon Marie entered the room and entwined her hand with his.

  “I’ll talk to him and—”

  “Too late for him, Cara mia. Once mulló have tasted humans, there is no going back. No return from it.” His end would be different from the ones Luca sent to rest earlier. This creature would know no peace. Luca closed his eyes and prayed for the right words. As the binding spell left his mouth, he felt the creature close in on itself, dying a horrible second death.

  “Take the ring off the woman’s finger.” A wedding ring.

  While he still spun the spell, Fanchon Marie placed the ring into Luca’s outstretched hand. The creature’s mass reduced to smaller and smaller portions. Finally, the alchemist in Luca sprang forward, sewing dead flesh into the pure golden metal. In silence, he placed the ring into his pocket.

  “What about the girl?”

  Luca sent up a word of thanks. In her concern, Fanchon Marie still had enough wisdom not to rush over to her. “It is the same with your zombies. Once attacked, they have very little time before turning.” He knew what he had to do. “Wait outside. You don’t need to see this.”

  She didn’t leave. In fact, her hand never left his. Together, they went into the kitchen to seek out the largest knife they could find.

  With slow, but determined feet, they made their way to the living room where the unconscious woman lay sprawled across the floor. Her life would end at his hands, but Luca put the blame squarely on Breznik’s shoulders. He needed to be dealt with sooner rather than later. For the moment though, he had to focus on the young wife dying in front of him, while his own intended bride stood bravely by his side.