Cara Mia - Book One of the Immortyl Revolution

by Denise Verrico

  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 scraped 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, passed 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 anchored. 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 glass. 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 gods. Female slaves were usually the ones who gave the gods 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 passage, 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 goddamned hill. Didn’t trolls live in caves under mountains? Not the quaint fairy tale trolls like in the 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 superstitious 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 anticipated 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 fashion.

  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 gods?

  “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 shivering 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 glass. 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 titles. 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.”

  “He’s like one of the old saints.”

  “Lucifer is the god of light,” he growled.

  “Kind words for the one who gave you eternal life.”

  “A gift that should have been given with a caveat. I’m sure you will be enlightened,” he replied, as he opened a door to a spacious comfortable room, one prepared with great care, by loving hands. Pale furniture and a blond wood floor were polished to a high gloss. Sheepskin rugs lay all over, soft and warm for bare feet. Thick down comforters and woven wools covered the large, somewhat low bed. The linens and rugs were all white, blue and pale yellow, just like Brovik.

  “Peachy,” I commented.

  “He cannot be faulted as a host. I will say that for him. It’s nearly noon. It may still be dark, but you should sleep. Don’t wait for me. “

  He brushed by me, without so much as a kiss, out of the door. A key turned in the lock. I went to the door and tried it. It locked from the outside. I crossed to a window and looked out at the frozen fiord and the mountains beyond. The Northern lights danced overhead. Waves of color shimmered on the horizon, floating veils of harem dancers, but this place was as far removed from sultry courts of the ancient east, as I was from the mortal world, an odalisque in a fortress of ice.

  Machinery hummed and ground, as a curtain of metal came down over my eyes, obscuring the view, as the hatches were battened down against the approaching daylight. I turned away from the window and moved to unpack my things. The large fireplace was unlit. The air was slightly damp and uncomfortable. Despite furnaces roaring below, the temperature was like a morgue. Brovik always preferred the cold.

  Matches and kindling were stacked in a large basket on the hearth, so I set about lighting the fire, a necessary skill I’d learned at Caithness. It crackled and hissed and soon the room grew tolerable. Removing my clothes, I placed them neatly on a chest. The smell of wood smoke was satisfying and comforting. I jumped into the bed and dove under the thick down comforters, pulling them up under my chin. As I reached turn off the lamp, I heard raised voices, arguing in a language I didn’t recognize, Ethan passionately protesting, Brovik calmer, but firm. It sounded like Ethan was being raked over the coals. The argument abruptly ended. I could only imagine how.

  The next evening I was awakened by voices in the main room. The pillow beside me was smooth. Ethan never made it to bed— at least not to mine. I rose, quickly bathed and dressed and then sat at the dressing table to brush my hair.

  “She’s awake,” Ethan said.

  Brovik chuckled low in his throat. “Bring her to my room.”

  “Let her hunt first, and we can work up to it. The heat of the kill will overcome any objections.”

  A low laugh rippled from Brovik. “In my day they followed their masters to the funeral pyre. You would have enjoyed the rites Ethan. First the girl visited all the man’s kinsmen, and fucked them. It was our duty to show our love for him. We looked forward to funerals in those days.”

  “Viking barbarism!” Ethan sputtered. “I don’t want to hear anymore about your quaint customs.”

  “You forget the source of your blood, the Norman conquerors. Noble scion of the house of Sinclair, your Victorian sensibilities didn’t trouble you when you tumbled black slaves, my fine lord of the manor.”

  “We did not require them to die with us. Damn you, Brovik! You just want to work on her mind with your little games. Funeral pyre indeed.”

  “She knows exactly why you made her. All your romantic talk is folderol. Your high-minded plans will eventually backfire. The falcon will turn on her master.”

  “You are playing with my mind.”

  Brovik only laughed more as Ethan unlocked the door and called, “Mia, are you dressed yet?”

  I came to the door, wearing burgundy velvet. Brovik looked up, smiling. “How lovely you look, my dear. I’m very interested in the things Ethan has taught you, and would very much like to see the Bird of Prey in action. We’ll go into town to the theatre, and afterward you can bring down some prey for me, what do you say?”

  “I’d be glad to.”

  “Ethan will drive,” Brovik said, offering me his arm. “You’ll be enchanted by our little theatre.”

  Ethan fetched my mink, draping it over my shoulders. “He built it.”

  Brovik helped me with the coat. “To amuse Ethan. He always found it dull here. Our little acting company is quite good. I pay them too, but anonymously. It is a charming town, but nothing compared to Oslo for entertainment. Kurt and I go down frequently for the symphony. You like music? You must hear our Kurt play.”

  “I’d like to very much.”

  Brovik gave Ethan a meaningful look. “It will be arranged.”

  Ethan scowled, but said nothing as he hit the button to the elevator. Brovik continued to engage me in small talk as Ethan got the car. He was very charming, but I was wary about the invitation to his room later. Just what was in store?

  After the ferry docked on the mainland, we drove along icy roads to the town and Brovik’s quaint little theatre. The play was Ibsen of course, but not The Master Builder, or even The Wild Duck, it was A Doll’s House. Had Brovik somehow engineered the theatrical season as well? I empathized with Nora’s plight, but I unfortunately couldn’t slam the door on my present condition.

  During the performance hunger started pricking at my head. Brovik took note, wrapping his arm around me. “I look forward to this,” he whispered, his warm breath sending a pleasurable shiver down me. “Your senses have awakened.” I sat between them for the final act, very aware of th
eir bodies next to me, the pressure of their thighs against mine. I glanced from side to side marveling at how amazing they both were, wondering just what would happen after this hunt.

  ELEVEN

  * * * *

  “We took the unconscious victim back to the house and climbed the steps to Brovik’s aerie. Ethan placed the man on the low bed and then turned toward Brovik who dimmed the lights, so that the stars were visible through the glass. He doffed his clothes, and stood quietly off to the side observing as Ethan and I feverishly tore at ours.

  The aurora danced overhead, bathing the three of us in its glow. Ethan led me, naked, to Brovik, “What’s mine is yours,” he whispered.

  Brovik reached out, caressing Ethan’s face. “How could you deny me what is mine for so long?”

  Then their mouths met in a long, deep kiss… ”

  Joe stood up, “Whoa Mia! Do we need to go here?”

  “It’s pretty important!”

  “Go easy on me,” he pleaded.

  She smirked. “Ethan led me to the bed where the victim lay sprawled. Brovik glided over, beautiful body shining in the moonlight. The semi-conscious victim, probably thinking he dreamt this, showed no alarm as the three of us surrounded him nude on the bed. Brovik took the victim up in his arms and drank from the throat while Ethan took one arm and bit into the wrist. I nestled into the chest.

  After we’d drunk our fill, Brovik carried the body to a small door in the wall and dropped it into a chute. He’d apparently thought of everything when he built the place. He returned to us with his benevolent smile.

  They reclined on either side of me, nuzzling at my throat, two mouths on my flesh, two sets of razor sharp points burrowing into me, two pairs of hands caressing my body. They clasped hands above my mouth. I knew what to do. Pulling them to my lips, I tore a gash in both wrists and let the drops intermingle in my mouth.