by Michele Hauf
“The pickup is here in the lower body.” She tapped the area of the violin that was solid and had small turnable pegs on it. “Like I said, it’s electric. Plug it in, and it rocks. I fixed the pickup for the acoustic violin Domingos is playing onstage now. He likes the deeper tones, he says, and prefers that one over the electric. The amp is crackling, though. I’m going to take it home and tear it apart. This baby is sweet, but she needs a new pickup, as well. Domingos’s cracked it when he smashed it against a column at their last concert.”
“For what reason?”
She smirked. “Rock ’n’ roll, baby.” She tapped the violin. “Go ahead. The acoustics still work. Give it a try.”
She offered the bow, and Nicolo quickly grabbed it. He hadn’t held such in...so long. Anticipation quickened his breath almost as a kiss from Summer had. He must have this. Now.
“May I?” he said of the violin.
Touching another musician’s instrument was an honor. When she nodded, he stroked along the inner curves of the violin, where there was no body at all. The metal was sleek and cool. All of it had been cut out, save the neck and the right lower side that harbored small adjustable knobs.
As Nicolo put the violin to his chin and shoulder the band members started filing in, slapping each other across the back and shouting kudos over a job well done. Ignoring them, for all that mattered was the curious instrument in hand, Nicolo pulled the bow over the E string. It sounded exactly as it should, only louder, and perhaps more crisp?
“Lovely.” He tried a few notes, then wiggled his fingers in vibrato. It was an easy play, and it felt natural in his hands. Not as if it had been a hundred and seventy-five years since he’d held one. He closed his eyes, allowing the notes to shimmer throughout his system. Music had once been his meditation, his voice, his anger and joy. It still sang to his soul.
“Hey, Summer, who’s this?” Kambriel said as she hugged Summer. The woman tugged off the demon horns, which left her long black hair tangled near her ears.
“Uh, his name is...Nick.”
Nicolo flinched at that but did not stop bowing. She had warned him not to reveal who he was. Made sense. Until he got his footing, he could hardly go around claiming to be a dead maestro. But maestro he was. And he forgot the others who had gathered round to listen as he segued into a sonnet he’d composed when he had begun to take the stage in Italy. He’d never performed it live because of its simplicity. It was lyrical and yet had a good pace.
“Sounds awesome,” someone said.
Nicolo closed his eyes and fell into the luxurious arms of his mistress music.
“Wow, we oughta hire him,” the one who played the cello and violin said.
Nicolo slowed his pace, opened his eyes and bowed to the man. “Your electrified cello playing was exquisite.”
“Thank you,” he said with an astute bow. The man wore brass-rimmed goggles propped on his head of long black hair. Dark shadows smeared under his eyes. Women’s kohl cosmetics? Perhaps.
“You like the classics?”
“Uh...” Nicolo assumed that he must be considered a classic nowadays. What a kick. “I do.”
“Play some Vivaldi.”
“Ah. An easy one.” Nicolo segued into the spring concerto from The Four Seasons piece, which he had always admired.
“That’s amazing,” Domingos said. “Believe it or not, I have trouble with that piece. Too cheery for me. Heh!”
Summer hugged her brother. The twosome stood off by the couch, watching, listening. Nicolo could not stop playing. It felt too good. And he did not fear enacting the brimstone bargain by playing this fantastic, electrified instrument.
“Beethoven?” the cellist requested.
“Too easy.” He paused. Tightened the G string a twist. “How about Handel?”
“Eh. Too boring.”
“Ah! I know a good challenge. Paganini!”
“Oh hell,” he heard Summer mutter.
With a grin, Nicolo launched into one of his finer pieces. He barely heard the brother lean over and say next to his sister’s ear, “Sounds like you’ve found a new one, sis.”
* * *
Summer pulled her brother out of the dressing room into the outer hallway, where a few of the backstage hands shuffled around gear boxes on wheels. Others were chatting, discussing plans for after the club closed at 3:00 a.m. A violet-eyed faery in a red-and-black minidress gave her a sidelong glance that she couldn’t determine was flirty or assessing.
Johnny wore black leather pants, no shirt and a wrist full of leather and silver bracelets. Kohl makeup shadowed beneath his eyes and streaked along his abdomen to enhance the cut of his muscles. He leaned against the wall, hand to a hip, and eyes imploring. “Well?” he asked. “Is he your new guy?”
“No. Yes.” Summer suppressed a wince. “I met him this morning. We’ve been on a road trip. I picked him up in Italy. We’ve...kissed.”
“Wow, you’ve never been one to hook up so fast. Though the guy is handsome. Even I can see that. And a musician. See, I told you the girls always go for the musicians.”
“Yeah, whatever. Johnny, I am in so much trouble.”
“With what?”
“I had a bit of a hiccup on this mission.”
“For Acquisitions? What happened? Are you okay, Summer?”
“I’m fine.” She butted the toe of her shoe against the base of the wall, keeping her eyes down from her brother’s imploring stare. “But I sort of had an issue with the collection process.”
“What kind of issue?”
She gestured a thumb toward the door, behind which Nicolo was bowing one of his famous caprices in all its nineteenth-century glory. “That issue.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“He is not my boyfriend. Just met him, remember?”
“I recall mention of kissing.” He arched a villainous brow at her.
“Yes, once or twice. He’s—” She turned and grabbed her brother by the shoulders. “Johnny, I was supposed to retrieve Nicolo Paganini’s violin for storage in the Archives. Actually, not really his violin, but rather the famed black violin with which the devil was once rumored to have tempted him.”
“Cool. Did you play it?”
“Of course, I didn’t—” She shoved back from his teasing gaze. Enthusiasm was no longer appropriate in the matter. “I’m not stupid about magic and curses and stuff. You know that.”
“I do know that. You’re very freaked about control. You and your madness shit. So what’s up?”
He understood the madness stuff and did sympathize with her, but Summer had come to understand that unless a vampire experienced it for themselves they could never truly understand the visceral fear every time they went in for the vein.
“Well, the violin sort of played itself. I think it enacted something. A curse or bargain.”
“What kind of curse?”
“The kind that raises hell. Literally. Although it was supposed to be Paganini playing the violin that activated it, apparently it works when Summer Santiago touches the violin. I did not put the bow to the strings. It happened all on its own.”
“Okaaay,” he said slowly. “So what are we talking here? Plagues? Violence? You said something about raising hell? You mean Beneath?”
“Yep.” Again she thumbed a gesture toward the door. “And he’s it. The guy playing Paganini like a pro? He’s the real Paganini. And he crawled out of his coffin this morning after only hearing a few notes accidentally played on the black violin.”
Johnny gaped at her.
“I know, right? I don’t think it should be my fault. I didn’t have all the details. I would have never even opened the case...”
His derisive look stabbed her right in the chest.
“Okay, fine, so I still would
have opened it. I had to ensure it was inside. It’s my job. But you have to believe it played itself.”
“If it’s a cursed violin, sure I believe you. So that guy in there is the actual Paganini? The very dude whose #5 we sometimes kick the shit out of?”
She nodded. They really did kick that caprice to hell and back. It was awesome.
“Heh,” he added. “My sister kissed a dead guy.”
“He’s not—well, he probably is. I don’t know what he is exactly. He’s not a zombie, that’s for sure.”
“Uh huh.” He winked and shook his head.
Summer chewed the corner of her lip, then winced. Fangs were sharp and she’d cut herself. Licking away the blood, she paced before her brother. “What am I going to do? The director told me to keep an eye on him until he determines a course of action.”
“Then I’d say you’re on babysitting duty. What’s so wrong with having him here? If he plays it cool he could have a whole new life. He’s not some kind of demon, is he?”
“I’m not sure what he is. I was going to bring him to Verity to see if she could figure him out.”
“Good idea. Does he make you sneeze?”
“No, so he can’t be demon.”
Johnny blew out a breath. “You’ve always balanced the straight and narrow, little sis. You keep your chin down and do your job to perfection. What the hell pushed you over this cliff?”
“What do you mean? I can be as dark and dangerous as the next vampire.”
Johnny eyed her slyly. “Right, because you avoid taking more than a few swallows for fear of turning people mad.”
“I have to be careful.”
“Too careful,” he added quickly. “You gotta let that go, Summer. It’s what you are.”
“Great. Madness Maker.” She dismissed him with a slash of hand. “I don’t want to analyze it. And it has nothing to do with Nicolo. I didn’t go looking to call the guy up from death. It just happened. And now I can’t let him walk the streets by himself. He has no home, no money, no identity. Because he sure as hell can’t tell anyone who he really is.” She stopped before her brother, hands rubbing her opposite arms. “Oh, Johnny, what do I do? I want to help Nicolo.”
“Do you like him?”
“I’ve only known him a day. And for the first part of the day I suspected he was a zombie.”
“I saw him talking in your ear up in the balcony. You two were close.”
“Yeah, well, he’s sexy. He plays violin for goddess’s sake! And you know he is the Paganini. A lot to like there.”
Summer sighed. As did Johnny.
“Have you bitten him?”
“Really? Can you imagine what kind of reaction I’d get from a dead guy? I can’t risk finding out.”
“Probably not. But maybe he’s different. Like, I don’t know, immune to your bite. It’s always a possibility. Most other paranormals you’ve taken blood from have fared well.”
“Thanks, but you’re assuming the man is some kind of paranormal.”
“Anyone who climbs out of a grave can’t be mortal.”
So just toss the truth out there like she’d never thought about it before. Summer sighed and bumped fists with her brother. “I’m cool.”
“You’re not cool.”
“I will be.”
She hoped she would be cool. Because the opposite of cool was fucked up, and she had enough of that in her life already.
Chapter 8
Summer guided the Audi into the garage that was also her home. The place had once been a six-bay mechanic’s shop, and she’d converted half into a living area with bedroom, kitchen and living room, along with an enclosed toilet. The rest of the place was open to the three remaining car bays.
The Audi’s headlights flashed on the glass shower walls as she parked in the one bay reserved for the car she was currently driving. To the left was the R65 BMW, of which, she was taking apart the engine. And on the other side of that was a Veyron, one of her dad’s cars that required major body work. That man really needed to take Driver’s Ed.
“Your home is most strange,” Nicolo said as he got out and closed the car door.
The smell of oil wafted like perfume to Summer’s senses. Inside was dark and cool. She rarely turned on the light at night, but did so for her guest’s sake. She strolled in and set her cell phone on the kitchen counter, while making a beeline for the fridge to pull out some bottled water. It was the only consumable she stocked.
“It’s my home,” she said. “Take it or leave it. I like to work on cars. I don’t have need for a fabulous living space or decoration bullshit. It suits me.”
“I see that it does.” He sat on a vinyl-cushioned chrome stool reminiscent of a ’50s diner, testing it with a gentle bounce, and accepted a bottle of water. “Thank you,” he said, eyeing the bottle curiously. “What is this substance?”
“Plastic. It will kill you, but it is useful. That’s plain water in it. Go ahead. Drink it.”
He tilted back a swallow and nodded. “Nice and cold. Refreshing. Such wonders that you’ve a means to water by simply opening the icebox. Plastic. I like it.”
“I adore your naivety. I shouldn’t, but I do.”
“I catch on quickly, yes?”
“I will attribute that to a musician’s mind.” It seemed to her as though he may have just died and got up to resume life. Lying dead a hundred and seventy-five years? Apparently it hadn’t screwed with his cognitive skills.
“You should rest, Summer. I can stretch out on your lovely divan over there and wait until morning.”
“You’re not going to sleep?”
“I don’t actually feel tired.”
“Well, then come this way. I’m going to introduce you to the bathroom. I think for a nineteenth-century man this will top all the things you’ve learned about today.”
He eagerly followed. Summer led him through her bedroom, which was set right next to the kitchen and featured nothing but a king-size bed and a garment rack for her clothes. She kept her shoes neatly ordered below the rack, and the very few items of jewelry she owned were stuffed in a cigar box and nestled in her underwear drawer, which was actually the red toolbox next to the clothing rack.
The bathroom sat between the bed and the garage. Anyone showering could be seen through its glass walls by any other person in the house.
The bathroom light was low, like candlelight, and she gestured Nicolo take a gander. “I bet a shower will feel good,” she said, “especially after a climb out of the grave.”
“How does this marvelous basin work? And what is that thing in there?”
“Engine part.” Summer pushed aside the shower door and plucked out the radiator she’d been cleaning yesterday and set it aside on the floor. “Not necessary to take a shower. Sorry.”
She explained to him how to turn the knobs for water and adjust temperature. She’d rigged up a stand for the showerhead because it wasn’t common for such in France. She liked to shower freehanded.
Nicolo seemed eager to give it a try. His enthusiasm was cute, but also, charming. And after showing him the water closet, flushing the toilet and explaining how that process worked, she set some towels from the linen closet out for him to use.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” she said on a yawn. “I’ll step down to the mailbox and see if I have any mail. Sit out on the stoop for a bit. Feel free to snoop. Just girl stuff in the medicine cabinet. I’ll probably shower in the morning. You can take my bed.”
“I will not. I will be perfectly comfortable on that divan. And as I’ve said, I may not sleep. I’ll be quick with this interesting shower so you may return and get some sleep.”
“No worries. I’m cool. Good night, Nicolo.” She hesitated on her way out the door. “I’m...sorry.”
<
br /> “Please, Summer.” He grasped her hand and turned her to face him. “Don’t be sorry for giving me another chance to live.”
“Yeah, but what if—”
He kissed her, ceasing any protest that he might be evil. Good plan. The guy was sneaky like that. She didn’t mind it at all. Especially because his kisses were damn awesome. He tasted like licorice. Must be from the absinthe. And he smelled warm and inviting. She couldn’t scent a mortal’s blood until it was outside the body, but she expected that Nicolo’s would be just as amazing as he was.
Allowing herself to simply receive, because she was too tired for anything else, she snuggled against him as he hugged her closer. He murmured another thanks against her lips and then kissed them once more quickly.
“I didn’t need to hear what you were going to say about me possibly being evil,” he said. “A kiss seemed to quiet you nicely.”
“If you ever need my silence, feel free,” she replied.
“Really? You favor me?”
“Yes?”
He tilted his head in query at her unsure answer.
To save herself further anxiety she quickly said, “Night!” and beelined into the garage bay area and toward the front door.
Closing the door behind her, she walked down to check the mailbox. Nothing. She never got mail. Not that she wanted it. Bills were the only thing that ever showed up.
Tugging out her cell phone, she walked up to the stoop to sit and give Nicolo ten minutes to himself. She checked messages. Nothing from the director. That was fine. Because she expected him to call and order her to do something she probably wouldn’t want to do. She texted Verity, hoping to meet up with the witch tomorrow so she could take a look at Nicolo. No immediate response, but she was probably in bed with her lover, Rook.
Setting the phone on the concrete step, she bowed her head forward. She had raised a dead musician. And was starting to fall for the guy. Because those kisses had been something all right. And the way he marveled over everything was so refreshing in this day of jaded consumerism. He was easy with her, and she didn’t mind that either. Yes, she favored him.
