by Michele Hauf
“Maybe. All that destiny crap is supposed to be true. But right now, I believe we should get dressed and go out and do a little shopping. You in the mood for some new clothes?”
“You don’t have to convince me to dispose of the funeral garb. Lead on, my bright and delicious vampiress.”
* * *
The modern-day shops were a marvel to behold. Nicolo was attended by a female shopkeeper wearing shoes with heels so high she looked to topple if she made a misstep. But they did make her gams look shapely and slender. And her red dress was so tight it emphasized everything, including her hip bones. The cultured women from his time had never been so emaciated, and yet, nowadays it seemed it was a preferred condition by both the men and women. But he stole those glances because it felt wrong to do so in front of Summer. He respected her and didn’t want her to think unkindly of him.
The sex they’d shared had been beyond words. A symphony of flesh and sighs. And afterward when she’d confided to him about her condition of giving madness to humans he had felt blessed to have her trust. He was quickly growing enamored of Summer, and that sat quite well with him. Who would have thought he would have an affair with a vampire?
“Trés magnifique!” the shopkeeper announced as Nicolo stepped out of the changing room to display the black velvet pants and white shirt. The cuffs sported a narrow ruffle around them, and the shirt was just loose enough to be comfortable. Reminded of his bohemian days when he’d luxuriate in a salon discussing with his fellow composers the merits of opium as a useful creative device.
“What do you think?” he asked Summer, who leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The loose jeans hung low on her hips, and the T-shirt was snug, revealing a slash of taut tummy that he could only imagine licking and then kissing.
Did she beam? She seemed to beam from her eyes to her skin to her smile. Must have been the sex. Of course it had been the sex. He certainly had not lost his prowess. Thank whatever bloody god or demon had granted him that boon.
No, forget the demons. He would not invite that evil with a single thought.
He splayed out his arms. “Do you think it makes me look like a modern man yet still allows me a bit of my past?”
“Definitely. Very retro romantic. Grab a couple of those shirts, and be sure to get the leather jeans he tried on previously,” she said to the shopkeeper. “What about shoes?”
Nicolo extended a foot to display the Italian leather shoes he had worn—literally—since the nineteenth century. “Much as I abhor wearing er, funeral garb, these shoes are comfortable. My feet are so long it was always difficult to find a fit unless they were bespoke. I cherish these shoes. Does that make me odd?”
“Not at all. Keep the good-fitting shoes. That will save us a trip to Louboutin. And my bank account won’t scream because I’ll be tempted to buy my own shoes while there. Not that I need a pair of swanky high heels.” She tapped the rubber toe of her violet sneaker against a mannequin’s red-shoe-shod foot. “I like comfort.”
“Are you not going to purchase some things for yourself?” Nicolo’s shoulders fell. He needed to start playing the concert circuit so he could make some money. Then he could treat her as a lady should be treated, by showering her with gifts. “I should wish to cover you in jewels and pretty things in thanks for your generosity.”
“Eh. I’m not much of a jewel girl. I like a nice pair of leather boots and some sexy underwear and I’m good to go.”
“Sexy underwear?” And leather boots? Just those two items? He waggled his brows at her. “Did you point out a lingerie shop just down the Champs-Élysées?”
“I did. It’s called George V.”
The shopkeeper handed Nicolo the check and he looked it over. “That’s very much. Do you still use gold francs nowadays?”
Summer snagged the bill and tugged out a small black card from a back pocket. “I got this. And I got the macarons that we’ll stop for at Ladurée on the way to George V. I have a craving for a bite of something sweet.”
Nicolo leaned in and kissed her below the earlobe. “I have something sweet in my arms.”
“You’re such a rake.”
“Guilty as accused. But you like me?”
She nodded in a resolute sort of acceptance. “I do.”
“So why did I hear reservation in that agreement? Do I not clean up well? You are still worried about me suddenly wanting to eat your brains, aren’t you?”
Summer laughed and tugged out her cell phone. “Not at all. Just...taking things slowly, I guess.”
“Do you call having sex with a man you’ve only known a day taking things slow?”
They stepped outside onto the busy sidewalk that paralleled the bustling Champs-Élysées roadway.
“I call what we did in the shower hooking up and meeting my needs.” She looked aside for a moment. Regretfully? He wouldn’t judge. If she said she was happy with what they’d done, he would believe her. “I recall you were pretty pleased with the results, as well.”
“Hooking up? What an odd term for a most delicious coupling. What are you doing on your witchbox? And why is it everyone seems to have one of those?” He looked about at the passing tourists, and at least half of them had their attention diverted by one of the witchboxes.
“I was just checking for messages from the director. Johnny left me a note on Facebook. I don’t know why he can’t email me. Facebook is so public.”
“What is the face book?”
She flashed him a brief view of the witchbox, but Nicolo didn’t have a chance to make out the tiny images. “It’s a massive gathering of people across the world, sharing things about themselves, posting silly stuff like cat pictures and hooking up.”
“Really? You can have sex with that thing, too?”
“Well.” She tucked the thing back in her pocket and hooked her arm through his to direct him down the sidewalk and avoid an onslaught of tourists. “You can, actually. But it doesn’t involve touching or the senses. Watching another person get off on screen? Not my idea of a good time.”
“But people do that? Communicate via those things, and in the process, have sex? Where is the intimacy? The sensual experience?”
“Exactly.”
“The world has changed so much. I remember when it took weeks to receive word about anything, for the post moved only so quickly as the horse or train could manage. And now everything is—”
“Instantaneous. I know. It rocks.”
“When you say something rocks is that a good thing as opposed to a pile of rubble?”
“You got it.”
Nicolo dodged a young man focused on his witchbox. Was he having sex right there in the open? “I would like you to show me how to work the book of face when we return to your home.”
“Why? You want to hook up?”
“No. I prefer a woman in my arms not on some screen. But perhaps there is a means to find fellow musicians? You said it connects people?”
“It’s possible. But let’s start small with you and technology. You have to own a phone first. And in order to do that you have to earn an income.”
“And in order to do that, I need a violin. Or a guitar. I wonder, would your brother allow me to sit in on some of his concerts? Play the guitar?”
“Really? You would want to do that?”
“It would be a pile of rocks!”
Now her smile showed no reluctance. And when she leaned up to kiss him he felt as if this new life could not get any better. So long as he could protect Summer from the evil that ever simmered within him.
* * *
Summer did not try on the lingerie for him in the shop, but Nicolo could already imagine the pink lace caressing her slender hips and tiny breasts. She didn’t need one of those fancy brassieres for support, but she pointed out that it would be a
crime to break a matched set of bra and panties. He had to agree. But he also believed when he finally did see her in the set it likely wouldn’t remain on her for long.
Three cheers for the modern woman and her spare items of clothing!
They strolled down the street, bags in hands, dodging tourists. Summer sported sunglasses, and Nicolo desired a pair for himself. The esthetic value of looking “cool,” as she’d explained, appealed to him. She pointed across the street where they could purchase a pair of the dark spectacles, and next to that stood a shop that sold cell phones.
“A witchbox of my own. Then it’s home to see what those pretty nothings look like on you?” he asked eagerly.
“I thought you wanted to go to the opera. I checked tickets. There’s a will call an hour before the show. If there are any cancellations we can get the tickets then. There’s a symphony orchestra performing twentieth-century composers tonight.”
“Really?” All thoughts of exploring lace on skin vanished. “I should like to hear the new composers. We must attend!”
“Hold your horses, big boy. We’re headed to Verity’s place after we fix you up with some technology.”
“Verity is the witch?”
“Yep.”
“From vampires to witches in less than two days. Truly this new life is not without wonder.”
Chapter 12
Verity’s place was on the way home, and when Summer called while Nicolo had been in the dressing room, the witch had encouraged her to stop by. She was home alone this evening. Her lover, Rook, was tending hunting matters.
Vampire hunting. Rook was a knight for The Order of The Stake. But Summer didn’t fear him. He was an okay guy. The Order only went after those vampires who presented a real threat to human lives. Summer was ever polite when drinking blood. Just a small sip. Because anything more... She didn’t want to go there. And Rook would never know about her bite imparting madness into her donors.
Though she bet Nicolo’s blood would be an interesting taste. First, she wanted to ensure he was not a zombie. For as little as she knew about zombies she figured their blood could mess up a vampire. But if he was anything else, and not a human, he could be a possibility.
She was trying to think of anything and everything besides that hot sex in the shower. And on her bed. It had been as if she were making love with the only man who existed for her. She’d had her share of men. Never had the sex made her so melty and mindless. And made her forget everything around her. And want to tear his clothes off right then and there. Which she had. And then he’d wanted to give her pleasure. Which he had.
Whew! Her skin was prickling with heat thinking about it again. She flicked the air conditioner up a notch.
And what was with her inability to mark it off as just another hookup? The fact he was still there, right beside her, was one thing. She could smell him, earthy and aged like a prize whiskey. He wasn’t like any other man. And that made her want to keep him, to clutch him to her and see if he would stay. Because...
Because the idea of him staying felt right.
“The city has grown large,” Nicolo commented as she navigated a street between business buildings and restaurants. This outer arrondissement was not such a tourist trap. Only a few people walked the sidewalks. “The buildings are all so, hmm...inelegant. What has become of the exquisite architecture?”
“It’s around.” Yay, a conversation not about sex to distract her thoughts. “Haussmann, at Napoleon’s command, tore down a lot of the original architecture and put up his own designs.” That was about as much as she knew about the Paris city design.
“Yes, I recall a lot of construction going on in my time. I wasn’t so curious about it, though, since I did not spend a lot of time in Paris.”
“The city has managed to preserve a lot of its history. But, yes, the newer buildings are kind of boring. I’ll have to drive you by La Défense. The Grande Arche is pretty cool.”
“What is that jutting up on the horizon? Is that a lighthouse?”
Summer thought back to his date of death: 1840. She had to smirk at him calling it a lighthouse.
“They erected that up in 1889 to celebrate the World’s Fair. It’s called the Eiffel Tower. It’s remarkable, but is constantly clogged with tourists. If we drive through the inner circle of the city I’m sure you’d recognize a lot of monuments.”
“Does the Opéra still exist?”
“The Palais Garnier? Yes. There’s the Opéra Bastille, as well.”
“The Bastille was torn down when I was a toddler. The site boasts an opera house now?”
“Yep.”
“What about my casino? The Casino Paganini?”
She eyed his gesture, which indicted they move forward. “That one didn’t survive the ages. Did you ever play there?”
“Violin? No. I was rather sickly in my later years. Unable to stand on stage for so long. But, because of my fame and sheer number of patrons who merely wished to be seen with me, I was paid to make appearances at the gambling tables. It was a swell gig.”
“I bet. You may have been one of the first Kardashians.”
“A what?”
“Celebrities who are famous merely for being in the right place at the right time, popular because people simply want to see them. I think I read you weren’t such a lucky gambler.”
“Indeed.” He shrugged. “I cannot be a master at everything.”
Summer smirked at his ego. No, indeed, he’d been a maestro and a handsome man who had a way with the women. Of course he’d require a bête noire such as gambling.
“Let us visit the Opéra,” Nicolo said. “I want to listen to music played live and not through the car.”
“Fine, but let’s see what Verity has to say about you first.”
“Ah, yes. You think she will know something about me?”
“Let’s cross our fingers.”
* * *
Verity Van Velde was a violet-haired fire witch whom Summer had met when she was a baby. Not exactly met. More like, Verity, along with fellow witches Libby Saint-Charles and Zoë Guillebeaux, had helped Summer’s brother, Johnny, to get her away from Himself’s clutches. She’d stayed in touch with Verity over the years, and the Santiagos always invited the witch and even her vampire-slayer lover over for summer parties at the family mansion. Rook, her lover, rarely accompanied her. Summer assumed it was because he’d rather not attend a party populated by vampires. But he was a good guy. Polite, and incredibly sexy. And as her father, Vail, often said, there was nothing wrong with having a vampire hunter in your pocket.
Thinking of sexy, she turned to the darkly gorgeous man who stood behind her on the stoop before Verity’s home and gestured to him as she made introductions, “Verity, this is Nicolo Paganini.”
“Very pleased to meet you.” Nicolo bowed gracefully. If he’d had a hat, he might have pressed it to his chest so elegant a move it was. The velvet jeans were perfect on him. The touch of lace at his cuffs? Romantically masculine. “I take no offense to witches. Or vampires, as you can see from my lovely assistant here.”
“I’m your assistant?” Summer asked with as much doubt as she could muster.
“You are assisting me through this new world.”
“Whatever.”
“Come in, you two. I’ve been waiting.” Verity stepped aside. The light in the hall fell across her hair, highlighting the brilliant violet tones that wove through the dark brown strands. That was no hair dye; she had faery blood in her family.
Summer stepped in, followed by Nicolo, and as Verity closed the door behind them, she exhaled and then announced, “Well, that didn’t tell me much.”
“What do you mean?” Summer asked.
“Before you arrived, I warded the threshold for every species possible—save vampires
, of course. If you would have been repulsed, Nicolo, I could have read which ward had done so and we could have determined your nature.”
“So maybe I am just a regular human,” he said. “Not a thing wrong with that.”
“Not at all. Or you could be vampire,” the witch offered with a thoughtful tap of her finger to her lip. “Follow me. I’ve tea.”
They filed down the hallway, through the kitchen and into a living room, where Nicolo would not sit until he was allowed to help Verity carry in the tea tray. He set it on the coffee table, and only after Verity and Summer had sat did he take a seat on the couch beside Summer. He sat close enough that their legs touched, and Summer resisted running her hand along his thigh.
“This is a lovely home,” Nicolo offered. “I don’t feel so out of place in time here.” Verity had a decidedly art deco decorating esthetic, with some older pieces in dark woods that surely might have been in vogue during the musician’s time. “Though I suspect that large box on the wall is similar to Summer’s witchbox? What did the barkeep call it? A televisor?”
“Television.” Summer tugged out her cell phone and waggled it as Verity laughed. “He’s most impressed with the music that comes through my witchbox,” she offered.
“Wow,” Verity said, “I can’t imagine stepping forward in time as you have, Monsieur Paganini. You’ll have much to learn.”
“So I’ve been told.” He sipped the lavender tea. “Exquisite. As is my hostess.” His wink only made Summer stifle another giggle. The man did like to flirt.
“Summer tells me you’ve been summoned from death?” Verity asked over a sip of tea.
“I heard the sound of the violin’s song, and I rose. I cannot explain how or why. I only know that I emerged from the top of the grave, turned and saw a bust of my head carved out of stone. It was a nice likeness, really,” he said to Summer. “And then, well, here I am.”
“I’m familiar with your history. That you made a deal with the devil. Was that true?”
