Marco helped me back down into the chair as he patted my shoulder. “Don't feel too badly. No one could blame your great, great, grandmother. He was The Seducer, after all."
It was simply too much to take in. Finally, I asked, “How?"
Marco knelt before me again, resting on the balls of his feet as he answered. “The old man kept a journal, and I, being the lover of history that I am ... happened upon it."
"You happened upon it?"
"Yes."
"Bullshit."
He laughed and the sudden noise startled me. “You don't trust easily, do you?"
"You stalked my family tree,” I accused.
"I got to know my enemy,” he corrected. “However, the part about your wizard ancestry only became clear to me about a year ago. That's when I happened upon Mathias’ journal."
I raised my eyebrows slightly and Marco elaborated further. “I found it in an old bookstore in London. The shopkeeper had no idea what he had. He thought it was some sort of unpublished work of fiction."
Sliding forward in my seat, I motioned for Marco to come closer. “I want to know something,” I said.
"And you can read emotions the way he could, as well?” He made it a question.
"Yes.” But, if the emotion was strong enough, I could get images from the feeling.
He placed his knees firmly in front of the chair and opened his shirt wide. It was hard to believe that he would willingly subject himself to this sort of personal invasion, but I didn't question it. I wanted to know if Marco was telling the truth. I wanted to see what he'd seen, to know what it was that he knew. I felt my own thoughts being shut away, like slipping behind a wall in my mind. Yes, I wanted to know, but not at the cost of revealing my own secrets. My palms hovered inches above him and I could already feel the fever that radiated from his flesh. Such a display of trust was unexpected after my reaction to his offer. I decided to accept it as a gift.
His skin was like fire beneath my touch. I opened the part of my mind that senses the feelings of others. It felt as if something tugged at my heart, pulling me down into Marco's emotions. “Not everything,” I told myself, “Only what I need to know."
Then I saw it, the old leather bound journal lying on a dusty shelf in a bookstore. I watched through Marco's eyes as he turned the pages, stopping at last on an unmistakable diagram of an elaborate family tree, hidden in the back of the book. His fingers traced down the page until they stopped at my name. He was telling the truth.
There was no need to look further, but before I could move my hands, another image appeared before my eyes. It was me, walking down the hall from my father's office. It was the first time I'd ever worn my black leather cat-suit and my hair was longer than it is now. He stopped, I spoke, and I felt him harden with desire. His pulse quickened, and for a moment, he was frightened ... but he liked it. He needed to touch me. It was a desire beyond my description. My hair, he made a comment about my hair and ruffled it gently with his hand.
Then we were in a bar gazing intently at the barely exposed flesh of a woman's back. It was my back, the first time I'd seen Marco at club Red. How long had he watched me? I remembered feeling his eyes on me. Through his memory, I felt such a pull toward me that it was almost a force of nature. To say that he was drawn to me was an understatement.
We danced and it was relief to touch me ... a compulsion indulged, a desire fulfilled. To touch my skin was a need, the same as food and water. He had never felt this for her—Julie was her name. The anger that surged through me at having a name to put with the face that I now despised gave me the strength I needed to let him go.
At last, I was able to break the contact and Marco collapsed forward, laying his face against my thigh.
"You see,” he panted. “I was telling the truth."
I stroked his hair as one would comfort a dog, and wondered vaguely if it was taboo to pet a werewolf.
"May I see it?” I asked, referring to the journal.
"You can borrow it if you like.” His face was still pressed against my thigh.
"Why would you help me?"
"Make no mistake, Red, I'm helping myself, too. I wouldn't want you to get the impression that The Big Bad Wolf is noble."
It felt good to laugh as I continued to toy with his hair. He seemed at ease with his head in my lap, as if it were perfectly natural. After he had allowed me to see inside his memories so intimately, I felt that I owed him some amount of honesty.
"Marco?"
"Yes?” He nuzzled against my thigh like a contented cat.
"I'm not exactly single."
His laugh was a deep and sensual rumble. “You say that like it matters.” He looked up at me then and his eyes had bled to amber. “You will not find an ordinary man who can satisfy you."
Alfred was hardly ordinary, but I didn't think that was any of Marco's business. “That may be so, but he deserves a chance."
"And I don't?"
My fingers roamed down to clasp the hair at the nape of his neck as I purred, “You're on my list, Marco. You're just not at the top."
He smiled and I tightened my grip on his hair. “Things change,” he said. “It may take some time, but you'll see that I'm right."
"You're just jealous that you're not on top,” I teased.
Releasing his hair was difficult, but I managed.
"Come on, I'll show you the journal.” He got to his feet and extended his hand to me.
After stepping back into his office, I watched as Marco removed a very old, very thick leather book from his shelf. The book was a faded red and bound by leather straps. Marco held the book out to me, and I was almost afraid to touch it.
"I still can't believe that you would...” I began, but he cut me off.
"What, a monster is not allowed some measure of civility?” His tone was only slightly bitter.
"No, it's just that ... well, I was always told you were crazy."
"What a coincidence,” he snarled, his voice dripping with irony.
I took the book then, but when I went to untie the leather cords, he stopped me.
"Wait,” he said, placing his hand over mine. “You'll want some privacy for what's between those pages."
That only made me want to open it more, but I nodded my agreement.
"I assume you took a cab here?"
"I drove.” My voice sounded distant, even to me.
"Are you alright to drive?” The compassion in his voice surprised me. Marco was the last person I expected sympathy from.
There I was, holding within my hands a piece of history that might explain to me a great deal about myself. No, I wasn't alright to drive. I was in shock.
"I'll take you back to your hotel,” he said.
My knees felt wobbly, so I decided not to argue. It should have felt strange, handing Kat's keys over to Marco, but it didn't. It somehow seemed perfectly natural to let him take care of me. That in itself was cause enough for concern, but I was too caught up in my own thoughts to pay much attention.
After the shock had worn off a bit, I would later wonder how it was that I put not only my life, but my friend's life in his hands. Marco was right. We had been enemies for so many years that they all seemed to run together, and though we'd spoken only once until recently, I felt that I knew him. By reputation at least, I did. In our own way, we were a comfort to each other in that our battle had always been constant. Most people need something constant in their lives, and however strange it may have been, Marco was that constant for me, that one thing that I could always count on. If nothing more, he was dependable to always be the devil's advocate. It had never mattered before, whether or not I liked him. He was the enemy, and that was that. The problem was, as I got to know Marco, I did like him.
We made our way back to Kat's table where she and Luther were still cracking jokes. When she saw me, the laughter drained from her face.
"What did you do to her?” She turned accusingly to Marco.
I answered for hi
m. “Kat, it's alright. He didn't do anything."
"I shared some news with her that a was a little...."
"Shocking,” I finished.
"What's that?” She pointed to the large journal that I was clutching to my chest like it was a life raft and I was drowning.
"My great, great, grandfather's journal,” I mumbled.
Apparently, Kat was beginning to sober up a bit. She took in the shocked look on my face once more before asking, “He wasn't a werewolf, was he?"
"He was a wizard,” I answered.
Marco and Luther helped to escort us from the building. To the casual observer, Kat and I must have looked like a couple of stone drunks. Marco held me tight against his side since my knees no longer seemed steady, and Luther practically had to carry Kat across the parking lot.
Once I was safely in the passenger seat, Marco leaned across my lap to fasten the seat belt. I got another whiff of his wonderful scent and managed to form a slightly coherent thought, “Why are you fastening me in?"
"If you die, Red, who would I have to play with?"
"You've been playing with him?” Kat asked as Luther helped her into the backseat.
Marco laughed as I answered, “No, Kat."
"But he just said that...."
"Unfortunately, I've been instructed to play with myself,” Marco teased.
"Well, that's a damn shame,” Kat said, leering at him as he fastened her seat belt, as well.
Marco climbed in behind the wheel and gave instructions to Luther to follow us in his car. The drive back to the hotel was quiet, except for Kat humming to herself in the backseat. The darkness of the tinted windows made the small space between Marco and me seem more intimate. He reached over and removed my hand from the straps on the book that I'd been absently toying with.
"Isn't anyone going to speak?” Kat finally asked.
But, I didn't know what to say. I was fascinated by wizards and their strange powers. But I'd always thought of them as being so far beyond my reach. Since only seven were born every century, I'd never even met a wizard before. All I knew of them was what I'd heard or read in history books, and now I had the journal of one in my hands. Not just any wizard, but my own flesh and blood. He was one of the great wizards of legend, and believe me, they weren't all nice. Many a jilted husband blamed The Seducer for their wife's betrayal.
Part of me was very afraid of what I might find in that journal. I didn't want to read about the calculated manipulations of innocent women, especially not when one of them was related to me.
Marco made sure we were alright before he left. “Red.” He turned back to me.
"Yes?"
"Wait till you get home to read it."
"Alright.” I sighed.
I didn't want to wait that long, but seeing as how Marco knew what was on those pages and I didn't, I was inclined to take his word. Kat was about to collapse, so after Marco left, I helped her get to bed, but I didn't sleep. Only a few hours separated us from dawn, and I spent them staring at the journal where it rested near the foot of the bed. My world might suddenly make more sense, or become even more confusing, depending on the words in that book. The more I thought of it, the more I didn't want to know.
I drove the next morning, not just because Kat had a headache, but to resist the temptation of opening the journal. As much as I didn't want to know, I was still too curious to let it be. I recounted the story to Kat, telling her as much as I knew. There were things I could share with her that I could never tell Richard, even though he had been like a brother to me, and what had happened last night with Marco was one of them. Of course I trusted Richard, but his views of the world were very black and white. According to him, ‘you don't toast marshmallows over the fire that will most likely consume you'. He was right really, but I knew that Kat would understand where I was coming from. We might have been very different in some ways, but she was a woman, too, and we both understood that the prospect of having a relationship of any kind with Marco was not completely unappealing.
"How could you ever live with a werewolf though? I mean, you'd have your time of the month, and he'd have his.” Kat laughed. “You might end up killing each other."
That was true, but the conversation shortly turned to a much more pressing matter.
"What will you do with the journal?” she asked.
"Read it."
And that's exactly what I did. After Kat left, I unpacked my bags and spent the day cleaning the entire house. I could always think better if everything was in order, and I wanted no distractions once I got started. When at last I could find nothing more to occupy my time, I sat the book on a blanket in front of the fireplace downstairs. Since it was summer, a large collection of candles sat across the hearth in place of a fire, and I lit them all. Finally, I sat down with a bottle of wine, an empty glass, and my great, great, grandfather's journal. The place was dark except for the candlelight, lending a ceremonial feel to the room. A fine tremor ran through my body as I began to untie the leather straps that bound the book.
I took a deep breath and opened the journal. Nothing could have prepared me for the image that was hidden just inside its cover. Staring back at me was a picture of the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. He was tall, with broad shoulders and hair the color of a captive flame. His hair was just long enough to touch the fabric of the stunning emerald robes that he wore, and for several minutes I just stared in awe of his beauty.
Without reading further, I forgave my great, great, grandmother Aurora, for whatever she might have done. No mortal woman could have resisted this man. Hazel eyes so much like my own seemed to smile up at me as I stretched forth trembling fingers to touch a masculine version of my own face.
I couldn't say how long I sat there with my heart in my throat before I looked at the opposite page. I dropped the book and scrambled backward across the floor, not daring to take my eyes from it. The first page was a letter addressed to me. Slowly, I crawled forward, sat the book back in my lap, and began to read:
My dearest Lilith,
I have longed to know you, and though that may not be possible, through these pages, I give you an opportunity to know me. By now, my reputation will have no doubt preceded me. I will not deny that some of it is true. However, no one will ever understand me as you will, for through you, my power is reborn.
I have seen you in my dreams, and through many visions, I have known you. You are, of course, wondering who else may have read these words, and I tell you none will ever read what I have to say to you. These pages show what I wish for them to show, and I reveal my secrets to no one.
I know how it is that you have learned of me, and I apologize for the shock. Please understand that I saw no other way. This journal had to find its way into your hands.
As far as anyone knows, though I loved many, I had no descendants. There are those who would seek to use you for their own evil purposes, and this I cannot allow. I have watched over our family all these long years, searching for the one who would inherit my power.
From the moment I first saw Aurora, I had visions of you. Though this is the first you have seen of me, please believe me when I say that I have loved you all of my life.
I know your loneliness and your pain, but do not mourn over much for an old man who has lived too long. Another will watch over you in my absence, though he does not yet know it.
Everything will not become clear at once, and there are some of my gifts that you may never receive. However, if you will let me teach you what I know, I can show you how to be so much more than what you have become.
So, shed a tear for me my child, but do not mourn for the arms that cannot hold you, for you will not always be alone.
With all my love,
Mathias Alexander
I hadn't realized I was crying until I'd finished the letter. I held the book to my chest and cried for a man that had been dead for over forty years. There was more understanding in his words than I could have hoped for and as I r
ead on, I loved him, too. Through his words, I saw myself. I also found that the journal was enchanted. It somehow held his life's story. Every time I turned a page, a new one would appear, though the book never got any thicker.
I did not find the cold and calculating Seducer of legend, but a compassionate individual who felt so deeply the pain of others. As I read his description of ‘how to ease the troubled mind', I understood what had happened with Kat, and more recently with Elijah. His touch had been like a balm to the aching soul. How I wished I could have heard his voice.
There is truth in the term ‘sexual healing’ and this my child, is what we offer. It may not always be in the technical sense of the word, but there is much comfort in the compassionate touch. It is a beautiful and terrible power that you possess and can easily be used to take advantage.
I do not have all the answers, merely explanations that may offer you some comfort.
And they did. The next week passed by unnoticed. I took breaks only to eat, sleep, and use the bathroom, and even then I sometimes took the journal with me. It felt as if I'd finally found someone to understand me. So much was made clear by his words. He gave me meditations to practice in order to more fully control what he referred to as ‘the voice of seduction'.
On Friday morning I was surprised to reach what looked like the final page as I read:
Do not be wounded when others do not understand you, or grieve too long when your heart is broken, for no ordinary man will ever understand you.
For a minute I paused. It startled me to read the almost exact words that Marco had spoken to me last weekend, and made me wonder what the journal had said to him. It went on to say that only one other wizard had ever come close to being able to manipulate his voice in the same way, and if our paths should ever cross, I would ‘know him'.
I had no idea what that meant, but I was brought back to reality by his next words:
You will turn to me many times, and find wisdom that was not here before.
But for now, hurry and lift the back cover and get a shower, you are going to be late for your date.
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