Vampire, Interrupted (12 page)

“What
is
the right question?” Julius asked. G.G. considered the possibilities briefly, and then nodded as he came to a decision. “When Jeanne Louise mentioned her aunt was coming here, she said it was to do work for a detective agency. That helping to solve a case in California made her decide to be a detective.”

“Yes,” Christian said. “That’s how I met her and hired her.”

G.G. nodded and told Julius, “Ask her about that. How she liked California. About her nephew Vincent and the lifemate she helped him with. It’s a safe topic. It’s about her family, which from all accounts she loves, but far enough removed that it won’t touch anywhere near her marriage.”

Finished dispensing advice, he nodded and turned to leave the room.

“I like him,” Julius said as the door closed behind the man. “For a mortal with green hair, he is…”

“Interesting?” Christian suggested dryly.

Chuckling, Julius slipped his cell phone from his pocket and began to punch in a number as he headed for the door. “Come on. They will wonder what is taking us so long. And I find myself now eager to get out of here and get Marguerite alone to talk to her.”

Seven

Marguerite picked up her drink and finished off
the last sip with a little sigh of pleasure. It was an immortal Bloody Mary—blood mixed with tomato juice, Tabasco, pepper, lemon, salt, and Worcestershire sauce—and had gone a long way to improving her mood. She’d sat fretting over what Tiny had said until her drink had arrived, but just the one drink had made her feel better able to cope with matters. Obviously, the lack of blood was affecting her, she thought and suspected she could do with several more of the drinks to make up for the lack of straight blood in her system.

That thought in mind, she glanced around for a waitress and then stilled when she saw Julius and Christian making their way across the room. Julius was closing his cell phone and dropping it back in
his pocket when she spotted him and she wondered about that. The two men had been gone a rather long time, but the interesting thing to her was that while Christian had looked exasperated and Julius worried when they’d left, Julius now appeared cheerful and Christian worried. Curious.

“We have to go,” Julius announced as he paused beside her chair.

“What?” Marguerite asked with dismay.

Julius nodded. “I’ve called for two taxis and they assured me they’d be here right away so we’d best move.”

“But—” Marguerite’s protest died as everyone else got to their feet, even Tiny, she noted, though she shouldn’t have been surprised that he was happy to go. He’d turned a little green when the drinks had arrived. There was just no way to mistake them as being anything other than blood mixes.

Sighing, she gave in and got to her feet, remaining silent as Julius took her arm and walked her out of the club. They didn’t wait long out in front of the Night Club before the taxis arrived. Julius led her to the first one and Marguerite slipped inside when he opened the door. She settled herself on the bench seat, sliding into the corner to make room for others, but no one followed right away. Julius was standing in the door, his back to her, talking to Tiny and Christian.

Marguerite frowned and started to slide back along the seat to try to hear what was happening, but just as she did, Julius turned and ducked to enter. Moving quickly, she scooted back along the seat to make room and glanced sharply back when she heard the door close.

“Isn’t anyone else riding with us?” she asked anxiously as Julius settled on the seat next to her.

He shook his head and explained, “I had them all take the other taxi. I wanted the chance to talk to you alone about…things.”

“Oh.” She sat back against the seat as the taxi pulled away, and waited, wondering what he would have to say. Christian had already told her that Julius intended to stick close and keep an eye out for any more attacks, but Julius might not know that and intend to tell her himself, so she waited…and waited. Marguerite finally gave up waiting and decided to prompt him, but she’d barely opened her mouth when the taxi pulled to a stop.

“Where are we?” she asked, glancing around with surprise. The car had pulled over in front of a Starbucks, not the hotel.

“I thought we could talk here,” Julius explained, handing several pound notes to the driver and opening the door.

Marguerite hesitated and then followed him out of the car and allowed him to see her inside. He settled her at a table in a corner away from the few other patrons and then asked, “What would you like?”

“Nothing, thank you. I’m fine,” she answered.

Julius peered at her silently for a moment, and then said, “I suspect we’ll have to order something to sit here. I’ll pick something.”

He headed off to the counter and she watched him place and wait for their order, fretting over why he’d brought her here. When he returned to their table, her eyes widened incredulously on seeing that he’d purchased not only two large, foamy drinks, but two
triangular pastries as well as two square ones she recognized as brownies.

“I couldn’t make up my mind,” Julius said with a shrug as he placed one of the drinks and a plate with one of each of the desserts before her. He then settled in the chair across from hers and fetched several packets of sugar out of his pocket, offering her two.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“These are mocha, frappa-cappa something or others,” he said as he opened two packets and put them in his own coffee. Smiling wryly, he admitted, “The girl picked them and assured me they were good.”

Marguerite smiled faintly and opened her own sugar packets to pour in. She stirred the drink then, fascinated by the foamy top. They hadn’t had drinks like this when she was still eating and drinking. Her gaze slid to the brownie on the plate and then back to her drink before returning. She could smell the sweet chocolate and her mouth was watering again.

“I wanted to tell you, Marguerite,” Julius said, drawing her attention away from the brownie. “I really appreciate what you did for my nephew Stephano in California when he was attacked.”

Marguerite shook her head. “I did very little.”

“You helped save his life,” he said solemnly.

“I merely helped watch over him during the turn. Vincent is the one who saved his life.”

Julius nodded solemnly. “I was impressed when I heard what he’d done. “Few immortals would have.”

“Vincent is special,” Marguerite said proudly and then found herself telling him about her nephew; about how talented he was, and about his business and the plays he produced. Somehow that led to talk
about her stay in California, which led back to her children and their lifemates.

Julius, in turn, told her some tales of his trials in raising Christian alone. His love for his son was obvious as he spoke. She could hear the pride in his voice and see it in his face, along with his desire—like most parents—to keep his child safe from harm and pain, though he didn’t say that outright. Each of them kept to their own tacit agreement not to talk about either Jean Claude or Christian’s mother.

Despite skirting that issue, Marguerite began to realize that she’d misjudged the man. It quickly became obvious that he would do anything for Christian, and that his reasons behind keeping knowledge about his mother from him must be purely protective, not selfish as she’d first thought.

Somehow, while not paying attention, Marguerite found herself eating both the brownie and the lemon cranberry scone that was the triangular pastry. Both were like manna in her mouth. She had never tasted anything so good. They also went through several of those mocha-frappa-cappa drinks as well, both of them going up to the counter together to purchase them so they didn’t have to stop talking, and so they could both pick out other pastries to try.

Julius was telling her about Christian’s musical abilities when Marguerite reached for her drink and lifted it to her lips only to find her cup was once again empty. She shouldn’t have been surprised, she supposed, talking and laughing was a thirsty business.

“I, of course, don’t know a thing about music, that’s something he got from his mother’s side, obviously,” Julius said dryly, drawing her attention from
her empty cup. “But the minute he picked up that violin and started to play it by ear, I was sure he was the next Chopin or Bach.”

Marguerite bit her lip on a laugh at his self-mocking expression.

“So I spent scads of money, hired the best teachers in Europe, all the while imagining that one day my son would play in the world’s premier orchestras. He would compose music that would last through the centuries. The name Notte would resound through the music world.”

“But he didn’t get accepted into an orchestra?” she asked sympathetically.

Julius snorted. “Oh, yes. He did. He was accepted to several over the centuries, but he never stayed long at any of them. He found most of the music he was made to play too staid, and the stuff that he did like he soon got bored of playing over and over.” Julius shook his head. “Finally, he seemed to give it up. He worked for the company and kept his music as an enjoyment on the side.”

“What a shame,” Marguerite said sadly.

“Hmm.” Julius nodded his head. “I was terribly upset at the time, but now, all these centuries later, he’s found the music that stirs his passion. He’s actually composing. I can see the difference when he plays it. Even I, musically retarded as I am, can tell that before this, while he was technically perfect, his heart was not in it. But now, he’s excited, vibrant, alive…playing with his heart rather than just playing by rote.”

“But that’s wonderful,” Marguerite said, and then tilted her head uncertainly at his wryly amused expression. “Isn’t it?”

“I guess it is,” he said with a laugh. “I just find it…” He shook his head. “Ironic.”

“Why? What is he playing?”

“My classically trained, world-class violinist, prodigy of a son is playing…” He raised an eyebrow. “Hard rock.”

Marguerite blinked. “You mean he’s switched to guitar?”

“No. He plays violin…in a rock band.”

Marguerite sat back in her seat with a bump. “Really?”

Julius nodded.

“Well, that is…” She paused, at a loss for words. She’d never heard of a violin rock player.

Julius chuckled at her expression and then lifted his cup to his mouth, only to pull it away and peer into it with a frown as she had moments ago. “I’m empty.”

“So am I,” she admitted.

“Shall we try something new this—” He paused and glanced toward the window beside them. “Is that birdsong?”

Marguerite glanced out the window. The sky was still dark, but now that he mentioned it, she could hear what sounded like birds chirping their morning call.

“The sun will be up soon,” he said and Marguerite glanced over to see him peering at his watch with an expression that was half surprise and half disappointment.

She glanced down at her own watch, shocked to see just how late it was…or how early depending on your point of view. The sun would indeed be up soon. They’d spent the entire night in that Starbucks talking.

“I guess we’d better head back,” Julius muttered.

Marguerite nodded reluctantly, her eyes slipping over their table laden with countless empty cups and half a dozen empty plates that had once held pastries. The aftermath of a night that was the most fun she’d had in a long time…perhaps in her life. She didn’t ever recall laughing as much as she had tonight, and she was sorry to see it end.

“Yes, we should go back to the hotel,” he said more firmly, as if—despite his words—he’d considered not doing so. “We have to get some sleep. We’re catching the seven
P.M
. train to York tonight.”

Marguerite nodded and stood. They started to collect their cups and plates, but the fellow behind the counter who had served them all night was immediately there, waving them off and assuring them he’d get it. He wished them a good morning as they left.

It was much cooler than it had been earlier in the evening, but not uncomfortably so. A mortal might have wished for a coat, but immortals’ bodies weren’t as affected by temperature as mortals were. After so many hours spent doing nothing but talking, the two of them were oddly silent on the short walk back to the hotel, but it was a companionable silence that neither of them seemed to feel the need to fill.

The hotel lobby was nearly empty when they passed through it to the elevator, with just one couple dragging luggage to the reception desk to check out and catch an early flight.

“Here we are,” Julius murmured, stopping at the door to their suite.

Marguerite remained silent as he unlocked the door, and then stepped inside when he held it open for her. The lights were on in the sitting room, but there was no sign of Marcus.

Marguerite hesitated, her eyes moving to the door to her bedroom, but then turned back, uncertainly, to Julius. “Thank you. It was fun.”

“Yes, it was,” he agreed. He raised his hand to gently brush her cheek and for one moment, Marguerite was sure Julius was going to kiss her. Despite her long-held determination not to risk involving herself with another relationship after what Jean Claude had put her through, at that moment, Marguerite wasn’t at all sure she
didn’t
want him to kiss her, but then he merely offered a crooked smile, let his hand drop away, and whispered, “Good night.”

Marguerite slowly let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and turned away to walk to the door to her room. She paused there to glance back, and smiled slightly when she saw that he had reached his door and done the same. When he smiled back, she slipped into her room and eased the door closed.

It was only as she was undressing for bed that Marguerite realized that he had never brought up the “things” he’d said he’d wanted to talk to her about alone. If there had been “things,” she thought, her mind mulling over what had just taken place. As far as she could tell, she’d had a very enjoyable nothing-to-do-with-business sort of date with Julius. And both of them had eaten food and drank several caffeine-rich beverages.