Notturno (23 page)

“Ah, that’s better,” said the man, who was, in Adin’s

experience, the most out-of-character vampire he’d met so far.

No black, no leather, not Goth, neither dark nor frightening.

Adin’s own comment about pissing off leprechauns was coming

back to haunt him. He wondered if Boaz appreciated, and

therefore brought about, this particular irony.

The man who stood before Adin was small in stature, about

Adin’s own size, although he thought his visitor was much

thinner, and he seemed to have the reddest hair Adin had ever

seen. He had on a pair of well-worn, faded jeans and a bright

green T-shirt. Over that he wore a battered denim jacket.

“Yes?” Adin stood his ground.

“Not going to invite me in?” The ginger-haired man folded

his arms across his chest.

“Nope.”

“I see.” There went that charm again.

“You said you had a package from Boaz?” Adin tensed. The

fact that these creatures both attracted and frightened him was

something he was still working out.

“You have nothing to fear from me, Adin.”

“Nevertheless…” Adin groped for the right thing to say. He

gave up. “You really aren’t what I’ve come to expect.”

“Yes, well. Some of us…” He tilted his head so his red hair

flopped over one eye as he lifted his lips in an engaging grin
.

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161

“Some of us are a little more Tolkien than Stoker, if you take

my meaning.”

Adin raised his eyebrows at that.

“At any rate, I’m going to invite you to walk with me, as it’s

a lovely late-summer night and I have much to tell you.”

“Can’t you just give me the thing and be done with it?” Adin

could admit to a reluctant curiosity about the red-haired

creature on his sister’s doorstep.

“I’m sorry, Adin. I have a story to tell. I was ordered to give

you a goodly dose of my personal charm with it, and I can’t

deliver that in good conscience without bringing you away with

me into the moonlight. Taking you dancing on the misty green

grass of whatever you have that resembles a park around here.

You know. Like the fair folk.”

“Is there not
one
among you capable of simply saying, ‘Let’s go out for coffee’?” Adin snapped.

The man tilted his head back and laughed until security

lights snapped on down Deana’s whole block. “When you live

forever, Adin, you learn to find your fun where you can.”

“
Crap.
Wait here.”

Adin found his shoes next to the couch and slipped them

on. He saw Deana peeking from behind her door and gave her

a smile he thought probably looked as sketchy as it felt. “Go

back to bed… It’s just a friend. A prank.” He walked to the

door, hesitating for a minute, and then set one foot out.

“Now,” said the man, taking his arm and leading him out

into the night. “Let’s walk, and I’ll tell you why I came, starting with my name, which is Sean.”

Adin closed and locked the door behind him, still wary of

whatever this appealing creature had planned. “Sean,” Adin

repeated. “Got it.”

“Boaz asked me to give you this.” He pulled a tiny, battered

brown parcel out of the pocket of his jacket. “And to tell you

that Santos has experienced an evolution of sorts, although

perhaps not the sea change you had hoped for. Boaz’s exact

words.”

162 Z.A. Maxfield

“How do you know Boaz?”

“Boaz is…an extremely useful man to know. To answer

your question, I know him through Donte.”

Adin felt a faint pulse of something he worried was jealousy.

“Through Donte?”

“Yes,” Sean said. “I must say you have certainly mucked up

things there.”

“I beg your pardon?” Adin stopped walking and noticed for

the first time that the back of Sean’s jacket said, Kiss Me, I’m

Irish.

“Well, Donte particularly doesn’t like complications. So

getting yourself kidnapped by Santos—”

“Not exactly my idea!”

“Of course it wasn’t. But then, humans can make things so

spectacularly difficult for us.” Sean gave a long and wheezy Irish

sigh that showed in the air as a cloud of vapor. Adin knew it wasn’t that cold. Kind of a neat trick. “At any rate, Donte has

the manuscript. All’s well that ends well.”

“Yes.” Adin bit his tongue to keep from reminding this

perky little man that he’d very nearly been
eaten
. Adin looked down at the parcel and saw that some of the tape had been

pulled off and restuck. “Will I like the contents of that, do you

think?”

Sean blushed becomingly, even though it was hard to tell

under the lights of the mercury vapor lamps. Adin smiled to

himself. Redheads just seemed to blush out loud. “I was a tiny

bit curious; it’s a failing of mine.”

Adin fumbled with the wrapping, and his flash drive slid out

into his palm. “Thank
fuck
,” he said. “I’m glad to have this back.”

“Boaz said to tell you that Santos was very touched by your

determination to show him a different side of the situation. He

was most grateful for the insight into how his father felt about

him, and also into the reasons behind Donte’s actions.”

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163

“Where is Boaz?” asked Adin. “Why didn’t he come

himself?”

“Boaz is currently in Morocco with Santos. He sends his

regrets.”

“I see,” Adin said. “I wonder to whom I should send mine.”

He stopped walking and dropped onto a bus bench with an ad

on it for one of the local churches. Ask yourself why
!
Adin thought it was rather fitting. His shoulder, in its sling, still ached a little.

“Do you have many?” asked Sean, dropping onto the bench

beside him. “Regrets?”

“No. Besides losing the
Notturno
manuscript? No.”

“That was inevitable. It didn’t really belong to you.”

“I know.”

A very white hand came up to brush the hair off Adin’s face.

“There’s something else.” He handed Adin a small, brown

cardboard package, inside which was a wooden box. It looked

very old and had at one time been gaily painted with carnival

colors. Adin’s hands trembled slightly as he slid off the string

that held it together. When he lifted the lid and looked at the

contents, his heart squeezed so painfully within his chest that he

gasped.

“That’s a really fine piece, isn’t it?” Sean lifted the contents

of the tiny box into his hands as if it were a living thing. “It was painted by Richard Cosway, and anyone will tell you he was one

of the most notable miniaturists of the eighteenth century. That

particular painting has never been seen by any modern

collector. Boaz told me to let you know Donte gives this to you

in return for the manuscript. Its value as a collector’s piece is far greater.”

Adin took the tiny treasure from Sean and opened it,

revealing a working music box, not, as he had originally

suspected, a snuff box. “It’s exquisite.” He sighed, listening.

“It’s Mozart, of course. ‘Eine kleine Nachtmusik.’”

Words failed Adin. He closed the lid to study the miniature.

Donte was rendered in his customary black, a snowy white fall

164 Z.A. Maxfield

of lace at his throat. He was shown in profile, his high

cheekbone and hooded eye mysterious and beautiful. He wore

no wig. His dark hair may have been long and caught back, but

it looked very much as he wore it today, slightly longer in the

front maybe. Adin felt tears sting his eyes and was angry for it.

“He is a very beautiful man,” said Sean, gazing at the

portrait.

“He is that. Not bad for—what is he here—two hundred

years old?”

“Yes. He will remain attractive forever in a way that only the

completely unobtainable seem to be, won’t he?” Sean put a

gentle hand on Adin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Adin smiled the barest of smiles. “It’s funny how when you

are about to be eaten your priorities change… Donte is

someone I care for very much. I’m not sorry that he has the

manuscript back. I have the flash drive. Unless Boaz is yanking

my chain—”

Sean laughed. “He said you’d be suspicious. It’s there, Adin.

The whole file is there. He just copied it for Santos and sent me

on my way.”

“Then my life, such as it is, will be going on as normal.”

“No it won’t, Adin. Boaz was most adamant that I remind

you of that.” He pressed another of the light devices like the

one Donte had given him into Adin’s hand. He tilted his head

again and peered anxiously through that thick fringe of rust-

colored hair. “I’m sorry. Your innocence is gone. Probably

some of your pride. Don’t lie to yourself.”

“I don’t, Sean. I’m just tired. Still recovering. I’m sure you

know I was attacked.”

“Yes.” Sean leaned in and lowered his voice. “You know, I

envy Donte.”

“What?”

“You love him, don’t you?” Sean asked, looking at him

speculatively. “Don’t bother to deny it. It’s obvious. There are

many men and women who love the undead in general, and

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165

Donte in particular. Like rock stars, we have groupies who

follow us, begging for the privilege of being our food.”

Adin got up and turned away. “I know all this. Thank you

for the warning.” He began to head for Deana’s house and the

comfort and safety of what was left of his family.

“You misunderstand.” Sean followed him. “I drove here

from New York to find you. The world is full of people who

are like so much insect splatter on my windshield from the trip.

If I look closely, I can see that each of the bugs came from its

own species, each was a different individual, each met its

demise when the wind carried it into my car, and yet every one

left behind a remarkably similar pattern of relatively analogous

goo.”

“Good to know.” Adin quickened his pace. “I hope you’re

finished trying to cheer me up.”

“I haven’t even begun.” Sean caught the hand of Adin’s

good arm in his and pulled him to a stop. “Everything I’ve

heard about you, everything I’ve seen, everything Boaz told me,

makes me think you’re different.”

“Different how? Do I get more Michelin stars in the

Vampire’s Good Eats Guide to Bainbridge Island? When in

town you must have the Adin Tredeger? Bland but with an edgy

finish, slightly bitter but delicious, as Donte and Hannibal

Lecter would say, with a nice red wine?”

“You—”

“Listen to me!” Adin couldn’t help raising his voice. “I’m

tired, hurt, and angry. I’ve had a professional disappointment

and a profound shock with regard to the world I thought I

knew. Not to mention my very first broken heart.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Sean quietly, still holding Adin’s hand

and giving it a kind press with his own.

Adin shook his head. “It’s just…” Adin looked down at the

hand in the sling, which still held the miniature of Donte.

“Donte is little more than a highly evolved predator. He can’t

love; he isn’t human. That’s gone forever.”

“Did he tell you that?”

166 Z.A. Maxfield

“Yes,” Adin replied. “He did.”

Sean smiled an enigmatic smile. Together they walked

silently back to Deana’s house. When they reached the door,

Sean leaned over and kissed Adin warmly on the lips, shocking

and embarrassing him a little.

“What was that for?” Adin asked.

“I like you. I’d like you to think about getting in touch with

me sometime.” He backed down the steps. “When Donte’s

glamour fades.”

Adin didn’t bother telling him that Donte’s glamour had

never really been all that successful where he was concerned.

“Call me!” Sean flicked him a jaunty wave as he got into a

convertible parked at the curb.

Adin though he might actually want to do just that someday.

And how sick was that? “How?”

“Call my name into the wind!”

Adin pursed his lips. He muttered, “You’ve got to be
fucking

kidding me!”

Sean laughed his musical laugh. “I am,” he said, starting up

the engine. “My number is written on the bottom of the box I

gave you!” He roared off, and Adin turned the cardboard box

over. Sure enough, there was a phone number written there

next to a tiny little smiley face with fangs.

Adin found he was laughing as he used his keys to enter

Deana’s small house. He toed off his shoes and fell back onto

the couch. Immediately he took out his tiny treasure and looked

at it.

Donte.

Adin knew he wasn’t likely to find much rest before

morning, but he listened quietly to see if his sister was still up or if she’d gone back to sleep. He thought perhaps that, as she had

done when she was a child, she’d gotten out of bed and come

to the door in a state that was not quite awake, and when she’d

gone back to bed, she’d just sunk in and slept. They’d had some

of the most fascinating conversations of their childhood when

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167

Deana was in that state—somewhere between sleeping and

waking.

Adin opened the tiny box and played the music again,

discovering on further investigation that it wound with a tiny