Edgar Aeternum, Book 1: Tales of Aeternal Love (20 page)

As Edgar was nearing his apartment building,
he stopped and looked at the sky. It was getting darker on the
western horizon, a pale grey in stark contrast to the bright blue
above him. He shook his head and went inside, happy that he'd
visited Evans sooner rather than later.

Y'know, after 400 years of technological
advancements, the average weatherman still mucks it up sometimes.
'Clear, sunny skies until sunset,' my ass. I'll check it out
upstairs. Hopefully, it isn't gonna be a bad one. Though I doubt
Maddi's gonna melt in the rain, it's still no fun, even with a rain
suit. Ah well, whadaya gonna do? I'm not gonna mope about it; I'll
just put out some candles to brighten up the place. Besides, the
view is gorgeous even in the rain.

Edgar palmed the lock on his apartment and
headed straight for the kitchen, grabbing a glass of ice water.
"BuzzNet Weather – update on storm" he called out to the HC.

"Display or audio only?" the smooth voice
asked after a single chime.

"Audio only," Edgar replied and set about
plating the leftover pizza and Stix from Antonia's and refilling
his empty glass.

The speakers came to life with BuzzNet
Weather's report. BuzzNet was the best source for weather in
Edgar's opinion. Their right-to-wrong record showed a strong trend
toward accuracy. He also liked the fact that, no matter how or when
you accessed the report, it always began from the beginning rather
than forcing him to put up with partial reports and wait to pick up
what he missed.

"Today's forecast originally stated all-day
sun; sorry to disappoint, but radar now shows a storm moving in
from the Pacific. Its original course would have put it in contact
with Vancouver later this evening. However, a last-minute direction
change is sending it our way. Sensor nets show it's a big one,
friends. Not 'head-for-a-shelter' big, but expect heavy rains,
thunder and lightning, and moderately high winds in the thirty to
forty mile an hour range. Due to its size, we expect this one to
last all night, tapering off to a light rain just in time for rush
hour tomorrow." The HC chimed, signifying the end of the
report.

Well, that'll be fun for traveling. Worst
case scenario, I'll put on a fire and we'll have to cuddle until he
warms up. I can think of less pleasant things to do. It does mean
we're in for a great show; a thunderstorm over Gridley Park with
this view... better than any movie.

Edgar dropped onto the sofa, plate and glass
in hand, and began devouring the leftovers. He practically inhaled
the food and decided he had time to finish the article on the
latest advancements in hydroponics he'd started before Maddox
arrived at four.

"Set alarm for three-thirty p.m.," he
instructed the HC, "and play music - 1980's dance." The computer
chimed and the room was filled with Paula Abdul's
Cold Hearted
Snake
. Edgar dance-walked to his desk, already feeling the
happy buzz that eighties music gave him. He settled into the chair
and was soon lost in his work.

The spellchecker
completed its review of the article just moments before the HC
announced three-thirty p.m. Edgar acknowledged the alarm silencing
the chime and sent the file to his client. Valentino was getting
kissed by a crystal-blue Italian stream, courtesy of the Bangles,
as he rose, stretched and went to the bathroom.

After taking care of nature's needs, Edgar
washed up at the sink and brushed his teeth. He applied just a
small amount of Nag Champa oil at strategic points on his body and
went to the walk-in to pick out clothing for the evening. He
settled on his favorite pair of jeans: faded fabric so soft he
could barely tell he was wearing them, a hole at one knee and a
plain black tee. He briefly contemplated socks and vetoed the idea,
choosing the more casual, cozy barefoot look. A quick brush of the
hair and he was checking himself out in the three-way mirror.

Not bad if I do say so myself. A bit on the
casual side, but perfect for a stay-home date. I did tell him it
was casual, so there shouldn't be any surprises. It's funny; I
almost feel a few butterflies over this date. There's something
that hasn't happened in a long time, not even with Sterling. Hmmm.
Well, nothing to it but to do it, I always say.

Doves were crying over the HC's speakers as
Edgar stood in front of the wine rack, choosing the perfect red to
accompany the lamb chops. Head bobbing in time to the beat, he
pulled a bottle of
Barolo Riserva
. The well-aged red was a
great wine for lamb chops, the strong tannins blended with the
protein in the meat, neither overwhelming the other. The
traditionally-run vineyard aged its
Barolo
at least ten
years before selling it; this particular vintage had been aged
twelve years. At this age, the wine had a rust-red tinge,
especially around the edges of the glass. The description of an
aroma reminiscent of tar and roses put off some people, but Edgar
knew the wine was superb.

He decided on the
Barolo Riserva
and
put it in the chiller as Prince gave way to Springsteen's growly
voice asking, "Hey little girl, is your daddy home?" The wine was
best served at about 65 degrees Fahrenheit and the chiller would
accomplish that with much better accuracy than the 'fridge. It
would have to be decanted for at least an hour before dinner was
served, but that could also be done in the chiller. Edgar grabbed
another glass of water and settled on the sofa to select the
perfect herb and prep a bowl for the evening's icebreaker. Jamaican
Blade was out, this was a date date and the Blade would have them
naked and rutting like bulls in less than a half hour.

He considered Mars Red, but decided it was a
bit too intense. Red would certainly break the ice, but it would
likely leave the two sitting on the sofa staring into space or
lazily discussing the meaning of life. While such stoned
cosmological conversations could be a lot of fun, they weren't
ideal for getting to know each other.

He finally settled on a nice, mellow Blue
Dream, an indica/sativa hybrid. It was a specially-bred cross of
Blueberry and Haze, a perfect blend of indica body high and
cerebral sativa. It was the perfect selection for a pleasant
evening of happy chatting. He carefully cleaned the Stradivarius
vaporizer and filled the bowl.

The view from the living room window showed a
darkened sky filled with roiling clouds. Edgar went to the window
and looked out over the Park. Already, trees were whipping in the
strong wind and the few people left in the Park were running for
cover. Edgar watched for a few minutes more as the pregnant clouds
released the first fat drops. He looked at the time readout and saw
that it was three-forty. Maddi had almost made it without needing
to face the rain; the magna would arrive at three-forty-five and
he'd have to walk to Highland House in the downpour. "Music off,"
he ordered the HC, preferring the sound of the rain.

Edgar was setting out several white candles
around the room, lighting them, when he caught the first flash of
lightning out of the corner of his eye. Moments later, it was
followed with a loud booming noise. The sky had darkened
considerably in the last few minutes and the cheery glow of the
candles lent a happy warmth to the room.

The rain was coming down in earnest now,
driven against the large window by the wind. The staccato beat
filled the otherwise quiet room with a soft white noise. Now and
again, a tiny piece of hail pinged off the window, breaking the
beat. Even this high up, Edgar wasn't worried about the storm. A
true "head-for-a-shelter" storm, to borrow the weatherman's term,
was highly unlikely on the west coast, especially given the
strength and defenses of most modern high-rises.

The worst storm on record in the region was
fifty-two years ago and its strongest sustained wind was clocked at
fifty-five miles per hour with the occasional sixty-eight mile
gust. The Highland House's windows were rated to withstand
sustained winds of fifty mph before the building's weather defense
net activated the storm shields, inch-thick deltonium plates that
slid and locked into place over all the windows. Between the storm
shields and the building's general construction, Highland House
could rebuff an F5 tornado as easily as Edgar could rebuff an
unwanted advance.

Maddi, on the other hand, was not built to
sustain high winds and driving rain. Edgar looked, somewhat
nervously, at the wall readout: three-fifty-six; Maddi was in the
thick of the storm, heading for Highland House. Fortunately, he was
likely only minutes away. If he'd suited up before getting off the
magna, he'd be fine. Otherwise, the poor boy was going to be soaked
to the bone. Just in case, Edgar went to the linen closet and
pulled out a thick sky-blue towel and a dark navy blue robe and
took them to the laundry center to the left of the apartment's
entrance.

Minutes later, the HC announced Maddox
Bristow and Edgar approved his entrance. He waited in the entryway
as the HC chimed announcing Maddi's arrival; Edgar tapped the door
panel and it opened to Maddi's smiling face. The smile was
remarkable given Maddi's drenched state. Apparently, he hadn't
suited up; his hair was plastered to his head and his clothing was
soaked. As Edgar stood aside to allow him entrance, the boy's shoes
squished and water actually bubbled out around his ankles.

"Aww, you poor guy!" Edgar said. "Follow me;
we need to get you dry and warm." Edgar led the way into the
laundry center. "No rain suit?" he asked.

"Not anymore," Maddi replied. "The magna was
full so I thought I'd put it on in the waiting area. Right about
the time I unfolded it, a huge gust of wind came along and my rain
suit was gone. Just like that," he snapped his fingers. "So I set
out without it and here I am! Well, actually, I said a few choice
words and then set out," he smiled.

Edgar laughed. "At least you're in good
spirits over it. Strip."

Maddi complied, kicking off his shoes, which
Edgar picked up and emptied into the nearby sink. He held his hand
out and soon had all of Maddox' dripping clothes. He handed the
shivering boy the thick towel. As Maddi was drying himself, Edgar
put the clothes and shoes into the dryer unit. Fortunately, the
shoes were cloth, otherwise they'd have been a total loss. When he
turned back to Maddi, the boy was wrapping himself in the
towel.

"No, use this," Edgar said, handing him the
robe. "It's warmer and much more comfortable."

"Thanks, Edgar," Maddi said and donned the
proffered robe. "Th-this is so not how I wanted the evening to
begin." The smile faded and Edgar could tell the nerves were
back.

"No worries, Maddi," Edgar said, smiling.
"C'mere!" Maddi closed the distance between them and Edgar embraced
the younger man, who quickly returned the hug. Edgar noticed two
things immediately: One, Maddi was shivering, his skin cold and
two, he smelled like home. Not Edgar's current home, but one from
long ago; the scent a curious mix of spice and old wood. Edgar
closed his eyes and breathed deeply, enjoying the sensation of
Maddi in his arms and the memories brought back by the boy's
cologne.

He broke the hug sooner than he wanted to,
knowing he needed to get Maddi warmed up. He looked down into
Maddi's brown eyes and smiled. The boy smiled back, relaxing a bit.
"Th-thanks for the towel, E-Edgar," he stammered, whether from
nerves or cold, Edgar couldn't tell.

"You're very welcome," Edgar said. "Come with
me. We'll save the grand tour for later; right now, we need to get
you warm." He led Maddi to the living room, hand on the boy's back.
Rather than take him to the sofa facing the vid-screen, Edgar chose
the loveseat on the opposite end of the room, right in front of the
fireplace. "Light fire," he instructed the HC and the fireplace was
soon filled with gently rolling flames.

"Have a seat, Maddi," said Edgar. "I'll get
us something hot to drink. Do you prefer coffee or tea? Maybe
cocoa?"

"C-cocoa would be gr... awes... good," Maddi
tripped over the words. This time Edgar could tell by the look in
Maddi's eyes that it was nerves. He went to the kitchen for the
cocoa, returning with two steaming mugs just a moment later.

"Will you excuse me for just a second?" Edgar
asked Maddi.

"Su-sure," Maddi replied, looking like he
thought Edgar might be going to another room to laugh at him. He
wanted to disappear, to just fade away into thin air.

"Be right back!" Edgar said cheerfully and
headed for his bedroom. Once there, he stripped completely and put
on a rich, hunter green robe. He walked back to Maddi and noted the
boy's stunned reaction upon seeing his host in a robe.

"I thought it'd be more comfortable if we
were both in robes," Edgar said, sitting next to Maddi and taking
the boy's hand. "Please don't be embarrassed, but I can tell you're
nervous. Honestly, I have a few butterflies myself." He was about
to go on when he noticed the questioning look on Maddie's face.

"B-butterflies?" the boy asked.

"Sorry. It's an old twen-cen expression
meaning nervous. The whole saying is 'butterflies in my stomach'
and it refers to the fluttering feeling we get with nerves," Edgar
explained. "I'm kind of an amateur historian," he added.

"Oh! I get it!" Maddi said. "That's cool! So,
you're nervous, too?" It came out sounding like the boy was asking
God himself about nerves.

"Yeah, I am," Edgar replied, giving Maddi's
hand a squeeze before letting go and taking a drink of cocoa. "I
don't usually date much, but there's something about you that made
me change my mind."

"Me!?" again, it sounded as though Maddi
thought himself a lowly mortal appealing to a god for approval.

"Yes, you, silly!" Edgar laughed and ruffled
the boy's still damp hair. "I'm not sure how you see me, but I'm
just another guy, nothing super-special," the lie was meant to
sooth Maddi. "You just don't see yourself as I - and others - see
you. Trust me, Maddi, you've nothing to worry about. Hey, how about
a puff? That'll chase away both our butterflies."