Immortal (20 page)

“Len! Where have you been? I've been trying to call you for hours!”

“Sorry. It's been a nutty day.”

“Where are you? In your room?”

“Ah—no. I had to drive up north. It's snowing here, so I probably won't be back tomorrow.”

“Snowing? Len, where are you?”

“I'm at a friend's house. There was sort of an emergency.”

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah. It's a long story and my phone's running down, so I really can't go into it, but don't worry. I'm fine.”

“I thought the campus killer had got you!”

He tried.

“Listen, in case I can't reach Dave tomorrow, will you tell him I won't be in?”

“OK. When will you be back?”

“I'm not sure. I'll call you.”

“Is something going on?”

I took a steadying breath. “Sort of. Can't talk about it right now.”

“Is it that gorgeous guy?”

“That's part of it.”

“Len! You ran away with him!”

“Not quite.”

The door opened and Madóran came in. He saw me on the phone and frowned.

“Listen, Man, I've got to go. I'll touch base with you in the next day or so. Don't worry.”

“Yeah, right. You'll be busy jumping all over that guy's bones.”

“It isn't like that. I'll call you. Bye.”

I powered down the phone. Madóran came to the fireplace and stood gazing at me.

“I must ask you not to discuss us with your friends.”

“I haven't. I was just letting them know I was all right.”

He held my gaze for a long moment, as if weighing the truth of my words, then nodded. “Your room is ready.”

I followed him back to the enclosed
portal
and around to the north wing. He led me to the same room I'd slept in on Saturday. This time there was a fire in the tiny kiva fireplace. There was also a pile of clothing, much like what Madóran had brought for Caeran, on the dresser. I set my pack down next to it.

“Our females do not have much clothing to spare. These are from my wardrobe, in case you should wish to change.”

I looked up at him. “Thank you! That's very thoughtful.”

“Please do not leave the house unescorted.” He paused, the frown returning to his brow as he gazed into some unseen distance. “The alben may be in the area by now, and will be looking for a vulnerable target.”

“Fine with me. I'll just hole up. Maybe get caught up on my homework.”

“If you wish for something to read, I have a small library. Some of my guests are residing there now, but tomorrow there will be opportunity for you to see it.”

I nodded. “Thanks. So … do you have a plan for dealing with the alben?”

He frowned again, as if the question pained him. “We are discussing what to do.”

“If I can help at all …”

We both knew that was unlikely. Madóran smiled, though.

“Thank you. I wish to talk with you further, perhaps tomorrow.”

“OK,” I said warily.

“About our people. There are things you should understand. You are weary, though. Tomorrow is soon enough.” He went to the door. “Rest well.”

“Good night.”

He shut the door behind him, leaving me with an altered impression of him. On my first visit he had seemed stern, disapproving. Now I sensed more complex attitudes toward me. The disapproval was still there, but muted, tempered with resignation and also with a degree of amusement and even liking.

I liked him too, I thought, though I felt reservations as well. Despite his graciousness, I suspected he viewed me as an inferior creature, to be tolerated and controlled. To him I would never be an equal. He had untold centuries of experience, and I would probably not even live for one century.

I sighed, and picked up the top piece from the stack of clothing he'd left for me. It was a full-length caftan sort of thing. The fabric felt like cotton, soft and heavy. There were also a shirt and loose trousers of the same fabric, dyed a light gold.

I slung the caftan over my arm and headed for the bathroom. I wanted a shower to wash the fear and the burnt-car stink away. I lingered a long time under the hot water, scrubbing my scalp with a lavender-scented soap that I suspected my host had made. He probably grew the lavender, too.

Madóran was taller than me; the caftan was too long by almost a foot. I grabbed a handful of it and hiked it up so I could walk back to my room, my clothes tucked under my arm along with my freshly rinsed panties wrapped inside a hand towel.

The flagstones of the
portal
were ice-cold, but despite that I paused at the door of the treatment room. It was closed, and I figured Caeran was still resting inside. I wanted to open the door, just to look at him, but I knew I shouldn't disturb him. He'd had a hell of a day.

I closed my eyes, laying my free hand against the door and silently wishing him well. If anything I could give would help him heal, I'd give it.

Dragging myself away, I continued along the
portal
to my room. I glanced out at the fountain as I reached the door. What I saw made me stop in surprise.

Madóran stood in the courtyard facing the fountain, his back to me, arms half-raised and his palms to the sky. Snowflakes fell softly into his hands and caught in his loose hair, puffs of white against the black. He was wearing another caftan, and apparently he'd walked all around the fountain, because it was circled by footprints.

Was he praying? Communing with nature? I felt as though I shouldn't be watching, but kept staring at him until I started to shiver in my wet hair and bare feet. He hadn't moved.

Giving up, I ducked into my room and quietly closed the door. Dumped my dirty clothes on the floor and hurried over to the fire with the towel containing my panties, which I spread out on the banco to one side of the fireplace. I huddled on the other side in the warm glow, combing my hair with my fingers as it dried, wondering about Madóran.

He'd said he was a recluse. He now had seven house guests that I knew of, maybe more. The hacienda was big, but not so big it could absorb that many people without things getting a bit cozy. Madóran had said there were guests sleeping—or resting, whatever—in the library. Maybe he'd had to share his own bedroom as well. Was he standing out in the snowy courtyard because it was the only place he could be alone?

I frowned. That might be one reason, but I didn't think it was the only one. He'd looked like he was doing a ritual, almost. Something to do with healing Caeran, maybe?

Or with repelling the alben.

I shivered and bent closer to the fire. A small, pretty copper bin stood nearby, holding a few pieces of firewood. I added one to the coals and stayed beside the fireplace until my hair was dry and I'd stopped shivering. Stayed there a while longer, musing over everything that had happened that day, until my eyelids got heavy.

The bed felt fantastic, and the caftan made a fine nightgown. I lay daydreaming about Caeran, but when I slid into sleep my dreams were far less pleasant. They involved blood and fear, anger and speed. Me running, a lot.

I woke up feeling tired. The air in the room was cold; the fire had died down. I stayed under the covers, unwilling to leave the warmth, unwilling to face the day. Only a sense of guilt finally dragged me up; I had to call Dave and tell him I wouldn't be in to work. Should call my professors, too. I'd do that, as soon as I got something hot inside me.

I hopped out of bed and scurried to the fireplace. My panties had dried, so I pulled them on and grabbed the other clean clothes from the dresser. I had to roll the legs of the trousers up. The shirt hung long on me, more like a tunic, but it was surprisingly warm. I put on my dirty socks and my sneakers, which completely ruined the back-to-nature effect of the outfit, and went out to raid the kitchen.

Sunlight gleamed from the snow in the courtyard, a white so bright it hurt to look at it. The snow must have fallen all night; it was at least six inches deep. No sign of Madóran's footprints around the fountain. Dozens of birds were drinking and bathing there—bluebirds, juncos, and jays—reveling in what was probably the only unfrozen water for miles around.

The air in the
portal
was chilly. I hurried around the back way to the kitchen and was glad to find it unoccupied. It was not neglected, though: once again the place smelled like baking bread, and a platter of bread, butter, jam and sliced oranges sat on the counter next to a teapot under a quilted cozy.

I smiled, pleased at the sight of the oranges. Madóran couldn't have grown those.

I fixed myself a plate of food and a cup of tea, and sat on the banco by the fireplace, drawn to the cheery fire rather than the table. The bird show going on outside wasn't enough to make up for the colder air coming off the window.

As I ate, I wondered how Caeran was doing. He had healed so fast from the first cut I'd seen, maybe he was already over yesterday's wound despite its having been worse. I half hoped he would come to the kitchen, but when the door did open it was Mirali.

She smiled, fetched herself a cup of tea, and came over to the fire. “May I join you?”

“Sure.”

I made room for her on the banco. She was dressed in a caftan, but it must have been her own because it didn't drag on the floor, and she wasn't that much taller than me. She looked a lot stronger than she had a few days earlier.

“You're looking well,” I told her.

“Thank you. I do feel much better. I was not able to thank you properly before—”

I waved my hand. “De nada. I was glad to help.”

“And now you have helped us again.”

Feeling embarrassed, I took a bite of bread and jam so I wouldn't have to answer. Mirali sipped her tea, watching me.

“Madóran has told us that you are aware of our nature.”

I nodded, still chewing. The conversation was going in an awkward direction.

“I am glad, for it will make it easier for you to understand why Caeran has kept apart from you.”

The bread in my mouth suddenly felt dry, like a mouthful of sawdust. I took a sip of tea, trying to swallow.

“He has not had a lover in a very long time. His last was a mortal, and it broke his heart.“ She glanced at me as if to gauge my reaction, then went on. “Flora was mad for him, and he for her. They married, and at first they were blissfully happy. Caeran left us to live with her in Paris.”

Paris. Wow. I had trouble picturing Caeran there.

“As she grew older, people began to look upon them with disapproval. They moved to London, claiming that he was her nephew, but the talk continued and they were shunned from polite society. At last Flora fled from the house, abandoning Caeran and all she owned save for the few things she carried with her. He believed she was trying to spare him further unhappiness, but though I did not know her well, I think she was eaten up by the fact that he did not age as she did.”

I had managed to swallow my food by now. I took another sip of tea to wash it down, and put the rest of the bread on my plate.

“It took him three years to find her,” Mirali said. “She had gone to Birmingham. When the money she took with her ran out, she sold her few possessions to pay for food and lodging. Caeran found her wedding ring in a London shop and traced it back to her. By then she had run out of funds and been put into the poor house. She contracted tuberculosis there, and died shortly after Caeran located her.”

I waited for Mirali to spell out the moral of this tragic tale. A kernel of resentment burned in my chest, though I knew she was only trying to protect Caeran.

“This is not the sort of life that would benefit either of you,” she said gently. “Again and again, we have watched our kindred go through such troubles. It is always the same.”

“We don't have poor houses any more.”

“You have places nearly as bad.”

“But the attitudes you describe are outdated. We don't criticize people's choices that way nowadays. I know a couple of women who married men fifteen, twenty years younger than they were.”

Mirali gazed at me, her green eyes filled with concern. They were darker than Caeran's, not lit with gold like his.

“And when it becomes forty years? Sixty years?”

I swallowed. “I always planned on being a dirty old lady.”

“I am thinking of your happiness, Len, not just Caeran's.”

She had a point. The feeling that I was unworthy of Caeran haunted me, though I knew he would never say so. If I was sure of anything, it was that he did care about me. But how much more unworthy would I feel as my youth faded?

Mirali put another log on the fire, her movements easy and graceful. “We live apart from you because trying to live among you never ends well. Long ago we concluded that we are each best off with our own kind. Caeran was hurt by Flora's loss, but it could have gone even worse for him. We often have been persecuted by your people. Accused of witchcraft or devil-worship, imprisoned and tormented—”