Vampires Need Not…Apply? (Accidentally Yours #4)(44)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Ixtab sighed. “I’ll get the vampire physicist back.” Somehow. Maybe she was making this into a bigger deal than it was? She’d only called him by another man’s name. It was an honest mistake. And once she explained the reason behind it, he would understand. Or perhaps he will find it disturbing that he looks like the lost love of your life and believe that’s the only reason you want him.

Then again, Antonio had fared well with all of the oddities thrown his way. Extremely well. Magical tablets, vampirism, deities. Nothing seemed to faze him.

Except you…

* * *

Somewhere in Europe…

Giant, furry pink suitcase in hand, Cimil skidded on her red platform shoes into the ultra-baroque-style living room of Roberto’s vampire lair. “Honey!” she screamed “Have you seen my pony?”

There was no reply. “Roberto! Pony! Now!”

Again, no reply.

Cimil stomped her foot. “One would think a vampire might have better hearing.”

Cimil turned and slammed into a tall, cold wall. “Ugh! I hate it when you sneak up on me like that. Have you seen my pony? It’s time to go, and you can’t be late. You must be there when the portal opens and make sure nothing goes wrong!”

Roberto didn’t respond.

Cimil sighed. “I know they’re expecting me, not you, but that doesn’t matter.”

Roberto blinked.

“Of course, I’m worried,” Cimil replied. “Ixtab has to get sucked in with the incubus, and the Maaskab cannot leave. The events are all tied together and there’s a point zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-one chance that the physicist will fail. Got it?”

Roberto, with his black eyes and equally black hair, shook his head slowly. Then again, Roberto seemed to do everything as if he had all the time in the world. Which they didn’t. That clock was ticking, and there was no room for errors. Not this time.

“Gasp!” shook her finger at him. “You ate him! Didn’t you? You ate Mr. Mylittle!”

Roberto shrugged casually.

“Dammit!” Cimil smacked him on the chest. “I told you to stop eating my pets—except for the clowns. They’re okay, but fangs off the others!”

Roberto simply stared.

“Oh, don’t you give me that look,” she quibbled. “It was no honest mistake. You knew that pony was special. Hell in a bicycle basket! We’ll talk this later; we’ll miss our plane! Grab the luggage, would you?”

Roberto dipped his head and followed her out the door.

No, no room for mistakes now. Everything was going according to plan, and it was up to her to ensure things stayed that way.

Chapter Veintidós

Antonio’s family lived about an hour northwest of Barcelona in one of the oldest winemaking regions of Europe near Vilafranca del Penedès. The area also held the distinction of housing the Santa Maria de Montserrat abbey, home to the world’s oldest, functioning printing press and the sacred Black Madonna. Ironically, it had been the monastery Francisco belonged to. Maybe that’s why Ixtab hadn’t visited this place for centuries and opted to spend most of her time in densely populated cities that provided plentiful distractions from her woes.

As the town car wound up the tree-lined hillside, neat little rows of skeletal, hibernating vines blanketing every visible mile, she couldn’t help but remember how the world once looked. Life was so much simpler before its taming. For humans and for deities.

Really now? Back then, only the most powerful and wealthy of humans were entitled to a good life free from starvation, tyranny, and oppression. And modern medicine, well, what a horrible misery life was for the masses before its existence. There was a time, not so long ago, that mothers watched their children die from the flu. They were lucky if a few survived to adulthood. Yes, everyone struggled. As for deities, well, back then, life wasn’t a box of assorted doughnuts, either, now that she really thought about it. Unlike her other brethren, her power of releasing one’s soul from darkness required a more… personal touch, one might say. Long journeys over oceans on rickety wooden boats, weeks on horseback or by foot, it could take twelve months to travel from the portal in Mexico to eastern Europe or Asia.

Funny how one always yearned for the past, simpler times, but conveniently forgot the difficulties. That was her problem, really. Wasn’t it? She lived in the past, a made-up, perfect past with Francisco. But it didn’t exist. It never had. And now she was throwing away something real for a fantasy. Yes, there was a reason she called out Francisco when Antonio had been touching her so intimately. In her heart, she truly hadn’t let go. What she needed to do was live in the present. Not the past, not the future where one hopes for better days ahead, but the present. Because now is all anyone truly has.

Okay, well right now, you need to get your groveling speech ready.

Right.

Ixtab flipped open the manila folder she’d been carrying in her bag and thumbed through Antonio’s file once again. Penelope had supplied it several weeks ago, but for some reason, she hadn’t given it much thought. It was one of the more fascinating mortal family histories, with generations of royalty dating back to the 700s. What struck her as odd, however, wasn’t their exaggerated wealth—they had more money, land, and assets across the globe than the world’s largest company—but that over the last several centuries, they’d stayed out of the limelight. No political ties, no newspaper articles, no Oprah specials. And humans were obsessed with such powerful families—the Kennedys, the English royal family, the Gates, the Wiggles—but the Aceros were an unknown.

Ixtab gazed out the tinted window of the backseat. Though the day was sunny, the cold seeped through the glass. Or maybe something else caused the chill in her bones. As the car passed the open gates, with the name Acero in wrought iron proudly arched over the lane, she distinctly felt the growing presence of a dark energy. Her teeth began to chatter.

“Le subo la temperatura, señorita?” asked the driver.

“No, gracias.” He could raise the thermostat to one hundred and it wouldn’t make a lick of a difference. For whatever reason Antonio came here, she now knew it wouldn’t be good. No mortal, or immortal for that matter, would want to come here. Yet this is his home? He grew up here?

The car traveled along the hillside overlooking acres of slumbering vines below until they reached another gate, this one closed. The driver pulled up to the intercom and lowered his window.