Immortal Memory (Iris' Atlantis 1)

19: The Burial

Aconite

Valentina opened the door for me. She was wearing a black suit and held a black coat over an arm. I recognized it as Clover's, but didn't remark on the subject.

"If you expect me to invite you in, you are rather mistaken."

"I don't. Of course. But I do have a car down waiting, in case you wouldn't mind accompanying me to it."

She closed the door behind her.

My eyes were drawn to the silver piece, showing under her jacket. She saw my gaze.

"My family is Catholic..."

"It would be polite to maybe take it off..."

She visibly hesitated. Then Valentina shrugged and reached for the lock. She fumbled at it.

The moment stretched.

"You mind?"

Her face was red, but she drew her thick dark waves to a side and offered for me her back. I reached to click into place the tiny catch, and slid the even smaller rings apart. They were truly tiny little marvels, and it had been some time since I had last been called for aid at a similar task. Such a small lock it was.

For a moment I held in my hands the long silver cross. It wasn't quite the cameo locket my memories had found. A cameo belonging to my son's mother... Some forty years ago.

She didn't say much as I offered the jewelry back. And unceremoniously slipped it inside a pocket in her trousers.

We started down the stairs, neither willing to exchange more words. She didn't let me open any doors for her, and I wasn't interested in pressing the point. I wasn't quite the gentleman I wished to be, anyway. And I had used her. Because she had been convenient.

Julia was seated by the driving Blizzard. She met my gaze through the rear-view mirror, her sky blue eyes set in pale young features. The eyes were the same eyes I had fallen for in my younger years. But the face was new. And I was far too old to be enchanted by them.

Yet, as the enchantment had evaporated, it had left behind a wariness I didn't welcome. I couldn't quite blame old Fern for trying to find and kill the mortal shell of Alfonso Moura. The task had almost been passed down to me once. Yet, as things stood, my dear old crone for a mother had no idea I had already succeeded once in what she sought to do now. Though that had been under some very special conditions.

And as the car started its motor and we slid into the evening traffic, I couldn't help the humorless twist of the corner of my mouth. How could the witches muster the audacity to think for a moment they could do anything against the ageless father of demons? Because Julia-Alfonso had on their immortal side an asset Fern would never possess, an inclination no one should have.

They were loved by spirits. The fae couldn't resist her charm any more than the boundless free spirits could. Even the vampire linked Valentina felt instinctively protective of her. She could ask anything, expect anything. And there would be those who cared.

Of course the power brought with it complications. It could take time and effort to make the spirits understand the nuances of the whims of the immortal. But if this small girl so wished, and had the evening to herself, she could drive the ocean from the shores, raise hurricanes or break every human crafted stone in the old city.

Alfonso Moura wasn't a witch. They were a real, whimsical force of nature.

And I truly hoped Hellebore knew what he was doing toying with it.