Brow furrowing, she looked back at the young marsupial. “What an odd tactic.”
The opossum, hearing their voices, looked up at the window, crumbs clinging to the white fur around its mouth and pointy snout, then went back to eating.
“It’s sort of creepy looking,” she said, brow furrowing. “Its paws look like hands. And its tail looks like a rat’s.”
Marcus nodded. “The opossum sort of reminds me of the platypus. Both look like an amalgamation of several other species.”
“What’s a platypus?”
Marcus leaned against the sink, still holding Ami’s hand, and contemplated her thoughtfully. “It’s a mammal native to Australia that lives near rivers and lakes.”
Shouldn’t she know that? The platypus was right up there with kangaroos, koalas, elephants, and giraffes in terms of peculiar animals that sparked children’s curiosity. It seemed odd that she wouldn’t know it or at least have heard of it.
Added to the myriad of other things that were new to her, yet commonplace in much of the world, it left him wondering anew about her background.
“Where were you born, Ami?” he asked.
Turning away from the window, she looked up at him.
He hadn’t seen that spark of fear in her eyes since the night he had suggested taking her to the network for medical care. It disturbed him to see it now and know he had inspired it.
Her gaze slid away from his as she nibbled her lower lip.
“Why don’t you ever talk about your past?” he queried softly, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand.
“You never talk about yours,” she countered hesitantly.
An unpleasant laugh escaped him. “Yes, well, my life has been a fairly open book. One that damned near every immortal and his or her Second has read and reviewed ad nauseam. Don’t tell me you don’t know. You referenced it the night we fought the first wave of vampires together.”
She cast him a sympathetic look from beneath her lashes. “I’ve heard a few things.”
He started to withdraw his hand, but she held on tight. “How much do you know?”
“Only what I’ve gleaned from Seth’s and David’s conversations with Roland.”
So Roland really had been worried about him. Who would’ve thought? “And what might that be?”
“That a few years ago you lost a woman you’d loved for a very long time.”
He sighed, not wanting to go into all of that. But he couldn’t expect her to share her past with him if he didn’t share some of his own with her. “If it came from Seth, Roland, or David, whatever you heard was probably far kinder than what some of the others have said. It’s getting late. Why don’t I start dinner, then we can talk?”
She nodded and released his hand. “I’ll make the salads.”
“No, you won’t,” he admonished. “Roland may have healed your wounds, but you lost a lot of blood before he did. You need to rest, Ami.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
She wasn’t, but would never admit it, so he played the card he knew would gain her cooperation. “You’ll either sit and rest while I do the cooking, preferably in here where you can keep me company, or we can make a quick trip to the network so you can get a blood transfusion.”
Her pretty face paled. Lips tightening, she all but stomped out of the kitchen, then returned carrying one of the dining room chairs. Plunking it down facing the sink, she sat down and crossed her arms.
His lips twitched. It would no doubt infuriate her if he admitted he thought her adorable when she was pissed.
“Why do you loathe the network so much?” he asked as he filled a pot with filtered water and put it on the stove to boil.
“I don’t loathe the network,” she responded, choosing her words carefully. “I just don’t like doctors. I don’t trust them.”
He smiled. “Neither do most older immortals.” He crossed to the refrigerator, retrieved the pot of homemade pasta sauce they had prepared together earlier, and put it on another burner to warm.
He started transferring organic vegetables from the refrigerator’s veggie bin to the counter beside the sink.
Immortals were predominantly vegetarian. Foods that raised blood pressure and cholesterol and increased the risk of heart disease, cancer, diabetes, Alzheimer’s, and other illnesses in humans caused the same damage in immortals. The virus simply repaired it. Those repairs, however, necessitated greater consumption of bagged blood, which was generously donated by Seconds, their families, and network employees, and immortals didn’t want to take advantage of their magnanimity. Plus, immortals’ acute sense of taste enabled them to taste the chemicals in non-organic foods that humans couldn’t.
“Why don’t they like doctors?” Ami asked.
“If you knew how primitive medicine was in medieval times, you wouldn’t ask that question. Most illnesses and injuries were treated with leeches, shaving heads, and cutting or bleeding us to relieve the buildup of foul humors.”She looked appalled. “Do you share their sentiments? You’re considered an … elder, aren’t you?”
Again he smiled. (He did that a lot around her.) “It’s all right, Ami. You can say it. I’m old.”
She waved her hand in a pshaw gesture and, with an exaggerated lack of care, said, “What’s 850 years, give or take a decade?”
Marcus laughed and glanced at her curiously as he washed the vegetables. “It doesn’t bother you? That I’m so much older than you?” Did that question reveal too much?
She shrugged. “No. Why should it? I’m older than I look. Does that bother you?”
“Not the same thing, really, but I see your point.” He dried his hands on the dish towel, then retrieved the peeler and his favorite knife. “And, to answer your question, I don’t fear or dislike doctors because my mortal life was very different from that of most immortals my age, thanks to the influence of two very unique women.”
“Was one of them the woman in all of the portraits?”
“Yes.” The living room, his study, his music room, and his armory all boasted portraits, drawings, and photographs of Bethany with Robert and their children in the past, with her brother in recent times. Marcus was in many of them as well.
“My father died when I was very young,” he stated baldly, his eyes on the carrots he peeled, the celery he chopped.
“I’m sorry,” Ami said softly.
“Less than a year later, my mother was forced to wed an abusive bastard who ultimately murdered her.”
She gasped.
“I knew my stepfather would kill me, too. He needed little excuse to deliver a beating that would lay me up for days at a time and despised what he called my madness, viewed it as a weakness.”
“You mean your gift?”
“Yes.”
“Were you … Did you see someone at Roland and Sarah’s house tonight?” she asked.
Surprised that she had noticed, he glanced at her over his shoulder. “I did. Bastien’s sister.”
Her eyebrows flew up. “Sebastien Newcombe’s sister?”
“Yes. Well, her ghost or spirit or whatever you want to call it. She’s been hanging around Roland and Sarah ever since Bastien nearly killed Sarah and Roland nearly killed Bastien. I’ve seen her at Roland’s place several times, but haven’t said anything because it tends to creep people out knowing someone they can’t see is watching them.”
She considered that a moment. “Does she mean them harm?”
“No. I think she’s just curious about them. And, perhaps, grateful to Roland for bringing her killer to justice and not slaying her brother.”
She frowned. “I thought ghosts haunted places, not people.”
“That’s what most believe. But, based on everything I’ve seen, ghosts can attach themselves to places, people, or possessions. Furniture. Clothing. Toys. Jewelry. And inanimate objects don’t have to be antiques to be accompanied by spirits.”
She glanced around uneasily. “Are there any ghosts here?”
“No. The network is aware of the unique problem my gift presents and has been very cooperative. When I moved here, I was given my choice of several construction locations and allowed to carefully inspect them. This was the only one that wasn’t haunted. A lot of blood has been spilled in North Carolina.
“The house was then built by men I handpicked to ensure no ghosts hitched a ride. And instead of inviting Roland, Sarah, or other immortals who might have unseen companions over here, I meet them at David’s place. That’s actually one of the things that worried me when Seth assigned you to be my Second. I didn’t know if you came with baggage of the spirit variety.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” she said.
He smiled. “You don’t.” He added organic pasta to the churning water, stirred the sauce beside it, and resumed preparing the salads. “Your furry friend now has both front paws in the bowl as he continues to stuff his fuzzy face.”
Rising, she moved to stand beside him in front of the window and laughed.
Marcus returned the unused vegetables to the veggie bin. “Salads are done. Why don’t we relax for a bit in the living room while we wait for the pasta to finish cooking?”
“Okay.”
Marcus set their salads on the dining room table as they passed it, then followed Ami over to the sofa and seated himself beside her. Turning, he stretched an arm across the back of the sofa and drew a knee up on the cushion between them.
Ami did the same. “Did no one bring your stepfather to justice for killing your mother?”
“It was an accident,” he said in a gruff, gravelly imitation of his stepfather’s voice. “She stumbled in the dark on the way to meet a lover and fell down the stairs.”
Ami scooted closer and covered the hand he had rested on the back of the sofa with hers. “Did he try to kill you, too?”