Her weird ability to change her donors was her dark nemesis.
“Find the dead guy,” she muttered, focusing her thoughts as she got out of the car and walked across the street.
The Sneezing Cow tavern was one of those cozy little hideaways at the edge of town that most tourists passed by for the peeling paint on the outer stucco walls and the general lack of signage stating it did, indeed, serve liquor. But the tiny drunk lemon motif in the window clued Summer that inside she could find limoncello, which was her favorite aperitif. She didn’t do human food, but the occasional refreshment was always welcome.
Summer walked inside the tavern, eyed the dark corner where two women giggled and noted they were draped over a man who sucked in the attention as if with a straw.
She made way to the bar where, after asking, she was promptly served an icy yellow drink. “Grazie,” she said. “He’s not giving you any problems, is he?”
The bartender pushed back his long gray hair and winced. He wobbled his hand before her as he said in Italian, “I’m not sure he’s going to pay.”
She picked out the words pay and not from his Italian. She knew Nicolo wouldn’t, because what man came alive after a hundred and seventy-five years of death with a credit card and bank accounts? Was she going to have to teach him about the world and babysit him until he got his feet on the ground? The prospect didn’t sound as awful as it should, considering her list of things she found attractive in a man had apparently grown longer with the addition of “recently deceased.”
But the women would have to go.
“I got it,” she said and laid enough cash on the counter to cover a good hour’s worth of drink. Bottles, not glasses, she guessed, as another side glance spied one of the brunettes tilting back a dark wine bottle to her lips. “He’s harmless.” She hoped.
With a wink from the bartender, Summer sipped her sour lemon drink, then turned to go corral her new ward. She’d gotten them both into this situation. Now to deal with it.
Paganini acknowledged her with a wide rogue’s grin as he spread out his arms to embrace each woman wedged against him. She had to stop thinking of him as Paganini. Nicolo was his first name. It would help her to idolize him less. And right now, that was easy enough with the sluts he’d found casting her shade.
“Summer, you will join me and my new friends for a drink?”
Thank the goddess she’d had that sip before coming in here. It would make dealing with this easier because she was cool and collected right now. “We should get back on the road,” she said. “I’m sure you’re eager to find your violin.”
“But you already know where it is.”
True. She’d lied to him about it being on its way to Paris. The guy was newly alive. He couldn’t be operating on all pistons yet. Fingers crossed.
Nicolo tilted back a long swallow from the wine bottle, then said, “What’s a little stop along the way to renew my memory of humanity?”
“Why are you talking about violins?” one of the women asked in a drunken slur. A shift of her shoulder lifted her double Ds closer to Nicolo’s grinning face.
Mercy, his taste in women was— She’d cut him some slack. He had only been alive again for a few hours. And in the short trek he’d taken from the coffin to the tavern, Summer guessed the selection of women had not been overwhelmingly vast or varied. They were tourists looking for a good time with a sexy looker.
“I like drummers,” the other woman said as she licked Nicolo’s ear.
“Timpani?” He bristled and gave Summer a wink. “I am a violinist, ladies.”
“Sounds dirty,” the licker said. “You want to violin me?”
Summer rolled her eyes. Enough. She didn’t need this kind of torture.
“I’m parked outside,” she said to Nicolo. “I’ll walk slowly. But I am leaving. Which leaves you to either bone them and walk to Paris on your own—where you’ll find the violin—or hop in and ride shotgun.”
She’d let him figure out what that meant on his own.
Giggles followed in her wake. Summer did not turn around. A guy like him would probably choose the greater of the two evils. Heck, if she were newly risen from the grave she’d probably want to party it up, too. Who could know how much time the man had before he actually did begin to drop body parts and prove her zombie theory correct?
She wouldn’t mind the drive back to Paris alone. Yet she did have an order to keep an eye on the man. And she would. In her manner.
It was misting when she stepped outside. She slid into the driver’s seat, fired up the engine and flicked the windshield wipers on to the delay option. A few minutes to struggle with her ultimatum was all the man should need. She really should be nicer to him. Nicolo was like a newborn in this modern age. Everything must be new to him. Women in pants! Who’da thought? Of course, lust never changed. Sluts in bars!
And was she feeling jealous that he’d chosen such low-class choices for his first act of debauchery as a living man?
A man? What was he, anyway?
“There’s got to be someone who can take a look at him and know. Read his essence. Maybe a witch.” She grabbed her cell phone and scrolled through the contacts. “Verity.”
Verity Van Velde was a powerful witch who had a thing about knowing other people’s souls. Maybe she could touch Nicolo and know what he was? Because if he really was evil incarnate then Summer would have to suck it up and take him out. She would not be responsible for unleashing Beneath on the world.
The passenger door opened and Nicolo, smelling of wine and salty fries, slid inside. His velvet pants were sprinkled with rain droplets. He tested the seat by bouncing up and down, then slid a hand over the dashboard. It must have met his standards because he settled in. “You waited for me? I knew you would.”
“How’s that?” she said as she shifted into gear. She should have started rolling down the street, just to give him the illusion that she didn’t care.
“You like me,” he offered.
“Yes, well, I am your only friend. And please don’t call anyone who drags her tongue down your face a friend.”
“That was pleasant. The women in this age are much more open than I’ve been accustomed to. Yet still very much the same when it comes to lust. And the clothing! You women wear trousers and leave your shirts unbuttoned to reveal so much bosom. Marvelous.”
“I suppose petticoats and corsets were your thing, eh?”
“Those damned corsets did cause some extra effort for a man on a mission.”
“I bet.” She smiled despite herself. “I imagine bras will fascinate you and lead you on a quest of discovery.”
“What is a bra?”
“It’s a modern-day corset.” She wasn’t wearing one, so she wasn’t about to lift her shirt for an example. “Holds up the girls.”
“The girls? Ah, your breasts? Can I take a look?”
“You’re not as smooth as you think you are.”
“I would beg to differ. After I told the one woman that I understood her pain