Prophecy of the Undead by Fiona McGier Page B

looked at them and smiled.
    Keisha fought the momentary urge to scream and run with panic away from this monstrous boy-child. She was well aware that to a stranger, she appeared the oldest in the group since she was the only one over thirty in mortal years. These men were all suspended in the bloom of their youth. All healthy young men who hadn’t yet achieved full adulthood. Yet, according to what Yuri told her, this boy in front of her was more than seven hundred years old.
    She felt faint but realized that was only her imagination. Fainting involves a change in blood pressure and she had no real heartbeat to have speed up, slow down, or otherwise change. She took a deep breath and waited for him to speak.
    “Is this Moorish queen the woman you spoke of, Casimiro?”
    His tone still held the breathy squeakiness of a young man whose voice has not yet finished changing to an adult’s. Combined with the jeans shorts and T-shirt that he wore, he looked like just another teenager holding a paintbrush. However, his words and his mannerisms belied his age. He bowed to Keisha, who extended a hand to him. He took her hand and kissed the backs of her fingers, as Casimiro had done. Then he turned to Yuri.
    “You must be Yuri Kozakov. I was told I met you once, long ago, but I’m afraid that I don’t remember. Forgive me, but when your mind is as old as mine, there are memories which must be purged in order for there to be room to make new ones. You are both welcome in our home. Let us move to a more comfortable area where we can sit and talk. It’s exciting to have new people to talk with—especially someone as interesting as you are, my dear Keisha Brown.”
    They all walked over to a grouping of low couches with huge overstuffed cushions. There was an open bottle full of a dark red liquid on the table and four wine glasses.
    Casimiro regarded Yuri gravely, “I hope you won’t mind but I wanted to have something to offer to our guests. I assure you that it was voluntarily donated by one of the servant girls no more than an hour ago. She is upstairs sleeping. You are welcome to meet her later—if you desire—so you can tell by her smell that she is the donor.”
    Yuri bowed deeply. “I would never think to impugn your honesty in your own home. We are comrades from the same mother country. I am honored that you would offer such hospitality to us.”
    Keisha tried to be as invisible as possible but took the glass the teenager offered to her, waiting for them all to hold a glass.
    “A toast: to good friends who brighten the monotony of endless nights by bringing new ideas to share with us.” Apolinar raised his glass and smiled at all of them.
    They all raised their glasses and said, “To friends,” before taking a sip of the liquid.
    It was still warm and quite tasty to Keisha, who forced herself not to gulp it greedily. Her eyes met Yuri’s and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. She took only one more small sip before putting the glass down on the small table in front of them. She leaned back into the comfortable cushions trying to quiet her nerves.
    “Ah, what fools we are. Querido , we have forgotten that she is new to the blood.”
    Apolinar looked distressed as if he had been an impolite host. He turned solicitously to Keisha.
    “You can have more. Go ahead and finish the glass. See, the bottle is still half-full.”
    Yuri cleared his throat. The two hosts turned to him expectantly.
    “Casimiro hinted that you could answer some of our questions.”
    The teenager nodded with a smile that was on his lips but didn’t extend to his eyes.
    “What is it you want to know?”
    “You told Casimiro to bankroll the research that Keisha was doing. Why? What possible interest could there be for you in learning how to create intelligence in our mortal brothers?”
    Apolinar laughed an awkward sound that made Keisha’s skin crawl.
    “Why should I care to increase the intelligence of our cattle? You are silly to