The Last of the Red-Hot Vampires

Theo was waiting for me by the time I arrived at the pub proper. He had claimed a corner table, the one farthest away from the music videos. He had changed into black pants and a silky-looking crimson shirt that set off his dark skin, hair, and eyes. For one wild moment, he reminded me of a stereotypical pirate: deadly, dangerous, and very bad to know.

"There is a private room, if you would prefer to be away from all this noise," he said, standing up as I approached the table.

"No thank you. I'd rather be in full view of everyone in case you get any ideas about attacking me again." I sat in the chair he pulled out for me, the skin on my back tightening when his hand brushed the bare flesh of my neck.

He sighed. "Portia, I have told you repeatedly—"

"I know, I know, you didn't know I was mortal. But you haven't said what you expected me to be if not mortal."

"That will make up a good part of the discussion. What would you like to drink?"

"Gin and tonic, please." I sat primly while he went to the bar to place our drink orders, trying not to notice how wonderfully tight his pants were over his derriere. I didn't win the battle, but felt somewhat proud of the fact that I made the attempt.

"The opposite of a mortal would be an immortal, something that doesn't exist," I said as he returned with our drinks and took his seat. "Unless there is some definition to immortality that I'm not aware of."

"There are many concepts I suspect you are not aware of, and will probably resist accepting, but time is limited, so we will have to do this as quickly as possible. You recall the discussion we had about the Court of Divine Blood?"

"Yes. You claimed that Hope was something called a virtue, a person who controlled the weather, and that members of the Court couldn't be killed."

"They can be killed; it's just incredibly difficult," he said, sipping a glass of whisky. "More so than most immortals, and yes, Virginia, Santa Claus does exist. Or rather, immortality does. Would you care to hazard a guess as to how old I am?"

Since I was being offered the opportunity to examine him freely, I did so. Although his black hair was untouched by grey, there were faint laugh lines around his eyes that made me believe he might be older than he first appeared. "I would say somewhere in the mid to late thirties."

"If you add approximately seventeen hundred years to that, you would be correct."

I goggled at him. It's not a pretty expression, nor one I cultivate, but when someone tells you they are older than a millennium, a goggle is called for. "That's…very, very unbelievable. You do realize that, don't you?"

"I am a nephilim," he said simply, and went on to explain before I could ask him what that was. "A nephilim is the name given to products of the mating between members of the Court of Divine Blood and mortals. We are considered fallen because our immortal parent more or less breached the laws of the Court in order to reproduce with mortals. In the eyes of the Court, we are damned, non-beings, immortal, but not allowed any of the benefits of Court membership."

"So, you're seventeen hundred years old, but you know about Santa Claus and things like that?"

The look on his face was vaguely offended. "I'm long-lived, not an idiot. Of course I know about Santa Claus. I also know about iPods, the Hubble Telescope, and nanotechnology."

"My apologies. I didn't mean to imply…oh man, this is a bit hard to get a handle on. Let me see if I have it straight," I said, setting down my drink. "I'm some kind of a weather angel, and you're a fallen angel? A kind of mixed-race fallen angel?"

"I've told you—the concept of an angel is something Christianity and other religions formed based on the Court, but it is not an accurate representation. My father was a power, one of the members of the Court. Seventeen hundred and eight years ago he mated with a mortal woman located in what is now southeast India. I was the product of that relationship."

I took a deep breath. A wholly irrelevant question popped into my mind. "Why do you have an Irish accent if your mother was Indian?"

"My father settled in Ireland once he was banished from the Court. He died a few years later, decapitated during a battle. I never knew him."

I mused for a few moments on the idea of angels being able to be killed, but decided the resulting headache wouldn't be worth it.

"I know this is asking a lot of you to digest in such a short time, but digest it you must. You are a virtue, although you have yet to be admitted into the Court. You are undergoing seven trials to test your fitness for the position. If you fail three of the seven trials, you will be refused admittance, and have your powers stripped from you."

"I'm going to take a grain of salt approximately the size of Montana, and just pretend that everything you've said is true and not in the least bit impossible. That being so, where exactly do you come into this whole thing?"