lying in situ for a hundred and seventy-five years. So he had been renewed. To a marvelous degree. All parts of him were nicely proportioned and muscled. Every bit of him well made.
âBut letâs hope heâs not the Beneath-breaking-loose part of the directorâs suspicions.â
The musician had seemed innocuous enough. No flashing magic or vicious powers. Though when heâd shoved her away from him, sheâd been startled at the force that had landed her far from where she had stood. He had never been that strong in his previous life. No mortal man was, for that matter.
âHe is different,â she decided. And that part worried her.
Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed Acquisitions, and the director took her call. âYou check out the cemetery?â Ethan Pierce asked.
âI uh, didnât get that far.â
âI donât understand. That was part of the mission, Santiago.â
âI found Paganini. Alive. Wandering the roadside.â
The directorâs exhale spoke so much more than a curse or a few curt, remanding words.
âI can hardly lure him back to the grave,â she provided. âUnless you need me to do that?â She winced, hoping the answer would not be an affirmative.
âHeâs alive. A man from the nineteenth century crawled out of his grave and is now walking the streets of Parma?â
âYes.â
âIâm not sure what the protocol is for this. Iâll have to look into it. Does he seem violent, a danger to others?â
âNo. Just startled to be in a different time period. Itâs like heâs a time traveler flashed forward to the future.â
âYes, sure. Is he exhibiting any zombie-like tendencies?â
Summer smirked, then winced as she closed her eyes behind the sunglasses. âDefine zombie-like.â
âLimbs bluing. Necrosis of the tissue. Parts falling off.â
âNope. Heâs good.â
For now. But she intended to keep a close eye on him for changes. Sheâd never had to deal with a zombie before, and she did not look forward to starting.
âKeep an eye on him,â the director said. âDo not let him out of your sight. Iâll report back with further instructions.â He clicked off and Summer shoved the phone into her back pocket.
âKeep an eye on him. Sure. No problem.â Not as if she could look away from all that musician numminess, was there?
Twisting at the waist, she could no longer see Paganiniâs figure walking along the roadside. Heâd put some distance between them. But sheâd find him. Shouldnât be that hard to track a nineteenth-century musician who had just clambered out of his coffin. Had she just thought of him as nummy?
âYou need to get laid, Santiago, if the dead guys are starting to look good to you.â
When had she lastâ? She didnât even want to think about it.
Paganini had said his blood might be off. Meaning, he probably didnât know what the heck he was. Either that, or he had been freaked she was a vampire.
Then again, no one ever really wanted to get bitten by a vampire. At least, no one smart.
Thinking of which... Exhaustion clung to her limbs. She needed to drink blood for a burst of renewal until she could steal a few winks for a true refresher.
She hopped off the hood and slid in behind the steering wheel. She suspected Paganini wouldnât go far because he had to be hungry, too. She had time to find a meal before pursuing the former dead guy.
* * *
The tavern was a welcome respite from the sunâs sweltering heat that had worked up his perspiration during the walk along the black road. Nicolo had removed his coat and folded it over an arm while walking, and now he felt as if heâd walked into a different atmosphere. It was as if a thousand fans blew cool air on him, yet he couldnât feel the wind of said fans. So refreshing!
No one sat by the long stretch of bar,