“So you put the mind whammy on her,” G.G. guessed.
Ildaria turned to him blinking. “Mind whammy?”
“You know, when you immortals read and control us mere mortals to get what you want,” he explained, his voice a tad dry.
Ildaria grimaced at the description. Immortals could read the minds of mortals, as well as control them, although she did that as little as possible. For instance, she hadn’t tried to read G.G.’s mind yet and wouldn’t without a reason, and she was glad she hadn’t, since the man obviously had some resentment about the practice. Probably, she thought, because he’d been the victim of it a time or two what with owning not one, but two nightclubs that serviced immortals. And since she hated it when older immortals read her, she could understand, so she let his attitude go for now, and nodded unrepentantly.
“I read her mother’s mind to find out what was going on.” She didn’t leave time for him to comment on that and continued. “The Thursday before, after the last class we’d had together, Alicia had been attacked on her way back to her dorm. She was raped and beaten . . . badly. She’d fought back and earned a broken arm, cracked ribs, so much vaginal tearing they’d had to sew her up, and there was a question as to whether she’d see out of one eye again.”
“Christ,” G.G. breathed, sagging slightly next to her and setting his half-eaten second burger back on the plate. “Did they catch the bastard?”
Ildaria shook her head. “Not yet, and they probably won’t. There were no witnesses, and Alicia’s memory is messed up so she couldn’t give much of a description . . . If she even got a good look at the guy before he half blinded her with his beating.”
“Right,” G.G. said unhappily. “So she won’t feel safe on campus with him still out there.”
“No,” Ildaria agreed grimly, and then added, “Although I suspect she’ll never feel safe again whether they find the guy or not.”
“So she dropped out of her classes and retreated to her childhood home,” G.G. murmured, sounding sad.
“No. Alicia had only gotten out of the hospital the morning I went to the house. It was her mother and father who had packed up her bags, moved her things out of her dorm room, and signed her out of her classes,” Ildaria corrected him, and then added, “Although, probably at her request.”
When he grunted at this, she continued, “Anyway, at that time she had a long road of recovery ahead of her and while her mother knew Alicia would heal physically, she was afraid that she wouldn’t mend mentally and emotionally. Alicia was shutting down and shutting everyone out. Her mother was very scared for her.”
Ildaria took another drink of her Tahitian Treat, recalling the worry and fear of Alicia’s mother and her own rage and pain on learning what had happened.
“Did you fix her?” G.G. asked quietly.
She raised her head and eyed him warily. “What do you mean?”
He snorted at the question. “I know a lot of immortals. I know your abilities. Did you wipe the memory from Alicia? Help her get over it?”
Ildaria let her breath out on a gust of irritation and then shrugged. “I did what I could.” When he raised his eyebrows at that, she admitted, “I’m not old enough, or maybe it’s not practiced enough, that I was able to wipe her memory.”
“Practiced enough?” he asked with interest.
“I don’t read minds unless I have to,” she explained. “It feels . . . intrusive. Besides, some of the things you hear when reading the minds of others can be . . .” She paused and shook her head with disgust, and then explained, “Mostly the only minds I’ve read are those of would-be donors.”
“Donors?” G.G. asked, his eyes narrowing. “Immortals haven’t been allowed to feed off of mortals since shortly after the advent of blood banks. Not in North America anyway.” After a pause, he added thoughtfully, “And Punta Cana is in the Dominican Republic, part of the Carribean, which is also in North America.”
“Si, but the South American Council covers the Carribean, Central America, and South America too. Basically anything below the United States. It’s just called the South American Council to simplify matters,” she explained, and when he merely raised his eyebrows, she added, “But it’s not allowed there either . . . unless you take a boat out into international waters. Neither North American, nor South American rules apply if you’re in international waters.”
“Right,” he said grimly. “And you did that? Took people out on boats and fed on them rather than using immortal blood banks?”
They weren’t really questions, and he wasn’t looking very pleased at the thought. In fact, he was starting to look at her like he found her distasteful now. Ildaria didn’t know why that bothered her, but it did and she quickly explained, “Not by choice. The Dominican Republic has some pretty corrupt people, both mortal and immortal.” She paused briefly, and then added, “I suppose they have corruption here too, but the difference is that Lucian Argeneau isn’t corrupt. But down there, the head of the Council, Juan Villaverde, is very corrupt. And greedy. He owns a good portion of the beachfront property, but wants more, and inland property too if it’s in a lucrative area. Of course, he’s had no problem purchasing the property he wants from mortals. He just controls them and gets them to sell. But he can’t do that with the immortals who have owned and had shacks or huts on the land for ages. The other immortals would protest. Besides, some are old enough to be able to resist him and have held the property for a hundred years or longer. Long before they became tourist traps. So Juan has resorted to using other tricks to get what he wants.”
“Tricks huh?” G.G. said grimly.
“Yeah. Some work, some don’t, but the latest trick is that he bought up all the blood banks down there and has jacked up the prices on blood to the point that less affluent immortals are having to choose between buying the blood they need, or paying their mortgages, or taxes, or rents, or hydro if they have it. He’s forcing people out of their homes, taking them over and—” She broke off, shaking her head with disgust at the memory of what the man was doing to her neighbors and people she cared about.
Ildaria took in a deep breath, let it out, and then continued. “One of his sons, Vasco Villaverde, doesn’t agree with what his father is doing and wanted to help those of us the most affected by his father’s actions. So in an effort to get us the blood we needed, he geared up his old pirate ship, and—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” G.G. interrupted. “His old pirate ship?”
“Vasco’s five hundred years old or something and used to be a pirate back in the day,” she told him with a crooked smile, and then added, “Well, a privateer . . . maybe.”
G.G. was silent for a minute, his eyes dancing with interest at this news, but then grunted and waved for her to continue.
“So, he geared up his old pirate ship, welcomed any immortal who had trouble affording their blood to join his crew, and . . .” She hesitated and then sighed and said, “It’s kind of a tourist thing. There’s a program where people go out to swim with the sharks and stingrays. When they return to the landing site, they watch a sort of pirate dance/fight routine and are encouraged to buy from stalls with local goods,” she explained. “While they’re watching the show, our crew, dressed like sexy pirates move—”
“Sexy pirates?” he interrupted. His voice was serious, but there was a definite twinkle in his eyes.
Ildaria grimaced. “I wore black leather thigh-high boots, a black leather bra and matching short shorts or skirt, and either a pirate hat or a head scarf . . . and a sword of course.”
“Of course,” he murmured, his gaze sliding over her as if he were imagining her in the costume she’d just described and liking what he was seeing in his mind’s eye.
Ildaria wasn’t one to blush, she was too old for that, but she was quite sure she was blushing now under his gaze. She also felt oddly warm and a little breathless. Clearing her throat, she tried to ignore his attention and quickly added, “The guys usually went topless, or with an open vest, or an open peasant top with long sleeves, tight leather pants, boots, a pirate hat or head scarf, and a sword.”
“Right,” he said slowly, but didn’t sound all that interested in what the guys were wearing. She was quite sure he was still stuck on her costume.
Clearing her throat, she continued, “Anyway, the crew would move through the crowd, picking donors and inviting them on the pirate ship for a tour to feed the sharks.”
A lot of the twinkle left his eyes then. In fact, he looked a bit grim when he said, “The sharks, huh?”
Ildaria sighed and shrugged unhappily. “We did take them out to see and feed sharks if we could find any. We also served them cheese trays and punch made with really watered-down alcohol in it.”
“Watered down because you didn’t want to drink alcohol filled blood.”
He sounded angry again, but she ignored that and nodded.
“When did you feed on them?” he asked grimly.
Ildaria shrugged uncomfortably. “We weren’t supposed to feed on them until we reached international waters. That was the whole reason behind Vasco doing this. To get us the blood we needed without leaving us homeless, or having to go without it until we were so desperate that we inadvertently attacked a mortal on land and were executed.”
G.G. was silent for a minute, his gaze disapproving. “You weren’t supposed to feed on them until you reached international waters,” he murmured her words almost thoughtfully, and then said, “But you did, didn’t you?”
Ildaria’s mouth tightened. “What? Now you’re a mind reader?”
He shook his head. “No. But you said you ‘weren’t supposed to,’ not ‘we never fed on them until we reached international waters,’” he pointed out in a low rumble.