The Age of Mages: Book I of the Mage Tales by Waters Ilana

Author:Waters, Ilana [Waters, Ilana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-09-26T04:00:00+00:00

***

After finishing up at the PIA the next evening, I walked to the restaurant where my father and I had agreed to meet. Italians have dinner quite late by American standards, which meant I could dine with my father. You can only imagine my joy.

“Why are you still in that ridiculous outfit?” Titus asked when he saw me. “When are you changing back into your normal clothing?”

I suppose I should’ve been offended. Aside from the waistcoat, glasses, and polished shoes, this was my normal clothing.

“I can’t. This is my disguise for the PIA,” I explained, removing the glasses at least. “I still technically have a job there, you know.”

“Disguise.” My father shook his head. “Do at least try to blend in with the Italians, Joshua. They are stylish in their dress, after all.”

“I have my own sense of style,” I replied as we walked into the restaurant.

“Disheveled is not a fashion statement,” he said. “You’re a Roman, son. Always remember that. You have a lot to be proud of.”

“Ah yes,” I remarked. “Plundering, fascism, persecution of Christians . . .” I tapped my foot as we waited for our seats. But what Titus said was true: clothing is important in Italy, at least in the cities. The maître d’ had already noticed how well dressed Titus was, compared to me, and adjusted the caliber of his smile accordingly. I suppose even in the best of times, I was always a little rumpled.

We sat down at the table and ordered our food. As for my father’s true dietary needs, I could tell they’d already been met the instant I saw his face. His complexion was distinctly ruddier, closer to a mortal’s. Vampires his age usually feed every few days, and sometimes even less frequently than that. It was a part of him that disgusted and fascinated me. I often wondered what it would be like to become a vampire. The craving for blood, the hypnotic power over mortals. The thoughts made me feel deliciously alive, yet shudder at the same time.

Regardless of my feelings on the matter, it was a part of my father I had to accept. It helped to remind myself that being a vampire was not my father’s choice; it was something forced on him, although he refused to discuss the experience in depth. He kept the feeding mostly out of my sight, but every once in a while, I think he brought it up just to needle me. I believe he usually killed criminals, but I doubt this was out of any sense of morality or justice. Members of the underworld were simply easier to dispatch, and there was less likelihood of anyone coming to look for them. For Titus, feeding was about convenience, not compassion.

After our meal—that is, my meal—we left the restaurant and started towards the Pantheon. No sooner had my father stepped onto the cobblestone street than his vampire reflexes barely prevented him from being run over by a Vespa.

“Bloody idiot,” he shouted, shaking his fist and narrowing his eyes at the Vespa as it zoomed down the block.

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