The night air was cool, but still several degrees warmer than in Burgundy, and thick with Mediterranean scents, along with the cries of sea gulls.
All those sights, smells, and sounds hit me, so fresh and invigorating after the dull air of the jet. Then the limo doors shut, reminding me we were prisoners in Gordon’s gilded cage.
“First time in Mallorca?” Bene asked Mina, who sat pensively, taking in every streetlamp, every stone building.
She nodded, craning her head to catch a glimpse of the floodlit cathedral. “You?”
“Nah. Been here lots of times.”
To the party mile, probably — a world away from the hilly interior the limo headed for. Soon, the long vehicle was straining around the tight turns of a mountain road. Startled drivers in the oncoming lane stared through the windshields of their tiny, two-door Opel Corsas or Seat Ibizas, the vehicles of choice on this island outpost of Spain.
“Note to self,” Bene quipped to Roux. “The limo is great, but we’ll need a couple of Land Rovers for tomorrow.”
Roux nodded wearily. “They’re already on the list.”
Bene chuckled. “I love jobs with big budgets.”
I made a face. What was to love?
Mina’s scent swirled around me. Her face reflected in the window, so melancholy and anxious that I ached to reach out and stroke her cheek.
Nearly an hour later, the limo swung off the main road, crawled over a mile of gravel, then bumped down a cobblestone driveway.
The moment the driver stopped, I leaped out and sucked in a lungful of fresh air.
“Home sweet home,” Bene murmured, stretching his arms high.
If Roux hadn’t nudged him along, he would probably have folded over into one of those butt-up, head-down poses cats and yoga practitioners loved.
A distinguished older guy met us at the arched entrance. “Buenos noches.”
“Bienvenidos a Finca ses Roques.” His wife — or so I assumed — motioned us into the courtyard of the complex.
“Buenos noches,” Bene echoed, leading the way.
“Wow. Nice,” Mina murmured, taking in the exposed stone walls and ancient beams of the complex.
Once upon a time, the place had been a farm. Now, like so many otherfincason the island, it had been converted into a luxury getaway. Where goats had once milled around, blue lights illuminated a pool. Glass covered an entire wall of what had been a barn. Leather furniture lined the brightly lit room inside, and a steel stairway led to what were probably sumptuous suites. Ispotted at least five smaller outbuildings, one of which served as a luxury kitchen.
The chef had left out finger food and drinks, and we dug in. The caretakers pointed out the basics, then retired to their private quarters at the far end of the property. Mina watched them go, and I couldn’t help probing for her thoughts.
Despondent thoughts, I discovered, as she looked around the spectacular but soulless place. Her mouth bent into a frown, and I guessed at the questions pooling in her mind. Did the old couple descend from those who had once scraped out a living on this farm? Had they had any say in how the place had been transformed, or was that all in the hands of a faceless corporation?
Her mood seemed overly sentimental until I thought of big, sprawling Château Nocturne. Was Mina’s property doomed to a similar fate, or would she find a way to maintain it in a way that honored the spirit of the place?
A balcony door on the upper story of the barn opened, jolting us out of our thoughts.
“Oh! You’re here!” a woman called, beside herself in excitement.
Henrik barely waved, but she squeaked and rushed downstairs.
“Ah, the lovely Delphine.” Bene grinned as a woman burst out of the door and ran toward Henrik in a sea of billowing red silk.
“Henrik!” The faux redhead threw herself into a huge, openmouthed kiss.
Mina’s eyebrows jumped up.
Roux grimaced with an expression that asked what kind of woman would prostitute herself to a vampire.
