Читать книгу Soul Song - Shawna Bennett - Страница 7

Prologue

The woman sat at the back of a run-down, poorly lit bar in the early afternoon. Even though it was early in the day, a group of what she assumed were regulars populated the bar. They were a questionable-looking bunch, and she guessed their activities weren’t lawful most of the time. The old beer signs that decorated the walls hadn’t been replaced in decades, and neither had any of the furniture from the looks of it.

She looked out of place among the patrons, which would usually bring them entertainment. She had long chestnut-brown hair that was streaked with gray. Her dress was long and flowing. When she walked, it reminded her of the ocean waves crashing against the shore. People usually guessed her age as early fifties, but the reality was she had been alive for centuries. Born in a time long forgotten by men.

The bartender, a gruff-looking man whose lifestyle had aged his looks, had taken her order earlier. He was usually a flirt and found desperate women made easy prey, but he served her quickly and was on his way. She made the crowd uneasy. This place was usually filled with boisterous laughter and music from an old jukebox, even during the day. So she sat alone in the back of the bar in a half-circle booth with a tall back. She sipped the weak tea she had been brought and waited patiently for the four men whom she had invited. They kept stealing glances at her from the corner of their eyes. They all had come to the unspoken agreement there was something strange about her.

The heavy wooden door creaked open, and the sunlight came streaming into the bar. There were no windows inside, so the sunlight spotlighted the dirtiness of the place. She thought the regulars who came here for day drinking must have sad lives if this place was their escape. In walked her first two guests, who looked around the place in disgust. She had needed somewhere out of the way, where the five of them wouldn’t draw attention.

If the bar patrons thought she didn’t fit in, they were even more shocked by the two men who came through the door. They made her look like she came here every Saturday night. They walked to the bar to order drinks, and the bartender’s hands shook as he poured them. One of the men took a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped his glass before he accepted it. The other man handed a hundred-dollar bill and told him to keep the change. They walked toward her with drinks in hand.

The brothers were named Julius and Marcus. They had been born during the rise of the Roman Empire, and their faces had the Roman look about them. They had been young Roman soldiers when they were changed. Long gone were the robes of old Rome; they both had on expensive tailored suits. They and their sister, Cassia, had become well-known for the taste in clothing. They all three looked as if they had just stepped off a runway in Milan or Paris. Today was no exception. They had not dressed down for the occasion.

Julius was very tall, well past six feet. He had sandy-blond hair which he kept short and impeccably groomed at all times. His brother, Marcus, born one year before him, had the darker features of the Romans. He stood just a few inches shorter than his brother and also well groomed. As they walked to the table, she noticed they had never lost the confident gait of a Roman soldier. They didn’t nod or acknowledge her in any way. They were not known for being pleasant. They were known for being ruthless and heartless. She imagined when they came and sat down to the left of her, they would at least greet her. She was wrong.

The door opened again, and the trio turned to see the last two of her guests arrive. They also walked to the bar to order a drink, but one of them waved at her in greeting. The bartender now was so on edge he spilled their drinks as he was making them. The atmosphere amongst the patrons had become so uneasy that a few of them slipped out when the last men got there. The rest had congregated at the far end of the bar. When the two men approached the table, the bartender joined them and was distractedly wiping the same spot on the bar with a bar towel. She couldn’t hear their whispers, but she was sure the four men could.

Their names were Liam and Lucas. They had been born English lords in an earlier century. When they approached, she noticed they walked with the haughtiness and pretension that their birth station had provided men of their time. They had been born twins, but not identical. Two men couldn’t have been more different in temperament or looks. Liam had jet-black hair and deep-blue eyes. He was tall and lean and gave off the air of a rock star or a bad boy. He was unaware of anyone else’s feelings and was always quite shocked when he learned people had them. Lucas was also tall, but he was muscular, and his hair was as white as snow, his eyes a light blue. He was kind and always full of laughter. They were the epitome of night and day. They came and sat to the right of her, and Lucas greeted her with a quick peck on the cheek. Liam greeted her with a bored look. They both eyed the other two men suspiciously. There was a longstanding feud between the brothers dating back to early America. Normally they wouldn’t have agreed to be in the same state, but the woman had saved each of their lives once. She was now calling in that debt.

“Shall we begin?” she said.