Alejo [Vampire]

Alejo- Chapter 7

::CHAPTER 7::

It was a long ride back and I had no intentions of speeding. Ana stared out of her window and her fingers toyed with her handbag straps. I held back a smile. She was either scared or nervous and if I had to choose, I’d bet on both.

“So are you always out this late doing shopping?” I asked. She threw a glance at me but didn’t reply. “Your fingers aren’t broken. Use your words.”

“I like to shop when it’s busy like this,” she signed.

“Why? Someone as tiny as you must have a hard time getting anywhere in all this chaos. You like big crowds?”

“Yes. Your brother’s home is beautiful, but it’s empty. There’s hardly ever anyone around.”

“I noticed that. Loki always did like his solitude.”

“And I like to be surrounded by people,” she signed.

It wasn’t easy to keep an eye on the road and her hands but I managed. I glanced over and zeroed in on her basic features; short, red hair framing a small face. She had green eyes that popped against her fair skin. Her eyes had that large and sparkly quality that would make a mortal man guilty if he ever made them brim with water. Child’s eyes. I wondered if most people would feel guilty for using her the way I was. I figured they would.

“I don’t mind being surrounded by people, but I don’t know enough of them for that,” I said by way of an open invitation.

“How is that possible? You’re Alejo Mercutio Veracci. You’re a famous artist. The most famous artist of the past few generations. I bet people would come from all over just to spend time with you,” she signed and even without speaking her face said everything. She was a fan. This will do. This will definitely do.

“You like art?” I asked being careful not to say ‘my art’. Conceit would get me nowhere with her.

“Yes. I love it. I only just started doing my own pieces, but I’ve always liked going to exhibits,” she replied.

“That’s great. Who’s your favorite artist?”

Her fingers twitched but they didn’t form any actual signs. Pink tinged her cheeks. Oh yes. Definitely a fan. My face remained politely interested. “Let me guess,” I went on, “Is it Andreus Louis XII? Or maybe Santiago Francis? No, you look like a Renee Montriel lover. Am I right?”

“No. Actually you’re my favorite artist.”

“…me?” I asked, with flawless hesitation, “I’m flattered.”

“Come on. You must be used to hearing people say that.”

“When you get very famous, people think that you’re used to hearing things like that so people try not to say it,” I said parroting her humility. But yes I’m used to hearing people saying that.

“Would it be weird if I asked you to autograph a painting replica for me? Obviously I can’t afford the original,” she added shyly.

“Of course I’ll give you an autograph. It’ll be my pleasure,” I smiled at her and added almost to myself but loud enough so she would hear, “I love meeting new fans.”

“My art class would go insane if they see a real autograph from you.”

“What would they do about a picture of you and I together?” I looked at her.

“Of…you and me?” her eyes were wide, “Are you serious?”

“Don’t fangirl on me over there. It’s only a picture with little old me, not this week’s winning lottery numbers.”