Under the Sign of Capricorn
Under the sign of Capricorn
“Self portrait? Really? Really really?” her brow was arched and her tone dripped sarcasm.
“Why, you might disagree, but I happen to think myself acceptably handsome.”
“I never said I thought you were ugly.” Vicki replied, frowning.
“You admitted it by omission.”
“What, because I never told you you were hot, I automatically think you’re not? Aren’t you assuming a lot?” she arched an eyebrow.
He whirled on her, a devilish little smile, distinctly Henry’s brand of mischievous amusement, his eyes bright. “So you think I am?”
“What? Assuming things? You do tend to do that.”
“Now, Vicki.” He said, tilting his head to the side gently and stretching the last i, as if coercing a stubborn child into something she didn’t want to do. “You can tell me.”
“No I can’t. I’ll never live it down. You’ll constantly harass me about whatever answer I give you. You see, I know you.” She jabbed her long index finger against his chest accusingly. “You can be quite self centered.”
“Ah, well. If you truly think that, perhaps I should return to my self portrait. I wouldn’t want to contradict a lady, you see.”
“So, do you make a self portrait as a tradition, like Christina’s paintings?” she asked, slowly circling around the tripod, thoughtful. Henry delighted himself in following her heartbeat, his eyes trained on the oleo as his brush traced the first line of his own eyebrows.
“No.” he said. “Christina is a vivid memory that I must honor. I paint her every year to remind myself of how I felt about her and place it in sharp contrast of what I feel the moment I paint her. As a result I always see her differently. But I always see myself in the same light, my impressions don’t change.” He lifted his eyes from the oleo to follow her as she came to his left, still walking slowly. “Painting the same thing 480 times is not particularly appealing-I can’t help but notice that you are circling me, kind of like vultures do?” he arched an amused eyebrow.
She scowled. “Eagles circle as well.”
“Yes, but they don’t carrion.” He grinned, arching his eyebrows suggestively.
Vicki arched an eyebrow and pointedly looked at the half sketched painting. “You know, I know a dreadful story about a man with a painting of himself and too much love at his own reflection. Tragic, let me tell you.”
“You mean Dorian Grey? “ he grinned, arching his eyebrows and looking at her over his shoulder. Vicki smiled. “Interesting man, that.”
“Who, Grey?”
“Wilde.” Henry answered, following her movements with his sharp eyes as she kept moving around him. “Interesting indeed. I learned quite a lot from him.”
“Did you?” she asked, arching her eyebrows. “I hear he had-unusual sexual tendencies.”
Henry chuckled. “Homosexuality is hardly unusual, and before you hint at it, not, I did not sleep with him. I like ladies very much, thank you.” He straightened, blinking. “And to what do I owe your delightful visit, Vicki? You haven’t told me.”
She paused at his side, looking at the painting. He had already painted his eyes, nose and lips, and the fact that the rest was a very light pencil sketch added sharpness and intensity to those features.
“Okay, here’s my dilemma. I’m on this case, the one about the house curse-“
“The goblin.” Henry observed, attentive.
“You had to say it.” She said, reproachful.
“What can I say? I like things spoken as they are.” Except when it comes to us, I suppose, he thought.
Vicki had a peculiar way to deal with things; she could accept he was a nearly five century old vampire, but she couldn’t believe the little house elves called goblins could inhabit homes in modern-day Toronto.
“Well, anyway I’m supposed to get rid of that thing but Coreen is still researching how to do that. And the thing is, my dearest mother is coming to visit, since it’s her birthday, and…” she trailed off, arching her eyebrows.
His smile widened, his eyes bright with mirth. “Yes?” he encouraged, already knowing perfectly well what she was about to ask.
She glared, suspecting he was deliberately forcing her to spell things out for him.
She took a deep breath, scowling. “And you said you wanted to be more involved in my business.” She ground out.
“Did I?” he arched his eyebrows in polite interest, his eyes shining like those of a cat in the dim light of the condo’s living room. “And where does that leave us?”
It leaves you acting insufferably coy, Vicki thought, but smiled tightly. “Why don’t you tell me, smart guy?”
“Well, I think it leaves us around your admittance that I am a good detective.” He said, stepping closer to her.
“Wait, I already admitted that.” She frowned slightly.
“Oh? Was that about the same time you admitted I was a good partner?” he said, giving another step.
“I think it was the same conversation.” She narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. Looked like she was going to have to ride the wave.
“And so you admit you trust me.” He concluded charmingly.
“If I tell you you’re pretty, will you drop this?”
Henry laughed. “Bribe? How generous, Victoria. But perhaps you could offer a more… substantial reward for my assistance?”
“I can bargain with walking down the hall to the elevator holding hands. I’m not authorized to any greater offers.” She deadpanned.
“I was thinking of something a little more… intimate.”
“You would.” She responded, tilting her head knowingly.
“I think we already had this conversation.” He pointed out.
“Apparently it’s happy memory night.” Vicki agreed.
“Ah. I’ll behave; go on, tell me what you need.”
She sighed; apparently he was all about being difficult tonight. “I need you to take over the case, like a nice little partner, and finish it while I deal with my mother.”
“You sound as though the goblin would be preferable.”
“I’m sure it is; at least he won’t try to cajole me into getting married and having offspring ‘before my time passes’.”
“I did mention I’m husband material.”
“I wonder about that. You’re a 450 year old vampire, son of Henry VIII; how exactly are you husband material, again?”
“I didn’t know taking a tan was within the specifications. Times really do change.”
“Yes, well, no one wants to marry to a guy whose skin is whiter than your dress.”
“You’d marry in white?” he asked, grinning widely.
“Could you focus?”
“Right.” Henry nodded, still chuckling. “Goblin. Got it. I’ll take care of it, partner.”
“Welcome on board, rookie.” She sighed.
“Give my regards to your mother.” He called as she walked away. “Tell her she is welcomed whenever she feels like visiting.”
“Sure. ‘Henry, mom. Mom, Henry; Henry is 450 years old and drinks human blood. He also draws comics.’.”
Henry frowned. “Graphic novels.” He muttered as she closed the door behind herself.