I move into the office, finding him exactly where I felt, sitting in a high-back chair, reading one of the many books in his collection. “You look lovely,” he says, smiling as I enter.
“Thank you. This dress is beautiful.”
“I felt you looking for me,” he adds.
I can’t hide my smile. “I thought like a vampire.”
Cyrus stands, offering me his elbow. “Shall we?” I link my elbow in response. Minutes later, we’re outside the garden wall, walking toward downtown.
It’s still early, which means not many humans are out yet. Most of the ones we pass are on their way to work or have a specific mission in mind. Surprisingly, I smell them, but they don’t tempt me. In other words, I don’t feel like eating my way through downtown.
“You’re doing well,” Cyrus says, away from human ears. Hearing his praise lifts my spirits.
“Where are we going?” I ask, as we leave downtown, walking closer to the river.
“Castillo de San Marcos.”
“A castle?” I ask, secretly thanking my two years of high school Spanish.
“More like a fort.” He pulls me to a stop, pointing at the structure. “When we landed here, there was an abandoned indigenous settlement already in place.” He looks around. “In fact, the fort is built on top of the remains.” I follow his gaze, trying to imagine what it might have looked like. “The first fort was wooden.” He laughs softly. “After a few of those versions burned to the ground, this one was built.”
“It’s impressive,” I agree.
“Yes, it is. I watched them build it from afar.”
“You’ve stayed in St. Augustine since…since arriving?”
“Most of the time, yes. I’ve traveled the world many times, but I always come back.” Cyrus looks toward the water, seemingly caught in a memory.
“I don’t blame you. It’s beautiful here.”
He wraps my arm back through his. “Come. There’s more to see.” We walk at a human pace away from the fort and toward an open field full of headstones. “This is where I’m buried.” We move past the more modern and easy-to-read headstones toward the back of the cemetery. He stops at a nondescript tree with no markers. “This is me.”
“This is a tree.”
Cyrus scoffs as he looks around. “This field is full of Spanish conquistadors. Most died from starvationor disease.” He nods toward where we entered. “The men buried here were the first to land and the first to die. Most are buried in unmarked graves. The Spanish couldn’t appear weak, hence the unmarked graves. As far as anyone knew, we were all alive and well.”
“Who’s buried in your grave?” I ask, realizing that’s one of the strangest questions I’ve ever asked.
He shrugs. “One of my fellow conquistadors. I’d been missing for a while. A body was found, and it was assumed to be mine.”
“That’s sad.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps the man buried under our feet escaped this madness, and we’re the ones living in sadness.”
I stare at my buyer. “That was profound.”
“I’m not just a pretty face. I say profound things every once in a while.” My laugh echoes through the area. Cyrus smiles in return. “I like that sound.”
“What?”
“You…laughing. I like it.” He wraps my arm through his once more. “There’s more.” He guides me back to the entrance of the cemetery, leading me to one of the older headstones. He stops, staring at the unreadable inscription.
“I can’t read it,” I admit.
“This is the grave of Isabella Knight…my wife.” He runs narrow fingers over the engraved dates. “She died in 1815.”
Wife? “I’m sorry, Cyrus.” With the revelation of twowives, my brain wants to know how many more are out there.
