Of course, despite my initial astonishment, the logical part of me immediately takes hold, and I realize that Virgil was simply a handsome man clothed in notably expensive clothing.
He wasn't some deity who had come down to seduce me away into the darkness without a second glance, off into obscurity. He wasn't a prophet or a seer, but simply the head of a ragtag group of students who gathered around in a dusty building, reciting poetry and partying at obscure hours of the night. But, after knowing the sons and daughters of business tycoons, all well-oiled machines with pretty faces but rarely any personality, perhaps The Poets and their strange ways were enough for me.
I just couldn't let Virgil have the satisfaction of thinking I was interested in him or his cult, clearly disguised as a poetry club. The man had everything else already going for him, didn't he? Let him suffer a little, it would do wonders for his ego.
"Well, Virgil! As wonderful as it is to meet you for the first time, I'm afraid I have bad news," I reply, folding my arms behind my back and scanning the room. "I'm not sure what little bird's been spreading rumors, but I never actually said I was interested in joining your poetry club."
"Mother Mary! What did he just say?" John squawks from where he stands beside a glass case containing several stuffed rodents and gophers. Likewise, Ovid stands beside him, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth like a tiny decoration poised in between those plush lips before it slips out and falls to the checkered floor.
"Called it," Homer grunts from where he leans against a pillar. "Nice going, boys. We all managed to scare this one off at record speed. Hell, we didn't even get to make it to the fun part. Again."
"You're not interested in joining our poetry club? But you came all the way here!" Virgil seemed taken aback by my response, and the look of complete and utter stupefaction on his face pleased me somehow, stroking the morbid little flames within my heart.
"I know," I reply simply, "I want to know what I'm getting into before I sign a blood contract with you all. You wouldn't just sign your soul away to the devil for a bowl of wax fruit, would you?"
"Did you just call me a devil?" Virgil replies, miffed.
"Perhaps," I respond, "you certainly talk the talk, don't you, Lucifer?"
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Virgil demands, and then he laughs a sharp laugh and turns to call, "John? Where did you find this one this time? He's fantastic!"
The boys stand around gawking while Virgil and I exchange a bit of witty banter. We were like two fencers jabbing at each other with invisible sabers, testing for weak spots in our armor. When it would end, I didn't know, but if joining his strange poetry club meant living this secret, thrilling life for a few months out of the year at least, there was no way I could say no.
"I--er--" John bursts into view, shoving his way between Virgil and me. "Should we go ahead and give him a tour of the building? He hasn't even met Lucan and Beatrice just yet."
"I think that's a wonderful idea!" Ovid breezes over, "Is there still whiskey and leftovers in the fridge? We can have an impromptu poetry session before he decides if he's going to stay or not. Test the waters. Have a little fun and drink like Oscar Wilde while we're at it." He does a silly little dance with both feet swinging side to side, and Homer bellows with laughter from his corner.
"If Dante wants to see the rest of the building tonight, then we'll give him a tour and a party--maybe," Virgil replies, and I avoid his gaze by pretending to stare at a glass shelf filled with wet autopsy specimens. "And if not, then John can walk him back to the dorms since this was his idea in the first place."
"Fine! Let's get this over with!" John gripes like an old man and snaps his scratchy jacket into order before starting with the stairs, with Virgil and Ovid following his lead.
I look back when I realize that Homer was missing and spot him sitting down on the checkered floor, his worn boots poking out as he relaxes. "Aren't you coming?" I ask him, "You're part of the poetry club too, aren't you?"
"I think I'm going to sit this one out." Homer yawns, scrunching up his eyes and nose as he does. "I'm getting too old for this. Backaches all the time; knees feel like shit."
I watch him for a second longer, then hear John calling for me from the stairs, "Dante! Dante, come on! You're holding us all up! I can't take the suspense any longer!"
I start past Homer, but before I do, he grabs my ankle and stops me.
"Listen to me, Santiagio. The initiation may be strange and maybe a little terrifying, but it's completely worth it," he says, staring into my eyes with what can only be described as Indian Ocean blue. "You only get one chance, little man. Don't blow it."
"Thank you for the advice, but I can handle this perfectly fine myself, Homer."
As soon as Homer releases my ankle, I follow the others to the stairs, ready to face the unknown.
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