This Same Earth

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “Don’t most shipping containers have GPS now?” Beatrice asked.

  “These wouldn’t,” Giovanni muttered. “I think you taught him a lesson about technology, tesoro. It would be easy enough to make them untraceable, and since there were three containers—”

  “He could be on any one of three trucks going to any one of three locations,” Gemma sighed.

  Beatrice looked around the room. “But there has to be a way of finding out more.”

  Everyone was silent, standing around the room with the strange blank expressions she hated, each vampire lost in their own thoughts.

  “Gio?”

  “Beatrice—”

  “Who told you?”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “Who? Who told you that Lorenzo had taken me? You knew what ship I was on; Jean’s team found the boat too fast for you to be looking very long. Someone told you which one I was on. I was barely there for a day. Whoever told you knew where I was and had to know you were coming for me, so who told you?”

  “That little bastard,” Gemma murmured.

  She felt Giovanni’s skin heat.

  “Tywyll.”

  Gravesend, England

  Beatrice looked around with a poorly veiled look of disdain.

  “This is the dirtiest pub I’ve ever seen.”

  “It definitely ranks quite high, tesoro.”

  “Is it…floating?”

  Beatrice looked at the floor, which seemed to rock and sway under their feet. She saw a beer bottle roll in the corner as the pub near the mouth of the River Thames rose with the swell of the water. Then she looked into Giovanni’s taciturn face.

  “Are you going to kill him? Can you?”

  He thought for a long moment before he shrugged. “Doubtful, and definitely not until you get your information. I have a feeling that Tywyll has a bit to tell us.”

  “He’s really old, isn’t he?”

  “I believe so. No one knows. I’ve never met anyone that claimed to know him before he became what he is now.”

  She frowned and pulled his arm to sit next to her in the dark booth with its cracked leather seats. Giovanni sat with his back to the wall and his eyes on the door as the dark pub rose and fell.

  When they had returned to London just before dawn the night before, they were met at the door of the Mayfair house with a handwritten note.

  Mariposa—

  Come to The Cockleshell in Gravesend with the Italian tonight at nine o’clock. I have information for you.

  —Tywyll

  “What is he?”

  “A trader. A conduit. And apparently, someone who knew your father.”

  She whispered, “My dad and my grandma are the only ones that have ever called me ‘Mariposa.’ And it’s not something he would have shared with just anyone.”

  “Which is why we are meeting him alone at the dirtiest pub in Gravesend, instead of being accompanied by twenty of Terry’s most vicious minions.”

  She smiled and tried to lighten his mood as she slipped an arm around his waist. “You should totally get some minions.”

  He smirked despite himself. “Isn’t that what Benjamin is for? He’s a minion-in-training.”

  She snickered and pulled him down for a kiss. Between rushing back to London, seeing a doctor for her injuries, and questioning Terry’s human staff, Beatrice had little to no time alone with Giovanni, and she could tell the stress of the previous three nights was wearing on them both.

  “I’m exhausted,” she whispered as she laid her head on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  “I know.”

  His restless eyes continued to scan the dark, almost empty, pub. She sat next to him and left a hand on his knee, needing the connection. Giovanni had been eager to escape the city, wanting to whisk her away somewhere safe and away from prying eyes and ears as soon as they had returned. But after they received the note, Beatrice and Carwyn had insisted it was important to meet the mysterious water vampire—even if he was the source of the betrayal—and Giovanni had reluctantly agreed.

  She heard the door open and an electric current radiated up her arm. She could feel Giovanni’s skin heat against hers.

  “Tywyll,” he said in a low voice.

  “This is Stephen’s girl then.” She looked up. “Ay, ye’ are. Look at the eyes. Just like yer father.”

  She stared at the unassuming man wearing dirty work clothes. To anyone else, he would have fit right in, a hardworking middle-aged man out for a pint at the pub after work. Beatrice, however, took note of his inhuman paleness, the energy that seemed to vibrate off him, and the fangs that peeked from the corners of his mouth.

  “How do you know my father?”

  “Can I sit without fear for meself, fire-starter? Do I have yer word?”

  She could tell it was a struggle for him, but she saw Giovanni give a slight nod out of the corner of her eye.

  “For now, yes.”

  “Fer now’ll do fine.” He sat across from them and raised three fingers toward the bar. “I reckon we’ll stay out of each other’s way after that, eh?”

  “It depends very much on what you say, waterman.”

  “How do you know my father?” Beatrice asked again.

  The old vampire turned his eyes toward her.

  “Yer father is a fine one, miss. I don’t like many, but I liked him. Met him at this very pub.”

  A shiver crossed her neck and she felt Giovanni’s hand squeeze hers under the table. “My father was here?”

  Tywyll paused as an old man came to set three dark pints on the table in front of them. Tywyll took his and drank before he answered.

  “He was. Ten years ago. He’d just come from the North and he was makin’ his way out of the country. Needed a bit of help. Someone gave him my name. Had gold and he didn’t talk too much. I like that in a vampire.”

  Giovanni leaned forward and passed one of the pints to Beatrice as he set the other in front of himself. The glasses were surprisingly clean.

  “I heard rumors about him ten years ago,” Giovanni said. “About the books he had. He was referred to me for a job, but no one seemed to be able to find him.”

  Tywyll’s eyes almost twinkled. “Well now, that might ha’ been my doin’. He was awful young then, and he didn’t know much. I may ha’ kept him out of the way for a bit from those lookin’ for him.”

  “Why?” Beatrice asked. “You protected him? Why? And if you protected my father, why would you sell us out to Lorenzo?”

  “Did I sell you out?” Tywyll’s head cocked to the side and she could feel the heat start to radiate from Giovanni. She squeezed his knee and felt the energy in the air dissipate slightly. “You were taken, but it looks like yer here and safe to me, girl.”

  Giovanni’s voice was taut. “Do you deny informing my son we were coming after Beatrice?”

  Tywyll squinted as he took another drink. “I may have…repaid a favor, fire-starter. I always repay my favors. But I wouldn’t be bringing harm to Stephen’s dear girl.” Tywyll’s eyes darkened and Beatrice saw the cold-blooded killer beneath the unassuming demeanor of the small man. “Now, my debt is repaid, so I’ll ask you: were you hurt, Mariposa?”

  Giovanni spit something out in a language she didn’t recognize, and Tywyll glared at him before responding in kind. She didn’t recognize the language, and she was beginning to get frustrated with their quick, heated exchange. She saw tension lift from Tywyll’s shoulders before his eyes shuttered closed. He fell silent and took a long drink of his beer.

  “Interesting,” Tywyll muttered.

  “What?” She turned to Giovanni, irritated and confused. “What was that?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Tywyll knew your father. He hid him from Lorenzo for a time. He has an…interest in you. Nothing to be concerned about.”

  “Do you know where my dad is?” She turned to Tywyll, reaching across the table to grab his cold hand. She saw Giovanni start, but Tywyll only squeezed
her slight fingers. “Please, do you know—”

  “No, girl, I don’t. I taught him well. You’ll not find Stephen unless he wants to be found. That was my gift to him. In my many years, I’ve not considered many friends, but yer father was one.”

  Giovanni put a hand on her shoulder and drew her back. “Why did you tell Lorenzo we were coming for Beatrice?”

  “Did the mariposa figure it out?” Tywyll asked with a small smile. “I’ll bet she did. She’s got the look of her father; I’ll bet she has his mind, too. Ye' are the butterfly, aren’t ye?” Tywyll cocked his head. “I’ll be keen to see what happens with ye.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered. She was lying, she knew exactly what he was talking about, and from the look in his eyes, Tywyll did too.

  “Don’t ye'?” Tywyll took another drink and turned to Giovanni. “Why did I tell yer son? I owed a very old favor to him, Giovanni Vecchio. One he was keen to collect. I do have a reputation to maintain, and I’ll not be backing out of a favor owed. However, I don’t owe him anymore. The ship he was on before I got word to him was bound for two ports—Port Said in Egypt and Shanghai, China.”

  Tywyll directed his words to Beatrice. “Now, I’ve no idea where he was goin’ after that, and I don’t know his location now. Not my job. But he’s still after my friend, so I’ve got no objection to answering what ye' want to ask, if it suits my mood, and ye' ask the right questions.”

  Beatrice could sense the buzzing anticipation from Giovanni. She still didn’t know what she wanted to ask, her mind was whirling from the night’s revelations, so she looked up and nodded at him. A small smile quirked Giovanni’s mouth as he began questioning Tywyll.

  “What did Stephen De Novo take from my son?”

  “Good question. Gold, for one. And a lot of it. Unusual stuff. Old. Some of it melted down. All unmarked, not that I minded.”

  She caught the minute flicker in Giovanni’s eyes and she knew he recognized what the other vampire was talking about. “What about the books?”

  “Books?” Tywyll cocked his head. “Not a good question.”

  Beatrice whispered, “Book. What about the book?”

  Tywyll nodded. “Better question.”

  Giovanni looked confused. “Only one?”

  “Only one he kept with him. Only one yer boy really wanted.”

  They all seemed to lean toward each other, and her heart pounded.

  “What book does my son want?”

  Tywyll smirked. “If I could read ancient Persian, I’d have a much better idea. Unfortunately, Stephen didn’t teach me. Don’t know that he could read it himself—though, I’ve no doubt he can by now. When he escaped yer son, he only knew that this book was the one Lorenzo guarded most carefully.”

  “He didn’t know what it was?”

  “Oh—” The old vampire’s eyes twinkled. “He had an idea.”

  Tywyll paused to finish off his beer as Beatrice fought the urge to reach across the table and shake him. “Well?” she finally asked.

  “What do you know of alchemy, Mariposa?”

  Giovanni snorted and slumped in his seat. “Spells and magic,” he muttered. “Ridiculous. What does that tell us? Nothing.”

  “Arrogance, fire-starter. It’s an old science.”

  Beatrice looked between them, confused by their demeanor. “Wait, isn’t alchemy just an early form of chemistry?”

  “Yes,” Tywyll said, as Giovanni muttered, “No.”

  She could almost hear the “professor voice” before Giovanni opened his mouth. “Alchemy is magic, not chemistry. And most certainly not a real science. Philosopher’s stones. Gold from lead. Elixir of life. Not science. Magic.”

  Tywyll cut his eyes toward her. “Oh…immortality, manipulation of the elements, the creation of life itself. I can’t imagine why a curious vampire would find those things worthy of further study.”

  They all fell silent around the table while Giovanni and Tywyll exchanged looks she couldn’t quite decipher. “So—” She looked back and forth between them. “—what is it? Is it science, like amnis? Something natural we just don’t understand yet? Or is it magic?”

  Tywyll chuckled while Giovanni looked chastened.

  “Ye’ve nabbed yerself a smart one. You two won’t bore each other anytime soon.”

  Giovanni shook his head. “We will have to consider what Lorenzo may have found.”

  “Or what my father did,” she added. “If he was willing to risk himself for this book…” Beatrice felt her throat tighten up. “I have to think it’s all been worth it.”

  Giovanni pulled her into his side and she felt him press a kiss to the top of her head. She glanced at Tywyll across the table, but the old vampire only wore a mysterious smile.

  “Well,” he said as he shrugged. “I’m tired of answering questions. This is the most I’ve talked in years. I’ve a mind to get home now.”

  Beatrice leaned into Giovanni’s shoulder. “Where is home, Tywyll?”

  He winked. “Here and there, girl. The river, that’s my home.”

  Giovanni tossed a few pounds on the table and they rose to leave. They walked out of the dark pub to see their car and driver waiting a block away and a long, wooden skiff tied up to the side of the floating pub.

  She looked at the cagey vampire, who had given her more clues to her father’s whereabouts than she’d had in the five years she’d searched for him.

  “Thank you, Tywyll.”

  “Yer welcome, Mariposa. He gave me that name, you know. I have a feeling he thought you might come looking for me.”

  “Smart man.” She heard Giovanni murmur.

  “Smarter vampire,” Tywyll said.

  The river surged beside them and Beatrice heard a glass fall to the floor and shatter inside.

  “Why on Earth did you want to meet here?” Beatrice asked as she looked from the ramshackle bar to the old water vampire. “This bar is just…” She curled her lip as the strange man chuckled.

  Tywyll stood on the dock, his hands tucked in his pockets, and she could feel the sudden energy that charged the air.

  “Oh,” he said, “it has its features.”

  Looking over his shoulder, Beatrice noticed the boats moored nearby begin to drift to the bank. There was a soft ripple, and a squawking rose as a flock of ducks took off from the center channel. In the distance, she saw a fishing boat begin to change course. Then Beatrice gasped as the The Cockleshell pub itself began to rise as the river pushed it up and toward them.

  Beatrice could only gape as the whole of the River Thames waited at attention for the old water vampire. He rocked back and forth, and the river, and everything floating, mirrored his small movement.

  “Wow,” she whispered.

  Finally, Tywyll shrugged and the river seemed to heave a sigh before the boats drifted back downriver, and the current flowed out toward the sea. The pub settled back into its slip and the ducks landed over the rippling reflection of the moon.

  He winked at her. “I like the beer, too.” Tywyll walked toward his skiff and stepped aboard. He untied the ropes and stood watching them as the boat began to drift away.

  “Find yer father, Mariposa. He needs ye.’ And Giovanni Vecchio, don’t let your arrogance blind ye to the schemes of others.”

  Giovanni frowned. “What aren’t you telling me, waterman?”

  “Oh…” he chuckled. “A lot.”

  Tywyll tipped his hat toward Beatrice as she clutched Giovanni’s hand. “Ye’ know more than ye’ realize, girl. Yer father wants ye’ to find him.”

  Tywyll drifted away, and the moon rippled in the quiet wake. Beatrice and Giovanni stood on the dock and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest and inhaling his dark, smoky scent. She could feel his arms embrace her, and she tilted her face up for a kiss.

  “Do we believe him?” she whispered.

  His eyes narrowed as he searched the inky night. “I think we do.”
r />   “We’ve got a lot to think about.”

  “Yes, we do. But not here.”

  She paused and held him tighter as the exhaustion ate at her. She could feel his arm holding her up as they began the walk back to the car.

  “Gio?”

  “Yes, tesoro?”

  “I want to go home. Take me to Cochamó.”

  Giovanni looked down and met her tired eyes. She saw a flare of excitement in his gaze and a smile teased the corner of his mouth. He nodded. “We’ll leave tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Santiago, Chile

  March 2010

  He stared at her profile in the dim light of the theater, admiring how the lights from the stage caught bits of red in her hair and made her skin glow. Giovanni had seen the play before, but Beatrice had not, and she stared at the actors with a small smile flirting around her mouth.

  She must have caught his gaze from the corner of her eye.

  What? she mouthed.

  “I finally took you on a date,” he whispered.

  She laughed silently, and he reached across to cup her cheek before he bent and pressed a kiss to her mouth. He felt the curl of her lips against his own as she smiled and placed her cool hand on his jaw. He pulled away so she could continue to watch the performance of the Lorca play, and she felt for his hand, laying it on her lap and knitting their fingers together.

  Beatrice was stunning in a black silk dress, her neck and shoulders bare. He could see the flutter of the pulse in her neck, and a flush rose in her cheeks. He made no show of hiding his hungry stare. Her dark eyes kept glancing between his rapt face and the stage; he could hear her heartbeat quicken as his amnis reached out to her. The air was lush with her scent in their corner of the dark theater. After another twenty minutes, she silently rose from her seat and took his hand, pulling him up and out the door. As soon as they reached the dark hallway, she pressed him against the wall and lifted her mouth to his as he met her in a passionate kiss.

  The blood had already begun to pulse in his veins when she whispered, “Take me back to the hotel.”