And when she was out, she made a silent vow not to go after treasure hidden in caves again.
At least… not unless it was really worth it.
She sat down near the reflecting pool with two ruined pieces of fabric and a sewing kit she’d taken from Ben’s camping supplies. Her goal was to create two passable coin purses that a gullible vampire would believe came from the middle of the eighteenth century. One large and one fairly small.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember what she was doing during the mid-eighteenth century. Early in that century she’d done a job in Russia with Giovanni. She’d bought the Venice house a bit earlier than that.
India.
North Africa.
Damn. She didn’t remember being anywhere near Europe in the mid-1700s.
But by the late eighteenth she’d been in Vienna. She shrugged and started picking at the cloaks to get a decent thread. It would have to do. She didn’t imagine cloth coin purses had changed all that much in forty years.
Tenzin used a knife to cut the fabric into reasonable pieces, then she began to sew. She remembered the first time Ben had seen her embroidering in the loft.
“You sew?”
“You don’t?”
He’d looked confused. “Uh… no.”
Tenzin shrugged. “Well, up until the modern age, if I wanted clothes for myself, I usually had to make them unless I could steal them.”
“Or you could, you know, buy them.”
“I did that sometimes too.” She’d been working on a particularly tricky stitch and she poked herself. “Of course, if they tore, I had to fix them. If I wanted an extra pocket for a dagger, I had to make it.”
“Huh.”
“Giovanni sews too. I taught him.”
“Just when you think you know a vampire…”
She smiled at the memory. Modern humans were so helpless. Ben could cook, but he had no idea how to hunt. He could dress himself, but if no tailors or stores were available, he’d be wearing fig leaves or togas.
It was truly amazing humanity had gotten to where it was.
Of course, ancient humans didn’t have YouTube or the ability to learn caving techniques from strangers on the internet, so every age had its trade-offs.
Ben drove north then east, driving directly into the sun as it began to rise. As the morning grew warmer, he stripped off his shirt and put on his sunglasses, hungry for warmth. He’d decided if he only had a few days left on the island, he was soaking up as much sun as he could before he headed back to New York. Spending his life with vampires had led him to a serious vitamin D deficiency.
He turned east and drove through Camuy, Hatillo, and Carrizales. He dipped south and around the main part of Arecibo to avoid any morning traffic. Then he turned north again and drove for the beach. He followed the coastal road past the lighthouse and the scattered neighborhoods east of town, going with the flow of traffic as people headed into the city to work. He passed small local beach clubs and houses. A few cars and familiar sights. He drove until he spotted the small house he’d rented with cash, sitting on an isolated curve of beach not far from a local beach club.
There was a reason Ben had rented this house, and it wasn’t only the lack of tourists and access to a passable harbor. He opened the house and searched it, checking the silent alarms he’d set the last time he’d left.
Nothing.
The cameras were on motion sensors and so far had only alerted him to a few birds fighting in the palm trees near the front door.
Ben walked to the bedroom, pulled back the rug, and opened the hidden doors set into the concrete foundation of the house.
Yes, there was a reason he’d rented this place.
The concrete chamber was roughly six by four feet and nearly three feet deep. Ben didn’t know why it had originally been built, though he had a few guesses. The heavy doors closed flush with the floor and were secured with two padlocks.
He wrested the first chest from the back of the Jeep and onto the dolly he’d bought days ago at a local hardware store, grateful that some enterprising owner had added a ramp onto the back of the house even if the ramp was cracked and leaning. He checked the surrounding area to see if he had any watchers, but there was no one around.
He rolled the gold chest into the house and managed to lower it into the safe without crushing his toes, then he did the same with the silver chest.
The document case he’d left with Giovanni and Tenzin. It would be their problem to sort out. This one was his.
He closed the heavy doors, locked the padlocks, and rolled the rug back out. Then he went to the kitchen, drank a tall glass of water, and walked outside to lock up the Jeep and grab his duffel bag. He reset the cameras and the alarms, then he walked out to the beach.
Dragging an old plastic lounger from beneath a wind-battered palm, Ben stripped down to his boxers and lay fully in the sun, basking in the morning heat. He could feel his skin turning browner by the minute.
In minutes, he was asleep.
“Do they have names?” Ben tapped on the cage, only to have his abuela tug his hand away a second before the orange-faced bird pecked at his finger.
“They do. Papa and Ruby. But they don’t like it when you tap their cage like that.”
“Why not?”
The old woman smiled at him. “Would you like it if someone came to your door and, instead of knocking politely, they pounded with a fist?”
That was usually the way his father knocked on his mother’s door, but Ben didn’t say anything.
Joe had picked him up that morning with a bang on the door. It was a Saturday, and he’d said Ben’s grandmother wanted to spend the day with him. Ben had answered the loud knock because his mom was passed out in the bedroom.
“You want to go hang out with my mom?” Joe asked. “She’s in town for the week.”
Ben shrugged. “Sure.” He grabbed his coat and got in Joe’s cab.
“Don’t worry about your ma. I’ll call her later.”
“Okay.” Ben wasn’t worried. He was nine. As long as he was home at night, his mom didn’t even ask where he’d been.
Joe had taken off; Ben’s abuela was making pancakes. After breakfast, she would take him into the city to visit the Met.
Ben was familiar with the Met. More than familiar, in fact. It was one of the few places a kid in New York could go for free. A street kid had told him about it one time. The price at the counter was only a “suggested donation.”
That was especially useful information in winter when it wasn’t good to be outside and Ben didn’t want to be at home. Ben could take the train to 77th Street and walk the few blocks to the museum. He’d find a coin on the sidewalk—he always tried to find a quarter if he could—then he’d walk up the counter and slide it across. The person at the counter usually asked him the same question every time.
“Where’s your mom or dad?”
And Ben would answer the same way every time. “She’s in the bathroom.”
There was usually a look, but they slid the little sticker across the counter anyway. Then Ben would grab a map, walk past the ticket counter, and enter the arms and armories hall.
He’d spent hours looking at swords and armor, statues, and Egyptian mummies. He read all the little signs next to the paintings and learned about the different periods of European painting. It was a lot more interesting than the stuff they learned at school. He’d probably spent more time in the art museum than fancy grown-ups did.
But when Joe told him his abuela wanted to take him to the museum, Ben didn’t complain. He liked the Met, and his abuela always bought him a big lunch and usually an ice cream too. If it was cold, she’d buy him a cupcake or a soft pretzel.
“Why do you keep birds in a cage?” Ben asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to let them outside?”
His abuela smiled. “These aren’t wild birds. They’re domestic. They were born in a cage. If you let them out in a tree, they’d probably panic and go in
to shock.”
It was a funny picture in his head, but Ben had his suspicions about whether it was true. Birds were made to fly. If you put them in a cage, they couldn’t do that. Ben had a hard time imagining a bird that didn’t look out the window every day and imagine flying off into a sunny sky. If he could fly, he’d fly around the world.
He’d go to Africa and Peru and Japan. He wondered if anyone in Japan wore armor like he’d seen in the armory exhibit. There was one helmet that had a rabbit on it! Ben would love to see a badass with a sword wearing a rabbit helmet on his head.
If he could fly, it would be the worst thing in the world to be stuck in a cage. Ben looked at the two birds, then at the window looking over his aunt’s street. Then he glanced at his abuela. She was still making pancakes at the stove.
Slowly, he opened the birds’ cage. They chirped and hopped closer to the little open door.
Come on. Come on.
Ben eyed the window. He didn’t want to open it too early. It was cold outside.
Would the birds be okay in the cold?
If they weren’t, they could always come back inside. Ben would leave the window open.
The birds hopped close. Closer.
“Come on,” he whispered.
“What’s that, Benjamin?”
“Nothing. Just… talking to the birds.”
“They’re sweet, aren’t they? Like having sunshine on a cloudy day.”
It wasn’t cloudy that day. The sun was shining even though the air was cold. Ben willed the birds closer to the little gate.
Closer.
Closer.
How would they get from the cage to the window? Ben stuck his finger out and watched the birds’ claws. He hoped they weren’t too sharp, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make for freedom.
“Benjamin! What are you doing?”
Ben slapped the door shut and backed away from the birdcage, his hands clasped behind him. “Nothing.”
His abuela blinked. “Were you letting my birds out of their cage?”
Ben glanced at the window. “No.”
“Were you going to let them outside?”
Ben said nothing.
His abuela sighed, and Ben knew he’d disappointed her. She’d probably call his dad to take him home now. So much for the museum. He’d been looking forward to showing his abuela how much he knew about art, but now he wasn’t even going to get pancakes.
Her frown eased. “Don’t let the birds out. They’ll get hurt if you let them out into that big city. They’re not smart boys like you. They’re just little silly birds who like apples and sunflower seeds.” She nodded at the table. “Now sit. Otherwise these pancakes will get cold.”
Ben woke when he felt his alarm going off against his hip. He’d tucked his phone under his leg and put it on vibrate. The sun was high in the sky, his skin was baking, and something had alerted the front door.
Ben didn’t make a sound. He silently opened his phone and the app that controlled the cameras.
It was a bird again, banging against the screen door.
A bird. Just a bird.
He closed his eyes against the glare of the midday sun just as his phone went off again.
Ben sat up, wondering if he could do something to keep that bird away from the screen door, only to see that he’d received a picture message from his cousin.
I think your birds found a new home.
The picture showed an old woman with pure white hair tied back in a braided knot. She was wearing a bright red T-shirt and a pair of jeans that were muddy at the knees. She was sitting in what looked like a sunroom with two peach-faced lovebirds perched on her finger. She was laughing, and her eyes wrinkled at the corners.
Abuela.
She wasn’t like he remembered her. Of course she wasn’t. This woman was older and more worn. The picture wasn’t taken by a detective from a distance. It was up close and personal, taken by a beloved granddaughter.
He texted back, Looks like they’re very happy with each other.
She loves them.
I’m glad.
Should he see her?
Should he let her know he was alive?
What would she think of him?
Hi, Abuela. It’s me, Ben. I’m not a criminal, but I do hang out with them. I live with vampires and steal things sometimes, but usually only from bad people. My life is a series of morally ambiguous decisions and I’m not married and I’ll probably never have children.
What grandparent was going to be proud of a man like him?
He was like a wild bird that had been caged its whole life, a prisoner to parents who didn’t understand him or only wanted to use him for their own gain. Now he had a measure of freedom, but he was still battling against barriers. Physical limitations. Emotional limitations. A sharply increasing cynicism he didn’t know how to combat and a creeping knowledge that his fate was out of control.
If only real life were as peaceful as one of the impressionist paintings he’d studied at the Met or an old woman in a kitchen playing with birds.
Then again, if real life were peaceful, Ben doubted he’d have millions of dollars in gold and silver sitting underneath the foundation of a surf shack in Puerto Rico.
So… there was that.
24
It was near dawn when Giovanni woke. Tenzin was waiting for him with tea, a packet of preserved blood, and two beautifully constructed coin purses. A larger one filled with tarnished silver and a smaller one filled with gold. She’d finished them, then thrown the purses against the wall a few hundred times to wear the stitching.
Giovanni picked them up and examined them. “You’re a genius.”
“I know.”
“Between this and the jewelry—”
“I think it’ll be enough.”
Giovanni nodded. “Agreed.”
“I checked with Ben a few minutes ago. Everything is secured and he’ll be waiting for us at the pickup location when we’re finished.”
“That is, if everything goes according to plan.”
“It’ll be fine.” Tenzin rose and patted Giovanni on the shoulder. “You worry too much.”
“And you never worry enough.”
“Which is why I have you and Benjamin,” she said. “We make the perfect team.”
“The real question is, which one of us is going to drive that truck?”
She looked at him with a blank stare. “I don’t drive.”
“Shorted out electrical system it is.”
They were stopped at the base of the driveway before they even reached the garage. The guard recognized them immediately. He also recognized the box lying between them. He yelled over his shoulder, and a wind vampire took off into the night.
“You will come with me,” he said in heavily accented English. “The cacicas will want you.”
“Very well,” Giovanni said. He tried to roll up the window, but it had shorted out when he rolled it down. Most of the instrument panel was dead. The lights were still working, so he followed the man up the driveway and into the garage.
“You’d think they’d thank us for bringing their truck back,” Tenzin said.
“It’s only a little bit broken.” Giovanni glanced out the window. “Of course, I think they’re a bit distracted by what we have with us.”
The document chest wasn’t as big as the treasure chests, but it was sizable enough—and old enough—to be noticed.
Giovanni said, “Tell me again exactly what Benjamin said when he first made the agreement with Inés.”
“He said you were working for a client who had a claim on the property. And that if there was any dispute arising from our search, he would bring it to Los Tres. And that the origin of the object was not Puerto Rican.”
“There’s nothing but English coins in that box. English silver, English gold, and stolen jewelry,” Giovanni said. “They can’t dispute that.”
Tenzin smiled at his moral gymnastics. “No, I think you’ve co
vered your bases nicely.”
She didn’t mind Giovanni’s moral gymnastics. They were part of who he was, and they also made people trust him. He could speak with absolute confidence and people believed what he said. With Tenzin, people never believed what she said.
Unless she was threatening them. They believed that.
Of course, Tenzin lied a lot. She didn’t consider it a moral failure. Lying was a strategy, and one that had worked well for her for thousands of years. If vampires always expected her to lie, she was never a known quantity. She would never be predictable. Her loyalties were always in question.
Except for Benjamin.
You should eliminate him.
The voice in the back of her mind had said it a thousand times, and yet she didn’t. Tenzin told herself she didn’t want to, but that wasn’t exactly correct. Sometimes she did want to erase him from her world. Sometimes the mirror of his presence became too accurate. Too clear. But when it came down to it, she was afraid of what she would have to admit if she tried to remove him from her life.
It wasn’t that she wouldn’t. It was that she couldn’t.
Giovanni and Tenzin exited the truck and followed the guard up the stairs and toward the house. Giovanni held the document chest in his arms. Tenzin resisted the urge to fly up to the edge of the waterfall falling into the pool. It really was enchanting.
“I love this house,” she said to no one in particular.
“Thank you,” the guard said. “It was designed by our cacica, Yahíma. She designed every part of this place for her court.”
So it wasn’t Macuya who had built the mountain. It had been Yahíma all along.
The way the guard spoke of his new regent had an echo of reverence. Tenzin smiled. She’d never desired leadership—she actively avoided it—but she could still admire those who obtained it cleverly.
Inés had spent years cultivating the loyalty of the everyday immortals who surrounded her brother. She’d been the one solving their problems and meeting their needs. She’d likely arranged lodging for newly sired vampires and helped their transitions. She’d probably been the one responsible for dealing with government paperwork and the pesky humans who came with it.
Blood Apprentice: An Elemental Legacy Novel Page 24