“Hey, no fighting in the kitchen.” Ben caught himself on the edge of the counter. Hot tea splashed his hand. “Caspar will get mad.”
“At you.”
“He gets mad at you too. He just can’t do anything about it.” Ben decided to abandon the newspaper and keep her company, so he hopped up on the counter to irritate her about his favorite subject of the moment.
“You know…,” he started again as she lifted the edge of the lid. He caught a glimpse of some spicy-looking red broth before the lid fell. “There are all sorts of winter holidays you could choose from. Christmas, Yule, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa. What did you celebrate as a human?”
“Survival.”
“I’m serious, Tenzin.”
“So am I.” She turned and poured herself a cup of tea. “Fine, we celebrated agricultural holidays. Harvest. Spring. The summer solstice. Things like that.”
He grinned at her unexpected answer. “Were there gifts?”
“No, there was food.” She gave Ben a reluctant smile. “That was gift enough.”
“Well, I think you should celebrate Christmas with us. Just to fit in.”
“But I do not fit in.” She shrugged and sipped her tea, the curling fangs evident behind her lips. Unlike most vampires, Tenzin’s fangs never retracted. They were frozen in vicious readiness at all times. And instead of the long, straight canines that most immortals had, Tenzin’s had a distinctive curve that reminded Ben of the saber she usually fought with. It was one of the reasons she rarely smiled in public. Anything more than a murmur in front of humans made hiding what she was very difficult.
“You fit in here,” he said, his voice suddenly soft.
She looked up at him. Those eyes. He had to force himself to meet them. Those eerie grey eyes saw… everything.
“Fine. I’ll celebrate Christmas with all of you. But I’m not singing.”
Ben grinned. “Cool. So what are you getting me?”
Her mouth dropped. “I never agreed to gifts!”
“Yes, you did. That’s half of what Christmas is about.” He snickered and poured himself another cup of tea. “I know what I’m getting you.”
She cocked her head to the side. “You’re getting me a gift?”
“Yep. Already have it picked out.”
“So this whole insistence that I celebrate a Christian holiday was so you could give me a gift?”
“Kind of. But not entirely.” He reached over and patted the top of her head. “Come on, you’ll have fun. There’s food and drink and presents under the tree. Everyone will be here. We’ll watch Christmas movies later.”
“Which movies? There are very few action movies set on Christmas. I’m not watching anything with talking animals.”
He shrugged. “Home Alone?”
“I do like the resourcefulness of that child. Kevin would make an excellent vampire.”
Just then he heard two sets of footsteps outside. “Aw, man, are Gio and B back?”
Tenzin nodded. She would have heard them long before Ben did. “Yes, but they smell like they’ve both just eaten, so they shouldn’t pig too much of your food.”
“‘Hog,’ Tiny. ‘Hog’ the food.”
“It’s a stupid expression.”
The door opened and a rush of cool air wafted in. Winter in Southern California was never all that cold, but they’d had a few storms come through in the past week, so the air was crisp and surprisingly chilly.
Giovanni said, “What’s a stupid expression?”
“‘Hogging’ food,” Tenzin said. “It’s a stupid expression.”
Giovanni shrugged. “Have you seen pigs eat? Not all that different from Ben.”
“Hey!”
Beatrice slipped through the kitchen door. “Tenzin, that smells amazing. What is it?”
“Dapanji. It’s a kind of stew with chicken and garlic and chilies.”
“It smells divine. I’d love a taste.”
Ben shook his head. “No. I had plans! You were all supposed to be gone. The Tenzin food is mine.”
Giovanni sniffed the air, which was suddenly alive with the energy of three powerful vampires crowded into a small space. “Did you make naan?”
“You don’t get the naan!”
Tenzin nodded. “It’s in the oven. It’s the kind with sesame seeds on it.”
Beatrice came over and patted Ben’s cheek. Her fingers were ice-cold. “Don’t worry. We won’t eat much. We’re pretty full.”
He didn’t shiver. Not much, anyway, but her fangs were still down and her eyes were bright and his favorite aunt was looking particularly vampire-like dressed completely in black. Ben swallowed the instinctive lump in his throat that often came when you were the only one with an active pulse in a room full of creatures who drank blood for dinner.
“It’s fine. I can share.”
Beatrice grinned. There was slight smear of blood at the corner of her mouth.
“Uh, B… you might want to…” Ben mimed wiping the corner of his mouth.
“Oh!” She caught on and grabbed a napkin from a drawer. “That’s embarrassing.”
Giovanni bent down and whispered something in her ear that made Beatrice laugh, and suddenly it was just home again. Giovanni and Tenzin started chatting in Chinese, and Beatrice began teasing Ben about two of the girls he was dating from school.
“Oh hey,” he said, finally interrupting her. “I got Tenzin to agree to celebrate Christmas with us.”
“Yay!” Beatrice clapped her hands. “I know what I’m getting her already.”
“If you just wanted to buy me things”—Tenzin took the steaming dish to the table where Giovanni was putting out four large bowls—“you don’t have to make up an excuse. I accept gifts at all times.”
Ben said, “But it’s more fun when they’re wrapped up under the Christmas tree and you know they’re there, but you can’t open them.”
She curled her lip. “I have to wait?”
Ben and Beatrice nodded in tandem. “Yep,” he said. “For weeks.”
She growled a little. “I do not like that.”
Beatrice grabbed the warm bread from the oven. “Why do I think that’s part of the appeal for the boy?”
“The boy” watched her take the bread to the table and stand on her toes to give her husband a kiss as he poured four small glasses of golden beer.
She looks the same.
She always would. Though Ben was growing and changing, losing the softer angles of childhood and growing stronger and sharper every day, Beatrice stayed the same. Tenzin stayed the same. They all did. It wasn’t something he’d thought about much as a child, when being a grown-up seemed so very far away, but the older he got, the more evident it became.
Sometimes he would go to Dez and Matt’s house for a few days. He’d eat breakfast out on their patio in the sun and play with little Carina, who chattered in her adorable toddler-speak and seemed to change every day. Once, after Caspar had an unexpected problem with his heart, Ben had stayed with Matt and Dez for almost a month. They hadn’t asked why, and neither had Giovanni or Beatrice.
But he came back. He imagined he always would.
“So, Ben, what are you getting me for Christmas?” Giovanni asked as he spooned an entirely too generous portion of the savory stew into his bowl. Ben watched him carefully before he grabbed the ladle and served himself.
“I don’t know. I was thinking about an iPad.”
“Ha ha,” Giovanni said. Ben was still sore that his uncle had shorted out his last two electronic devices when he’d forgotten them in the library. “Don’t leave them lying around and they’ll survive longer. Or stick with paper books.”
“E-books are the wave of the future, old man.” Ben grabbed two large pieces of naan.
Giovanni shuddered visibly, then turned to his wife. “What about you? What are you getting me?”
“Do you really want me to say at the table?”
Giovanni grinned as Ben groaned and said, “No. None
of us want that.”
Tenzin muttered, “Like rabbits, those two.”
“I know. Tiny, this is amazing, as usual.”
“Thank you. Don’t call me Tiny. What are you getting me for this holiday you convinced me to celebrate for purely selfish purposes?”
“I’m not telling you. Trust me, you’ll like it.”
“Is it sharp or poisonous? Because I like things like that.”
Ben grinned. “I know. And I’m not even giving you a hint.” The twin daggers Baojia had found for him would be perfect. They were ceremonial pieces that had drained much of his substantial bank account, but he knew exactly where she would hang them in her studio. “You’ll have to be patient. B, I’m still stuck on what to get the old man here.”
“What do you get for the five-hundred-year-old fire vampire who has everything? I struggle with that one myself.” Beatrice shrugged. “Books. If all else fails, books.”
Giovanni smiled. “I don’t mind being predictable. And I already have your present, tesoro.”
“You mean the Kimber Solo nine millimeter?”
His spoon dropped to the bowl. “How—”
“You wouldn’t let me buy it at the shop. You insisted I’d like the Sig Sauer more, even though you know I like Kimbers.” She tore off a piece of her naan. “It was kind of obvious, Gio.”
Giovanni scowled and took another piece of bread. “You don’t know about the other thing though.”
“Is it a first edition of some book I love?”
He cleared his throat. “Maybe.”
“You really are predictable,” Tenzin muttered. “This food is excellent. I am still a very good cook.”
“Yes, you are,” Beatrice said. “Thanks, Tenzin.”
“You should cook something for Christmas dinner,” Ben said. “What do they eat in China for Christmas?”
“Noodles. Or dumplings. Or whatever you eat on Tuesday, because they don’t celebrate Christmas.”
Beatrice said, “Some people might now. Young people?”
“It’s ironic when you think about it,” Giovanni mused. “Most Christmas decorations are probably made in China.”
“All those tinsel trees?” Ben said. “They must think Americans are seriously weird people.”
“Americans are seriously weird people.” Tenzin suddenly brightened. “If I’m celebrating Christmas, can we have fireworks?”
Giovanni said, “I’m fairly sure that’s illegal.”
“I don’t even know where we’d find them,” Beatrice added.
“Yes.” Ben had everyone’s attention. “I’ll find them somewhere, and Gio—” He turned to his uncle. “If the cops show up, you can make them think all they heard was champagne bottles popping. Tiny wants fireworks; she gets fireworks.”
Tenzin clapped as Beatrice smiled at Ben.
He just shrugged like it was no big deal. “But you have to cook.”
“I will make the noodles you like.”
Ben tried to act cool. “Score one for me. I’m not sharing.”
He glanced up at Tenzin, who was smiling like a little kid, her fangs sparkling in the light from the kitchen, her eyes lit up. She totally didn’t have to make the noodles; her expression alone was enough. Still, he wasn’t going to turn them down.
“Merry Christmas, Tenzin.”
Lost Letters and Christmas Lights
Serafina Rossi wasn’t expecting vampires for Christmas. But as the director of the Vecchio Library, she can’t refuse to help. And if part of that help is spending the holiday in Rome examining mysterious letters at the Vatican… Well, she can’t exactly refuse.
Zeno Ferrara is an immortal whose eternity is dedicated to examining historical correspondence. But it’s letters from the lovely director of the Vecchio Library that occupy his thoughts. Two years of correspondence have made Fina Rossi more than a mystery to be discovered. She’s become his fascination.
When Fina shows up at Zeno’s library just before Christmas, will they both discover an unexpected gift? And will a centuries-old mystery finally be resolved as Giovanni and Beatrice track down a clandestine romance hidden by history?
Prologue
Los Angeles, California
“Beatrice?” Giovanni raised his voice only slightly when he entered the house,in San Marino knowing that despite its massive square footage, his mate would be able to hear him.
There was no response.
He pulled off the scarf he’d wrapped around his neck when he’d left earlier that evening. The weather in Southern California was mildly cool that December, which meant every native Californian had broken out their warmest wraps. It was so hard following winter fashion when there simply was no winter. Nevertheless, the humans tried.
“Beatrice?” he called again, wondering if she’d left the house. He reached out with his senses.
A hint of chicken mole in the air. Caspar had cooked it yesterday.
Doyle, his grey cat, purred near a fire someone had lit in the downstairs sitting room.
No sign of Ben, but that was hardly remarkable this time of night.
He inhaled again.
Vanilla. Acid. Almonds. And a very faint waft of mold.
Giovanni smiled. Beatrice was in the library.
The unmistakable trace of her amnis permeated the air. She’d been in the kitchen recently. Other immortals wouldn’t sense it, but Beatrice De Novo wasn’t only his wife by human law, she was his vampire mate by tradition. The blood they shared bound them on an elemental level. He always knew when she was near.
Her preternatural senses would have picked up the smallest sound, which meant she was ignoring him. Ignoring him meant one of two things. He calmly walked up the stairs to the second floor, stroking a finger along the side of the Vietnamese vase she’d found for him in Hong Kong the Christmas before.
Beatrice ignoring his call meant she was feeling playful or…
He nudged open the door to the library, leaning against it as he watched her muttering over a table piled with file boxes.
She was in the middle of a project.
“Ciao bella, tesoro.”
She waved one hand, which was covered in a silk glove because she was handling documents. She didn’t lift her head. “Hey. Why are you…” Her mind drifted off before she could finish the question.
“Back so soon?” Giovanni finished for her. “The client wanted the impossible. I refuse to break something out of the National Archives.”
“You have before.”
“There were multiple copies of that particular item.” He stepped closer, careful not to touch any of the materials spread over the table. “This item is unique. I’m not interested in depriving a nation of its history—meager though it may be—to satisfy a vampire’s whim.”
“So kind of you,” she muttered, not even rising to the American history taunt. She’d continued her personal research project of documenting daily life in the mission period of California history that she’d started in graduate school. Giovanni had continued to acquire difficult-to-obtain books and documents for his immortal clientele and discreet human collectors. Beatrice helped him when it suited her, and both kept as busy as they wanted.
It was a good life. Others might think Giovanni longed for the excitement of his nights as an assassin or was jealous of the power others wielded in vampire politics. Power he had handed to them before he stepped away.
But Giovanni Vecchio had no longing for violence. No desire for power. He had spent hundreds of years with both thrust upon him. Now he had found his peace.
He and his mate flew around the world as they liked, visiting their homes and perusing their books. Working when they wanted. Keeping in touch with friends and occasionally assisting with a problem when help was requested.
But, for the most part, they lived a quiet life.
“How’s the new pub?” She had put down the letter she’d been examining, sliding the acid-free envelope into the file before she pulled out another. “B
en says Gavin’s happy as a clam in New York. He’s considering making the move permanent. Keeps making noises about the O’Briens, but nothing serious.”
“Gavin would gripe about Mother Teresa if he’d spent any time with her. The O’Briens aren’t causing him any trouble. And I don’t like the manager of Gavin’s pub. I miss the one in Houston.”
“That’s too bad.”
“We should go back for a visit.”
“To the pub?”
He laughed a little. “To Houston. We could make a visit of it. See Gavin. Charlotte. Maybe Claire and Andor.”
“Uh-huh.”
He sat down and leaned his head in his hand. “We could break into the Rothko Chapel. Finally steal the black canvases you like.”
“Yeah… sounds good,” she responded, clearly not paying attention. Beatrice was occupied with the letter she held.
It looked like part of the mission correspondence she’d been collecting.
“What is it?” he asked, giving up on discussing anything other than work.
“Remember the Hungarian you shoved in my direction?”
“The wine collector?”
“Winemaker,” she said, correcting him. “Rabidly private. Old. I think I may have a lead on that project.”
“I thought you’d given up on it.”
“No. Put it on the back burner for a bit, but he was getting rude.”
Giovanni’s head came up. “Explain rude.”
Beatrice smiled as he stood and walked to the table. “Nothing I can’t handle, handsome. I told him to back off, but then I ran across something when I was helping one of Katya’s archivists. There was a mention in a letter from Father Ignacio…”
She trailed off again, but Giovanni started paging through the box of letters, each one a carefully preserved missive from one of the Franciscan priests or secular clergy at California’s twenty-one original missions. Over the years, Beatrice had come to know many of the more prolific letter writers by name. Father Ignacio was a favorite.
“He mentions a young priest around San Jose who was an expert in winemaking and had begun sending out ‘un informe.’ I think I have some letters that priest exchanged with another in Rome. Odd, I thought at the time, because why Rome? Why not Spain?”
The Stars Afire Page 2