“And that,” he commented as if he was making a remark about the weather, “is why I prefer the stairs.”
She snorted a little and smiled at him, still speechless from his clearly inhuman show of strength. He turned back to the doors, and slid them closed with the palms of his hands before he turned back to her.
“Care to join me?” A smile twitched the corner of his mouth.
She nodded. “Yeah, stairs sound good.”
He opened to the door to the stairwell and held up a hand as he appeared to listen for a moment. Seemingly satisfied, he motioned her toward the open door.
Her mind started to compile a list of reasons she should not enter an empty stairwell with a vampire, but she shoved them aside, reminding herself he’d just rescued her from an even more confined space.
“I’m doing pretty well with the not-freaking-out-thing, right?”
“Very well.” He nodded. “Quite impressive.”
They walked in silence the rest of the way, both of them sneaking measuring glances at each other as they descended. When they reached the first floor, he held the door open for her again. She hesitated, knowing somehow when she walked through the doors, she would be different—fundamentally changed by the knowledge she now possessed.
She took a deep breath and walked through the door. Giovanni put a hand on the small of her back in a gesture she normally would have found too personal but, considering the circumstances, she didn’t mind. They walked quickly out the front doors and into the dark night together.
“I’ll drive you home,” he said.
“That’s really not necessary.”
He rolled his eyes. “Beatrice, I’ve just told you that mythological creatures exist, and that your father—who you thought was killed—is probably one of them. Please, allow me to drive you home so I don’t have to worry about you crashing your car into a guardrail.”
She paused, but couldn’t think of a comeback.
“Good point.”
“Thank you.”
“You’d worry?”
His eyes darted to the side, but he continued walking. “I’ll have Caspar pick you up in the morning in time for your first class. I promise you won’t be late.”
She realized she would rather have time to think on the drive home anyway. Plus, she decided she might have one or two questions for Batman’s butler.
“Fine, you can drive me home.”
“That’s my car over there.” Giovanni nodded toward the grey Mustang near the rear of the parking lot.
“Nice.”
A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “I like it.”
“I do, too.” Her eyes raked over the sleek lines of the vintage car. “How can you drive this if you can’t even ride in an elevator?”
“Good question.” He shrugged. “Older cars don’t seem to be bothered by me, though I always wear gloves when I drive. New cars, however…” He shook his head. “Far too many electronics. I can hardly ride in one without breaking it. Caspar makes me sit in the back seat of his car now.”
“That’s got to be really inconvenient.”
“Let’s just say, sometimes, I really miss horses.”
Beatrice smirked as she sat back in the burnished leather seat of the Mustang, and she examined his face in the sporadic light of the street lamps as he started the car and backed out. His car smelled like leather and smoke, and she realized the odd scent she often caught from him was the same as the air after an electrical storm, which suddenly made much more sense.
“Gio?” she asked after they had merged on the highway.
“Hmm?” He had returned to his more taciturn demeanor since entering the car.
“Do all vampires do the fire thing?”
He glanced at her before turning his face back to the road. “No, we all have some sort of affinity for one of the elements, though. No one seems to know why.”
“Elements? Not like chemistry, though, right?”
He shook his head. “The classical elements: fire, earth, wind, and water.”
“And you can make fire?”
“Not precisely. I can manipulate fire. I use my amnis to make a spark from static electricity, and then I can make that spark grow into whatever shape or type of fire I want.”
She responded dryly. “So you can make fire.”
He shrugged. “Basically, yes.”
“That seems kind of dangerous.”
He nodded as he took the exit off the freeway headed to her grandmother’s small house. “It is. It’s quite hard to control. Not many fire immortals grow to be as old as me.”
“Why not?”
He sighed as if explaining something to a small child. “Well, when you are young and clumsy, it’s rather easy to set yourself on fire.”
A quick laugh escaped her, and she slapped a hand over her mouth before she looked at him, embarrassed by her amusement. Giovanni did not look amused.
She cleared her throat. “Sorry. It’s not funny. I mean, it kind of is, but not really.”
“It’s really not.”
“Of course not,” she replied seriously.
“Fire is one of the few ways we can die.”
“Sorry.”
They drove silently for a few more minutes.
“So I guess that would make you kind of a bad-ass.”
He smirked a little and nodded. “Yes, that would be another reason not many of us grow as old as me. We tend to be targeted by those who feel threatened.”
“Have you been targeted?”
He looked at her as the car was stopped at a red light. “Not in a long time.”
She stared at him for a few more minutes before she faced forward again.
“Good.”
They continued driving down Greenbriar Street, and she realized she hadn’t given him a single direction.
“Gio?”
“Yes?”
“You know exactly where my grandmother lives, don’t you?”
He hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”
She chewed on her lip a little, trying to calmly absorb this new knowledge.
“You know when my birthday is, too, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
They continued down the dark streets.
“Childhood pet?”
He cleared his throat in what she guessed was a purely habitual gesture.
“I’ve never understood the appeal of Chihuahuas, to be honest.”
She nodded, trying to brush aside the flutter of panic that started to well up. “Well, it was a long-haired one. They’re kind of cute. And Frito was really more my grandma’s dog anyway.”
The awkward silence stretched on as she continued to wonder just how extensively he had pried into her background. She felt like, if she asked, he might just know the contents of her refrigerator.
“I have a cat,” he blurted out. “A chartreux. They chirp instead of meow. His name is Doyle.”
“Oh.” She was strangely relieved by his odd, personal confession. “I don’t know anything about cats. Is that a breed?”
“Yes, technically the cat is Caspar’s, but Doyle likes me best,” he said this proudly, as if it was a personal distinction.
“Well…cool.”
They were turning onto her grandmother’s street, and she began to wonder how this strange, but illuminating, night would end.
“Gio?”
“Yes?” He pulled up in front of the house, and waited with the engine idling.
“We’re still kind of friends, right?”
She saw the corner of his mouth turn up in a smile. “I’d like to think so. I hope so.”
“You’re not going to break into my room and mess with my memories tonight, are you?”
He paused before answering softly, “No, Beatrice. I won’t do that.”
She hesitated. “Will you ever?”
He wore an unreadable expression when he answered.
“I don’t know.”
She felt a catch
in her throat. “I don’t understand this, not really. Part of me is still wondering whether I’m going to wake up and realize it was all a weird nightmare.”
He frowned for a moment before leaning toward her, and she felt the strange buzz of energy again. He lifted a hand and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
“We’ll talk tomorrow night.”
Beatrice felt a sudden, overwhelming swell of panic, but she nodded before she slipped from the car. As she stood on the path, the dark night seemed to close around her and formerly familiar shadows grew ominous. She almost ran toward the front door, locking it behind her as she heard the Mustang pull away.
Chapter Six
Houston, Texas
November 2003
Giovanni straightened when he heard the door to the kitchen open. He had stayed up to wait for Caspar’s return to the house after he delivered Beatrice to her first class of the morning.
He heard the older man moving through the house and lingering in the kitchen.
“Caspar!” he called from the shelter of the dim living room.
“Oh,” the older man called as he walked into the room. “I didn’t realize you would still be awake, I—”
“I’m exhausted. How was it?”
Caspar shrugged. “Fine, very little traffic this morning. We made it to the university with plenty of time before her first class. Parking on that campus is absolutely hideous first thing in the morning.”
“So?”
“She’s lovely, by the way. Surveillance photos never really do a woman justice. She has the most lovely skin, and that hair—”
“Caspar, you know what I’m asking, please don’t make me kill you.”
A frown settled onto Caspar’s face and he cleared his throat.
“She was a bit…discomfited. I suppose it’s understandable. She asked that I give you a message.”
Giovanni scowled. He’d thought she had taken the news better than most.
“What was the message?”
“‘Don’t call me, I’ll call you.’”
Giovanni looked down, his book suddenly forgotten. He closed it and set it carefully on the low coffee table before he stood.
“Thank you for driving her to campus. I’m retiring for the day.”
He was halfway up the stairs when he heard his friend mutter quietly, “Damn.”
He didn’t call her, but after two weeks and a curt phone call from Tenzin in China, Giovanni did go back to the reading room at the library to continue his transcription of the Tibetan book.
His eyes immediately sought her out when he entered the small, windowless room. She glanced up from the computer, paused, but then continued typing as he spread out his work materials at the table nearest her desk. He ignored her racing heart and neither one of them spoke. He saw her fill out the call slip herself and dart back to the stacks to grab the manuscript.
He jotted a quick note that he put on her desk before he sat down. He was careful not to examine her too closely when she returned, but smiled a little when he noticed she was wearing her combat boots with her slim black skirt.
“Thank you, Beatrice,” he murmured as she set down the grey box. She paused for a moment, as if she had something to say, but then he heard a small sigh.
“You’re welcome, Dr. Vecchio. Please let me know if there are any other library materials you need.”
He gritted his teeth when he heard her address him formally, but remained silent and began his careful work. He heard Beatrice sit down at her desk again and pick up the small note he had left near the keyboard. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and saw her fold the note and slip it in her bag. He hid a small smile and went back to writing.
For the next two weeks, they continued their near silent interaction, each week she brought him the document he requested, paused as if she wanted to tell him something, and then returned to her desk without speaking. Each week he worked on transcribing the ancient characters, took careful stock of her appearance and left afterward with scarcely a word exchanged with the stubborn girl.
He was trying to be patient, but he’d heard nothing about Stephen De Novo from Livia’s people in Rome and was beginning to feel as if the first lead he’d had in five years was dangling just out of his grasp.
It was a Friday night, and Giovanni was preparing to go out for the evening when he heard the buzz from the phone in the kitchen, signaling a car was at the gate. He frowned and walked quickly down the stairs just in time to hear Caspar hit the intercom.
“Yes?”
“It’s Beatrice De Novo.”
Caspar immediately buzzed her in before turning to look at Giovanni.
“It’s Friday. Will you be all right?”
Giovanni shrugged and walked upstairs to hang up his jacket. He paused to check his appearance in the mirror, wishing he wasn’t wearing black as it accentuated his pale skin, but also feeling a perverse pleasure that he had no need to hide his true nature any longer.
He’d never doubted she was trustworthy. Maybe it was her careful handling of the rare texts that contained so much elusive knowledge, or maybe it was the guarded expression in the girl’s dark eyes, but he knew Beatrice was someone who could keep secrets, including her own.
He walked downstairs to hear Caspar opening the door for her.
“Miss De Novo, what a pleasure to see you again.”
“Thanks, Caspar. How’ve you been?”
“Very well, thank you. I was able to catch that showing of Night of the Living Dead you told me about. It was wonderful.”
“Cool! Glad you saw it. I never got out to the theater. No one does zombies like Romero.”
Giovanni turned the corner and paused in the doorway of the kitchen.
She was wearing black, of course, but nothing about it made her seem inhuman. Her smooth skin practically pulsed with life, and his eyes were drawn to the graceful column of her neck. Her long hair was pulled back, and his fingers itched to release it from the band at the nape of her neck.
She saw him, and for the first time since the night in the elevator, she called him by his name.
“Hi, Gio.”
“Hello.”
Caspar interjected, “Beatrice, can I get you something to drink?”
She turned to the older man. “A Coke? Do you have…Coke?”
Giovanni chuckled. “Yes, we have Coke. Caspar’s quite fond of it.”
She blushed. “Just that, thanks.”
“And I’ll fix myself a drink in the living room, Caspar.” He looked at Beatrice. “If you’ll join me?”
She nodded and allowed him to usher her into the brightly lit living room, filled with comfortable furniture and a large flat screen television which hung on the wall.
“Oh, wow. That T.V. is huge,” Beatrice mused as she walked over to observe the large screen. “The picture’s probably really good, right?”
He chuckled. “Yes, Caspar couldn’t very well watch bad special effects from old horror movies on a small, low-resolution screen, could he?”
Beatrice glanced over her shoulder with a smile on her face. “Of course not.”
He just smiled at her, unexpectedly pleased to see her wander around his house and examine his belongings. He was tempted to show her his library but decided to wait and see why she had come to his home before he offered.
Caspar came in a few moments later as he was pouring himself a whiskey at the sideboard.
“Please let me know if there is anything else you need, Beatrice.”
“Call me B, Caspar. Only Mr. Formal over there insists on calling me Beatrice.” Giovanni grinned with his back to the room, more determined than ever to call her by her given name at every opportunity.
“Of course, B.”
“Thanks.”
Giovanni finished pouring his drink and turned back to face the room. Beatrice was sitting in one of the leather armchairs—the one he usually used—so he sat to her left on the sofa.
“Will the
re be anything else?”
He shook his head, and Caspar left them alone. Giovanni sat silently, sipping the whiskey Carwyn had brought him from Ireland the year before and waiting to see why she had come. He felt a small surge of triumph when she unfolded the note he’d left for her weeks ago and set it on her lap.
“So the job you mentioned, what kind of job is it?” she asked.
“A research position. Primarily computer work.”
“Why me?” she asked, her eyes still carrying a shade of suspicion as she looked at him.
So I can find out more about your father and his habits. So I have something to offer him in exchange when I do find him—which I will. Also, you smell like honeysuckle.
He blinked at the last thought but shrugged nonchalantly. “You have more than the necessary skill set. Most of the information I need to search for is online now. Obviously, you can imagine why that is problematic. Caspar can help, but he’s neither as technologically savvy as you are, nor does he have your background in information sciences.” He paused before he continued. “Though he does make an excellent cocktail, and that shouldn’t be overlooked.”
“Thank you!” he heard his friend call from the kitchen. Giovanni and Beatrice exchanged a smile before she remembered she was being suspicious. She frowned a little and asked another question.
“I’m sure there are plenty of people you could hire. Why me?”
He stared at her challenging expression before he set his drink down and leaned back into the plush couch. “Well, you seemed to have handled the whole ‘blood sucking demon of the night’ thing fairly well, so I thought I’d take a stab at not having to meddle with the brains of every assistant I use.”
Her expression was carefully blank as she absorbed his words. He leaned forward and sipped his drink, noticing her watching him carefully.
“Go ahead,” he offered quietly.
“What?”
“I can see a million questions swirling around that brain of yours. Just ask them.”
She squirmed in her seat. “I didn’t want to be rude.”
He sat back again and stretched a long arm along the back of the sofa. Though he was usually a secretive creature, he found himself curious what she would ask.
A Hidden Fire Page 8