“Mortal,” he threw back, and Carwyn chuckled. “I’m not joking about this, Beatrice. Our world isn’t ruled by laws, or even convention. The strongest, smartest, and wealthiest have the most power. And power is the only law. This vampire has brains, strength, and wealth in abundance. I manage to live the way I do because I stay off the radar—”
“That, and he likes his enemies toasted extra crispy!” Carwyn spouted.
“—but this one,” he glared at the priest, “has sought me out. I don’t know for certain why now, but,” he paused, letting his eyes rake over her, “I have my suspicions.”
He fell silent and continued examining the documents, taking special note of the left side of the parchment where it appeared a cut had been carefully made. Beatrice watched him, going over all the cryptic pieces of information she had gleaned in the weeks since she had learned the truth about Giovanni and her father.
“Is it because of me? Because we met? What does this have to do with my father?”
Giovanni halted his perusal to stare at her, and the flicker she saw for a brief moment spurred her on.
“I mean…you’ve been looking for these books. My dad was looking for something in Italy.” Suddenly, all the pieces fell together in her mind. “It was this, wasn’t it? What my dad was looking for? It was your books. Your letters. Or something related to it, right? That’s why you agreed to help me find my father.” She stepped closer to him, challenging the powerful immortal who watched her silently. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
She saw Carwyn and Giovanni exchange loaded looks.
“Told you,” Carwyn muttered.
Giovanni said something to him in Latin that sounded like a curse, but then he turned back to Beatrice. She could see the war in his eyes, but he finally gave a slight nod. “Yes, you’re partially correct.”
She was speechless for a moment, amazed he had actually told her anything. “So…okay, this guy that stole your books or letters or whatever he has—what does he want now?”
She saw Carwyn and Giovanni exchange another glance.
“We think he might be looking for your father,” Carwyn said quietly. “We’re not sure why, but that’s probably why he sent the letters here.”
“Okay, so my dad knows something…all right. And this guy’s dangerous, right? Does he make fire like Gio?”
Carwyn said, “No, he—”
“You don’t need to know—”
She glared at Giovanni. “I want to know who he is!”
“How very unfortunate for you.” He continued to examine the letters, looking over the second one and handling it as if it was made of finely spun glass.
“You arrogant ass—”
“Lorenzo,” he said. “He goes by Lorenzo now.”
Beatrice’s mouth fell open, “He’s not—”
“No,” Carwyn said. “No, not the one you’re thinking of.”
Giovanni brought the letters up to his face to finally examine them more closely. “He likes to give people the impression that he’s one of the Medici’s bastards,” he murmured as he searched the old parchment. “He’s not, but some think he is, and it adds to the mystique, I suppose. He likes notoriety.” He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, and Beatrice could see them dart behind his closed lids as if he was searching his memory for some piece that had escaped.
“You see, B,” Carwyn spoke in an even tone, “some in our world choose to seek power. Power over land, humans, riches. And he wants something from Giovanni, otherwise, he wouldn’t be doing this. There is something he thinks he can gain.”
“Or someone,” Giovanni mused quietly, and the already quiet room fell completely silent.
“Someone?” Beatrice finally asked, her eyes nervous and looking toward the door as if a threat could walk through at any time. “Not—not me, right?”
Neither of them spoke, only looked at her with those infuriatingly blank expressions. Even Carwyn was wearing one, and it made her want to scream.
“Not me! I don’t know anything. I wouldn’t know anything about anything if Giovanni hadn’t clued me in. I mean—” she suddenly turned to Giovanni. “Why did you tell me this shit?” she practically yelled, her fear palpable.
“You asked, and you figured most of it out on your own,” Carwyn said softly. “Could we have kept it from you? Even if we tried? Would you rather have us make you forget? It wouldn’t matter now.”
Beatrice watched Giovanni stand and walk toward her; it was almost as if each step in her direction forced her farther and farther away from the safe, unremarkable life she had known. She had the simultaneous urge to run away from the approaching menace and run toward him and hold on for dear life. The problem, she realized, was that she had no idea whether he would catch her either way.
“I don’t know anything,” she said hoarsely, “He can’t want me. I don’t—why does he want me?”
For a fleeting moment, she saw pity touch his eyes. “Because your father does.”
Chapter Eleven
Houston, Texas
January 2003
He looked over the translation of the letter, reading words his eyes hadn’t touched for five hundred years. Even years later, Poliziano’s warm humor shone through the pages. He frowned when he found the paragraph he had been looking for.
These texts you speak of promise much hermetic knowledge, if they are what you believe them to be. In the celebration of our classical fathers, we too often neglect the older ideas of the East. I am glad that such rare treasures have found their way to your discerning hands, and I have no doubt you will find much wisdom from their examination.
“Yes!”
Giovanni’s head shot up when he heard her. Beatrice’s triumphant shout echoed across his home library and he watched as she jumped from her desk and began to do some sort of victory dance across the room.
“Anything you want to tell me?” he asked dryly.
“Only that I am,” she said with a huge smile, “the most awesome and amazing assistant in the entire world.” She continued to dance, wiggling in no particular rhythm toward the center of the room as he looked on in amusement. He tried to keep a straight face but was soon chuckling and shaking his head.
“Not that I’m doubting your…awesomeness, but is there a particular reason it should be celebrated at the moment?” he asked with a reluctant smile.
She continued to dance, and he had an increasingly difficult time not staring at her lithe form as it moved closer to him. His eyes were drawn to her swaying hips and graceful waist, and he felt his blood begin to stir. She danced and hummed a wordless tune, a smile lighting her face and her dark eyes reflecting the gold lamp light as she leaned down toward him at the table.
“Guess who found the Lincoln speech?” she asked with a playful grin, her elbows leaning on the table and her hands cupping her chin.
He allowed a slow smile to spread across his face when he saw her delight. She had found it more quickly than he thought she would. In the midst of his current predicament, the successful completion of her task was a pleasant surprise.
“Well done, Beatrice,” he said quietly.
She narrowed her eyes at his decidedly muted response, but softened them after a moment and sat down across from him at the table. He could almost see the energy vibrating off her.
“It’s such a rush! Do you get this way after you find something?”
He nodded. “Though my dance skills obviously need work after seeing yours.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, and he had the almost irresistible urge to lean across the table and bite it. He shoved down the impulse and tried to focus on what she was saying.
“—surprised you haven’t asked me yet.”
“Hmm?”
She looked shocked. “Were you actually not listening? As in distracted? As in—”
“I was reading the letters, Beatrice. How did you find the speech? Please enlighten me, oh awesome assistant.”
She smiled and settled in h
er chair to relate her brilliance to him. As she recounted the steps she had taken to find, first, the auction house where it had been sold, and then the collector who had made the winning bid, he watched her, pleased to hear her methodical approach that so closely matched his own.
Despite her success, a small frown settled between her eyebrows.
“Gio?”
“What’s bothering you?”
“Why did he spend so much money? Our client? The final bid for the speech notes wasn’t nearly as much as what it must have cost him to find the documents. Why was he willing to spend so much?”
Giovanni shrugged a little and looked down at the pictures of the five hundred-year-old letter in front of him.
“What do you pay for sentiment, Beatrice? What do you pay for the memory of what an object or a book or a document evokes?”
She looked down at the pictures he held. “Is that why the letters are so important to you? Is that why you’ve looked for your books for so long?”
He paused for a moment, deliberating how much he would tell her. “The collection I seek was extensive and contained valuable texts, many of them original or unique. It has existed far longer than me—far longer. When I thought it was lost…many of the books and manuscripts contain valuable ancient knowledge, Beatrice. There is far more than my own sentiment involved.”
She looked at him skeptically.
“But,” he continued, “they hold some sentimental value as well.” He shuffled the papers in front of him. “That, of course, is secondary.”
He glanced at her, noting the thoughtful expression that had clouded her earlier glee.
“Grab your jacket,” he said as he stood and put the photographs and notes in his locked cabinet.
“What?”
“It’s your first big find. I am like your boss—”
“You are my boss, unless you’ve decided to stop paying me.”
He smirked. “Fine, then I’m taking you out for a drink. Something other than Coke.”
Giovanni saw a faint flush stain her cheeks. “Gio, you don’t have to—”
“Get your coat, Beatrice.”
She paused for a moment then stood and went to turn off the computers. She joined him at the door of the library and they walked downstairs together.
“Where’s Carwyn tonight?”
“Out hunting. It’s one of the reasons he likes visiting Texas. He’s very fond of deer.”
“He may have mentioned that once or twice. So, how does he…”
“Take down a deer?”
She frowned, but shrugged, obviously curious about his friend. Giovanni chuckled.
“I don’t think he’d mind me saying. He has a friend he hunts with, Carwyn is social like that, and…have you ever seen a group of wolves stalk an animal?”
“You mean he—”
“Mmmhmm. It is a group activity.”
“Have you ever gone with him?” She paused on the stairs, her eyes lit with interest.
He only smiled. “I’m not as fond of deer as he is.”
She nodded silently and began walking again. “So now that I’ve found the speech notes, what do you do? What’s the next step?”
They waved at Caspar, who was working on his laptop in the kitchen. Giovanni wondered whether he was reading the daily surveillance report on Beatrice and her grandmother he’d commissioned.
He had been having both of them watched since he realized the girl was Lorenzo’s target. She wasn’t the end game for his old enemy, but she was undoubtedly a step to get what he wanted.
Stephen De Novo, he decided, must have taken something quite valuable from the vampire.
“Gio? So what’s the next step? I mean, you can’t just go take the document.” A sudden thought must have occurred to her. “Wait—you could, couldn’t you? Shit, am I an accomplice now?” Her eyes were wide and she had come to a standstill in the small courtyard by the garage.
He chuckled and pulled her arm to get her moving again. “I’m not a thief, Beatrice. I would scarcely need to be, would I?” He cocked an eyebrow at her playfully.
She gasped. “Gio, you cannot use your mind voodoo to make people give you manuscripts!”
“Why not?” he asked innocently.
“Because it’s wrong! It’s completely unethical. Because—”
“I don’t use amnis to get documents, Beatrice.”
“Oh,” she said, slightly deflated. “Well…good.”
He couldn’t erase the smile on his face as he opened the door to the Mustang for her. Suddenly feeling playful, he leaned down as she got in the car and whispered in her ear, “Most of the time, anyway.”
He shut the door before she could start speaking again, still laughing as he walked around the car. She was glaring at him when he got in and started it.
“What?”
She scowled. “I don’t know whether to believe you or not.”
“That’s probably a wise choice.”
“You’re so reassuring.”
He smirked. “I’m not a thief. I’ll let the client know I’ve found what he’s looking for and ask him how much he is willing to offer. Then, I will approach the owner of the documents and negotiate a price.”
They drove through the dark streets toward a small pub tucked into a quiet corner of Rice Village.
“What if they don’t want to sell? And where are we going?”
“We’re going to a pub. And I rarely fail to procure an item.”
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye before she looked back at the road. “What if it’s not for sale?”
His lip curled almost instinctively. “Don’t be naive. For the right price, everything is for sale.”
The car was silent for a few minutes, and Giovanni almost wished that she would turn on the radio for him. He finally heard her take a deep breath.
“That’s kind of depressing,” she murmured.
He shrugged as he pulled into the small parking lot behind the building. “That’s human nature. Much changes in the world, but not that.”
“No?”
He parked the car and looked at her in the shadows of the street lights. “Five hundred years says no.”
Giovanni hated the sadness he saw in her eyes, but knew that life would teach her the same lesson, whether he placated her in that moment or not.
“So it is important to learn that which helps us to cope with the cruel vagaries of life and the persistent ebb and rise of the human situation.”
She raised a skeptical eyebrow as he reached across to unclip her seatbelt. He passed deliberately close to her and felt her warm breath catch. Leaning back, he smiled, just a little.
“Oh yeah?” she asked, clearing her throat. “What’s that?”
He smiled when he heard her heartbeat pick up.
“Whiskey.”
They walked into the dark pub, and Giovanni nodded at the pale man sitting in the corner of the room on a low couch. The vampire nodded back in the shadows and, to Giovanni’s chagrin, gestured toward the chairs across from him. He put a hand on the small of Beatrice’s back and led her toward the dark corner, though he stood casually instead of taking a seat.
“Giovanni,” the man said in greeting. “To what do I owe the pleasure tonight?”
Though the vampire spoke to Giovanni in English, Gavin Wallace’s strong brogue must have been difficult to understand, because he felt Beatrice lean forward slightly.
He could tell she was taking in every detail of the man’s appearance, from his sandy-brown hair and deceptively human brown eyes, to the stylishly rumpled jacket which complimented his easy good looks. Gavin must have been turned in his early thirties, but his wardrobe reflected his more youthful clientele. At least, Giovanni thought, the human clientele.
“Just out with a friend, Gavin. How are the college kids?” He hoped the slight pressure he put on Beatrice’s back would let her know to let him do the talking. As always, her perception paid off and she remained silent an
d watchful at his side.
“Very thirsty, thank you. You have a lovely companion tonight,” the blond vampire smiled, looking Beatrice over carefully. “Did you want a chaser? That redhead you seemed to like last month is in the back room, I believe.”
He shrugged. “Not necessary, but thank you.” Giovanni couldn’t help but notice the stiffness in Beatrice’s shoulders that accompanied Gavin’s frank perusal of the girl’s neck. He suddenly realized he had never been specific about how and where he fed with her, and he wondered what questions he would face once they were alone. He deliberately put an arm around her shoulders and drew her slightly closer, making sure the other vampire caught the possessive gleam in his eye.
“Ah, is that how it is? Well,” Gavin cocked an eyebrow at him and smirked, “I suppose I can still be surprised.”
“Gavin, did you want company tonight?” Giovanni asked out of politeness, hoping the vampire would answer in the negative.
“Oh, I don’t want to intrude on your evening with a friend,” he replied, “but don’t be a stranger. I think it would be beneficial for us to catch up soon.”
Nodding at the subtle message, Giovanni took Beatrice’s hand and led them to an empty couch near the fireplace. They both sat down and he leaned over to murmur in her ear.
“He’ll be able to hear everything we say in a normal voice, Beatrice. Just so you know.”
“Yeah,” she said softly. Her heart was now beating far more rapidly than he would have liked. “I kind of figured. Does he think we’re…”
“That’s the impression I want him to have. If he thinks I drink from you, he won’t touch you. Nor will anyone else in the bar out of courtesy.”
They both fell silent and he could almost see the rush of questions racing through her mind.
“A chaser, huh?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Not necessary, but a polite offer.”
She looked down at her lap and whispered. “So—what, he keeps humans around as refreshments? What kind of bar is this?”
“It’s a popular one for a certain crowd, and one where people do not ask questions. One where they keep certain things to themselves.”
A Hidden Fire Page 14