A Hidden Fire

by Elizabeth Hunter

  Isadora’s eyes searched the room, finally settling on Giovanni. She nodded, closed her eyes, and sighed.

  “This has something to do with Stephen, doesn’t it?”

  Beatrice had never been more furious in her life.

  “I cannot believe you didn’t tell me!”

  “He told me not to.”

  “You didn’t think I had a right to know? Do you have any idea how messed up I was after all that shit he did to my brain?”

  She paced the room, tugging at her hair as Isadora tried to calm her down.

  “I didn’t know about all that. Stephen told me he had tried to talk to you, and you couldn’t handle it. He said you wouldn’t remember. He told me not to tell you when you were older because we wouldn’t see him again.”

  “But the depression—”

  “Your grandfather and I never made the connection, Beatrice. Why would we? I was the only one who knew what was going on with your father, and you didn’t tell me any of this about seeing him, or the dreams. You confided in your grandfather. This is the first I’ve heard of you having any memories of him after his change. I thought I was the only one who knew.”

  “Grandpa said it would just upset you if I told you I’d seen him.”

  Isadora snorted and looked around the empty room. “You damn De Novos—so arrogant! You, your father, your grandfather…you all thought I was so fragile. Your father’s the only one who figured it out, and he’s dead.”

  “But he’s not dead!”

  “Yes, Beatrice, he is. He told me we would never see him again. He told me,” her voice cracked, “he told me it was too dangerous. That he had to run away.” Isadora shook her head. “I was so furious. I told him we could handle it as a family, but he just ran. He was determined to disappear.”

  She wiped angry tears from her eyes, and Beatrice stopped pacing and went to sit in a chair by the small fireplace.

  “How did you not realize that Gio was a vampire when you met him?”

  Her grandmother frowned. “He’s much better at it than your father was. Other than the pale skin, Giovanni looks just like a normal human. You have no idea, B. Your father…” She paused and shook her head. “He was barely recognizable, even to me. He was gaunt and pale. His skin was cold to the touch. He looked nothing like a normal human. It’s no wonder you found his appearance so frightening as a child.”

  Beatrice came to sit next to her grandmother. “How are you feeling now? Are you still feeling dizzy?”

  Isadora smiled. “Fine. I’m going to be fine. I feel very lucky. When those men came to the door, I thought I was going to die. I saw their fangs and knew it had something to do with Stephen. What’s going on?”

  “The vampire that turned Dad, Lorenzo…” She paused, not wanting to tell her that Lorenzo was Giovanni’s son. “He’s after Gio, too. He’s after—”

  “He’s after you, isn’t he? Your father said he was looking for him ten years ago. If this Lorenzo still hasn’t found Stephen, he’ll want you. I’m only surprised he hasn’t come after you before. If he knows your father at all, he knows the man would do anything for you. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

  She nodded slowly, reminded again not to underestimate her delicate looking abuela.

  “Well, what are we going to do about it? Can we run? Would it even make a difference? How about killing him? How hard would that be?”

  “You De Novo women,” Giovanni muttered as he entered the room with Caspar. “Terribly vicious, aren’t you? Never underestimate the fury of an angry mother, Caspar. They’re the most vicious creatures in the world.”

  Caspar went to take Isadora’s hand. “How are you feeling, darling? You had me terribly frightened.”

  “I’ll be fine. I am fine. I’m mostly concerned about Beatrice.”

  “We’ll stay here for a few days to make sure you’re recovered, then I’m taking you out of the city,” he said.

  “But B—”

  “I’ll be taking care of Beatrice,” Giovanni said from the corner of the room.

  Isadora’s angry green eyes flared. “I’m supposed to trust you with my granddaughter, Giovanni Vecchio? How do I know you can keep her safe?”

  “You don’t, but I’m the best option you have.”

  “Isadora,” Caspar murmured, “Giovanni is a good man.”

  “If it was your child, would you trust him?”

  “My father did.”

  Isadora frowned and looked from Caspar to Giovanni, then finally at Beatrice.

  “Mariposa, do you want to stay with this vampire? You’re a grown woman, it’s up to you.”

  Beatrice looked at Giovanni, then back to her grandmother as she sighed. “I think Gio’s right, Grandma. I don’t really like being bait, but I think he’s probably my best bet at this point.”

  Isadora finally nodded, her eyes swinging back to Giovanni as he stood silently by the door. “Fine. Caspar, I’ll go with you, but I want to be kept informed. I’m tired of people keeping me in the dark and thinking I can’t handle things, do you understand?”

  Giovanni nodded and withdrew from the room, leaving Isadora to the care of Beatrice and Caspar. Beatrice had no idea when Lucas had left, but she’d heard him say he would be back the next night to check on her grandmother’s recovery.

  “B?”

  She looked up to see Caspar watching her.

  “Hmm?”

  “Why don’t I show you to your room? I’ll find some spare clothes for you to sleep in until we can go to your house tomorrow and get some things for you both. I’ve already adjusted your security, but it’s better that we don’t go during the dark.”

  “Okay.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “Hey Caspar?”

  “Yes?”

  “What happened? I mean, where were the guys who’ve been watching the house when they attacked Grandma?”

  His expression was grim. “They were the appetizers.”

  Three days later, Giovanni and Beatrice stood in the courtyard, waving to Caspar and Isadora as they drove away an hour before dawn. They were headed to a very private home in the hill country somewhere around Kerrville, Texas. A home, Giovanni had explained, that had never carried his name and would be almost impossible to find for anyone other than Caspar or himself.

  She waved with a small smile, ignoring the twisted feeling in her stomach, and the little voice that warned this could be the last time she ever saw her grandmother. She walked back to the empty house, feeling Giovanni’s eyes burn her back as she left.

  As much as she was grateful that Caspar and Isadora would be safer out of Houston, Beatrice also dreaded the thought of living alone in a house with Giovanni, and no friendly buffer of Carwyn or Caspar to distract her. They had been avoiding each other since the night of her grandmother’s attack, but she felt like he watched her almost constantly; she was more than aware of the building tension, and all that remained unspoken between them.

  “Beatrice,” she heard him call as she walked through the kitchen. “Your escort will be here at eight. You will have plenty of time to get to your first class.”

  She kept walking toward the living room. “Fine. I’m going to sleep for a few more hours.”

  “I’ll see you tonight.”

  She walked up the stairs, never turning to look behind her as she went to her borrowed room on the second floor. “Yep, see you tonight.”

  “Beatrice.”

  She finally paused and turned around. In a flash, he was standing on the step below her, so they were almost eye to eye. His hand lifted to stroke her cheek and the familiar tremor ran through her as she stared into his green eyes. “Caspar will make sure she’s safe. Nothing is going to happen to your grandmother. He’s more dangerous than he looks.”

  She wanted to lean against him. She wanted to curl into his strong chest and feel his arms holding her as he chased away the chill of fear that had become her constant companion. She wanted to believe that nothing bad or scary was going to
happen again. That her grandmother and Caspar were just going away for a vacation. That the world as she knew it had not ended the minute a beautiful blond vampire walked into the library. That it hadn’t ended years ago when her father escaped a madman.

  Most of all, she wanted to believe that Giovanni would keep her safe.

  “Nothing bad is going to happen to her?” she whispered. “Promise?”

  She saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Houston, Texas

  May 2004

  “Only one more final left, right?” Charlotte grinned when Beatrice entered the reading room. “And then that’s it for the graduate!”

  Beatrice shrugged and set down her bag by the reference desk. “Until next semester. Then I can freak out about finals at the graduate level. Yay.”

  Charlotte chuckled and shook her head. “What is with you lately? Are you getting nervous about moving? I think I’m more excited than you are.” The librarian continued sorting through the photographs on the counter.

  “I guess I’m just missing my grandma.” That much was true. Beatrice was starting to feel like graduate school in California, even if there was no fear of strange vampires, wasn’t the best idea, after all. She had never imagined she could miss Isadora so much, though she was happy her grandmother seemed content and safe.

  “How is she feeling? Have you talked to her lately?”

  “Yeah, I just talked to her last night. She’s feeling great.”

  “You know, I had no idea she had breathing problems like that.”

  Beatrice nodded. “It’s…fairly recent. Her doctor suggested a few months in the desert. It’s just lucky she has that cousin in New Mexico.”

  In reality, it was her grandfather who had cousins in New Mexico, but since Beatrice had to figure out some reason to explain her grandmother’s disappearance, dry air seemed like a good one.

  That excuse, along with a phone call from her grandmother, had been enough to assuage Isadora’s friends from storming over to her currently empty house to investigate when she didn’t show up for Tuesday dinner.

  “It’s such a shame she won’t be here to see you graduate, you know? But, you always hear how bad the air quality is in Houston, especially in the summer, so I guess her doctor made the right call.”

  “It’s not a big deal. The college graduations are a madhouse. She’s not missing anything. I’ll make sure she flies out for my master’s, you know? The air in California has got to be better than here.”

  Charlotte giggled and winked at Beatrice. “And the scenery. You better date a surfer, at least once. I want pictures.”

  Soon the two women were laughing at all of Beatrice’s imaginary romantic prospects in sunny Southern California. It felt good to joke around with Charlotte and listen to her tease about boys and suntans and rollerblading. It felt good to feel just a little bit normal after the overwhelming tension of the previous month.

  Beatrice had done little beside school work, classes, and finals since moving to Giovanni’s. The house was enormous and they both took care of their own cleaning and cooking, so other than the occasional meeting in the kitchen or the laundry room, she didn’t even see him. She spent more time with Carl, her friendly neighborhood security guard, who always had a friendly smile and plenty of firepower.

  Other than the research time they continued in the library, Beatrice didn’t see her new roommate all that much, but she was definitely learning more about his habits by proximity.

  Giovanni swam almost every night. She had woken once at three in the morning to hear a splash in the pool outside her window. She peeked outside and watched him swim laps for over an hour without taking a breath. She didn’t stare the whole time, but his focus was impressive…as was his naked body. He really was the most perfect man she had ever seen. He looked like a Greek sculpture molded from a single block of pale marble.

  He played several different instruments, but the piano and the cello seemed to be his favorites, and he often played through the night. It was always something quiet that soothed her and seemed to help her sleep through the nightmares that had begun to plague her sleep.

  Other than whiskey, he did eat a little, rich foods like olives and avocados and cheese; ironically, she had never seen him eat any kind of meat. He liked sweet smells and spent a lot of time in the garden. He was fond of the gazebo where honeysuckle grew up and over, almost enclosing the small structure in vines. She had found him there a number of times, reading a book in the dark.

  He also loved water, even the sound of it seemed to relax him, and if he was irritated or stressed, Giovanni would immediately go and jump in the pool. She remembered the way that the humid air Lorenzo manipulated had doused the flames that ran along his skin when he was angry, and she wondered if he was drawn to water for the same reason.

  She was interrupted from her tangled thoughts by Dr. Christiansen’s voice as he entered the reading room.

  “Hello, ladies, I have another Pico letter.”

  “What? Really?” Beatrice was shocked. She had imagined, for some reason, that since Lorenzo was in town—even though he seemed to be laying low after their first meeting and her grandmother’s attack—they wouldn’t see any more of the fascinating letters. She had jotted down several other names in her notebook after filtering through what she remembered Lorenzo saying at the library.

  Nic. Niccolo. He had called Giovanni “Niccolo’s perfect boy” when he was taunting him. She needed to look at one of the early letters again. She was almost sure that one of them mentioned a Niccolo, but she couldn’t remember which or what the context was.

  “Yes, one more from the University of Ferrara. Apparently this one took a bit longer than the others for some reason. It’s been delayed.”

  “Oh, so we were supposed to get it last month or something?”

  Dr. Christiansen smiled. “No need to worry, B. We have it now, and there’s plenty of time for you to look at it before you leave us next month. Would you like to make a few copies of the notes so we could put them out for the descending hordes?”

  “Sure, I’d be happy to.”

  She walked over and grabbed the notes while the Dr. Christiansen and Charlotte chatted about the seventh letter. Beatrice walked down the hall to the copy and imaging room and quickly found a chair so she could sit down and read. Flipping through the notes to the translation, she immediately got out her notebook and started jotting down details.

  Skimming over the mentions of Savaranola’s return to Florence and other news of his friends, her eyes stopped with she heard mention of the mysterious woman named G.

  I received a letter from G. She seems greatly dismayed that you have cut off correspondence and mentioned your request to send the copies of your sonnets. I beg of you, Giovanni, whatever your intentions are toward the lady, do not take steps to destroy your work.

  He was going to destroy his poems? For some reason, even the thought of it made her want to cry. Just then, she caught a name that sparked her memory.

  I spoke with Signore Andros when he returned from his visit with you in Fiesole.

  Signore Andros ...she searched her memory and flipped through her notes until she spotted it. Signore Niccolo Andros, who had the fascinating library in Perugia where Giovanni had recovered with the young boy after his time in jail.

  Could that be the connection to Giovanni’s books? Were they really the property of this Niccolo Andros? Did Giovanni steal them? And what did all this have to do with her father? She flipped through her notes again to see what kind of books Signore Andros had and frowned. Why would her father be researching books about Eastern mysticism?

  Beatrice took notes on the seventh letter, convinced that there was some piece of the puzzle that was just out of her grasp. She needed to study them together, but she could not waste any more time at work. She quickly made the copies, and walked back out to the reading room to se
e Dr. Scalia already poring over the newest letter with Dr. Christiansen.

  “—and the progression of Savaranola’s extreme ideas coinciding with Pico’s apparent depression seems to be one of the most fascinating aspects. Along with the mention of his poetry. I believe the sonnets mentioned would be those Pico wrote to the wife of one of the Medici cousins. It was quite a scandal at the time, and caused his first imprisonment, but these letters certainly indicated they continued their relationship, at least through correspondence.”

  “What’s so special about the sonnets?” she heard Charlotte ask.

  “We knew Pico had written poetry, but we thought it was destroyed by Savaranola in the bonfires, or that Pico had destroyed it of his own volition as an act of penance. This seems to indicate that Poliziano—who was a poet himself—was trying to get them for safekeeping. It’s all quite fascinating.”

  “What about the rest of Pico’s library?”

  All eyes swung to Beatrice as she entered the room and spoke.

  Dr. Scalia frowned. “What library?”

  “Well, the letters mention books and stuff, right? Didn’t he have all sorts of mystical texts, too? Along with his own papers? All these nobles and philosophers had personal libraries, right? What happened to Pico’s? Maybe the sonnets are there.”

  Dr. Scalia nodded. “Yes, from all reports, Giovanni Pico did have a very extensive library, though we don’t know what happened to it. He had no heirs, you see. And when he died—”

  “When did he die? How?”

  The professor looked slightly shocked at her interruption, but only smiled a little and shook his head.

  “We don’t know exactly. We know Giovanni Pico died in Ferrara in 1494, but there is no record of him leaving an extensive library at his home, and he died under rather mysterious circumstances. As he had no heirs, it’s probable that his library was taken by his family, the Mirandolas. It would have been theirs unless Pico had made other endowments.”