“Okay.” Tenzin tried to be patient. Book people…
When his hands were thoroughly dry, Ben reached inside the case and gently closed the devotional. It was the first time Tenzin had seen the cover, which was leather and inset with gems and carved ivory.
“It’s incredible.”
“It really, really is. Where did Blythe-Bickman get it?”
“Dr. Abel said was stolen from a church in the Tigray region in the 1920s, along with three other manuscripts by a different scribe. One of the Blythe-Bickmans bought it from the original thief, and it was absorbed into the family collection.”
“Why is it in San Francisco?”
“I believe they were looking at a possible sale at one point,” Tenzin said, watching Ben carefully wrap the manuscript in the paper sleeve he’d created. “That’s when Dr. Abel was consulted. He realized what it might be and called Lucien.”
“Fuckers.” Ben finished wrapping the book, then slipped it into a silk bag taken from Beatrice and Giovanni’s library. “I’m trying not to get nervous. If I mess this thing up—”
“Several different vampires and at least one human scholar will hunt you down,” Tenzin said. “Okay, you finish this and I’m going to go mess up Trevor’s sheets so he knows we had a fabulous night of passion.” She motioned to the rest of the glass cases. “Can you open the rest of these for me?”
Ben smiled. “Ready to go shopping, Tiny?”
She grinned. “You know me too well.”
10
They were sitting in Giovanni and Beatrice’s library, watching as Lucien Thrax examined the book his long-dead sister had decorated with her art.
His eyes were old and sad. “It’s almost as if I can see Desta working on it. The way she held her brush. The bottles of pigments and seeds and flowers she kept on her work table…” He reached for his mate’s hand and knit their fingers together.
Makeda leaned down to examine the book. “They still make paints the same way.” She glanced at Ben. “Did you know that? The churches in Ethiopia still make paints from the same flowers, minerals, and other ingredients that they’ve used for centuries. The colors hold up.”
Ben cleared his throat and tried to speak normally, which was difficult when you felt like you were in the presence of vampire royalty. “I didn’t know that. It’s incredibly well preserved. The illuminations look nearly brand-new. At least we can say that about the Blythe-Bickmans. They preserved the book well.”
Lucien muttered, “The Garima Gospels have been stored in a stone church for the same amount of time, and they look just as good.”
Makeda squeezed his shoulder. “At least it was kept intact. So many of our treasures have been lost. It’s inspiring to see this one has survived.”
Makeda Abel was a geneticist and Lucien’s mate. She had been born in Addis Ababa but raised in the Pacific Northwest. Lucien and Makeda had a wary but respectful relationship with Lucien’s mother, but they didn’t spend much time with her.
Ben had met Saba and was always struck by her “otherness.” She was the most beautiful—and most inhuman—vampire he’d ever come in contact with. And that was actually saying something considering the cast of characters who passed through his life.
Giovanni, always the official one, stepped closer. “So you are confirming that this book is the work of your sister Desta?”
“It is.” He gently touched the corner. “I thought everything had been destroyed after her death.” Lucien looked at Ben. “Do you know my sister’s story?”
Ben glanced at Tenzin, but he couldn’t read her expression. “I don’t. I only know that she was killed.”
“By a king of Aksum,” Lucien said. “The dynasty that ruled Ethiopia for centuries. This prince, he loved her and she loved him. But when he realized who she was—what she was—his love died. He captured her in her day sleep, though she trusted him, and threw her into the sun.” Lucien’s eyes looked like wells of sorrow. “She burned, betrayed by the prince she had trusted. And my mother… went a little crazy.”
Makeda put her hand on Lucien’s shoulder. “In Ethiopia, even now, there are stories about the warrior queen, Yodit, who destroyed the Aksumite dynasty and ruled over the country for decades. She razed palaces and burned churches—”
“I still believe that was Arosh,” Lucien said. “But it could have been either of them. My mother blamed the priests for Desta’s death. She imagined they were the ones who told the prince to kill her daughter because she was a demon.” Lucien shook his head. “We have no idea if that was true or not, of course. My mother has made her peace with Christianity now, but she still holds to no human faith.”
Makeda said, “After a period of time, Yodit abandoned the throne and the Zagwe dynasty rose, but not before Yodit had thoroughly plundered the Aksumite treasuries.”
Lucien added, “My mother gained an enormous amount of wealth in that period. There were many regional lords paying her tribute.”
Ben’s ears perked up when he heard the word tribute.
“So it’s possible that Saba did hold the bone scroll at some point?” He asked. “You agree with Tenzin?”
Lucien shook his head. “I don’t agree with Tenzin, because I don’t think it actually exists.”
“My father says it does,” Tenzin said. “My father does not lie.”
“Your father could be mistaken,” Lucien said.
“The Manichaean he met was clear. He’d been instructed to take the scroll to the emperors of Aksum to be kept safe and for translation. It was written in an unknown language, but even so, they knew it was an object of power. They wanted to store it with the Ark.”
“The Ark of the Covenant?” Ben asked.
Tenzin rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”
“So if it was taken to the emperor, it’s possible Arosh does have it,” Ben said. “Your father said he was in Aksum.”
“I don’t think the scroll stayed in Aksum,” Tenzin said. “And neither did the Ark. Many people don’t realize that the Ark moved around the country. It went south; it went north. It was hidden in many places before the church of Mary where it is today.”
Beatrice spoke up. “I always thought the Ark of the Covenant was in a government warehouse.” She looked at Giovanni. “Top. Men.”
Ben and Giovanni smiled. “You’re ridiculous,” Giovanni said. “But Tenzin is right. There are several different junctures where the bone scroll could have been separated from the Ark.”
“But you’re going to try to find it?” Makeda asked. “Where are you going to start?”
“Addis,” Ben said. “We have reason to believe that this manuscript isn’t the only artifact from Desta that we can use to placate your mother.” Ben exchanged a look with Tenzin, who gave him a small nod. “Tenzin and I have sent feelers out with several dealers and traders we work with. One came back with an intriguing prospect.”
“Which is?”
“We think that Desta’s crown has survived.”
Lucien’s eyebrows went up. “Really?”
“We’re not positive, but if we could get it, do you think that Saba might be willing to let the bone scroll leave her territory without causing a major international vampire incident?”
Lucien looked at Tenzin, who had wiped her expression clean.
What is going on with you?
There was something between Lucien and Tenzin. Ben could see it. Something they weren’t telling the rest of the group. “Tenzin?”
She turned to him. “Yes?”
Ben hardened his voice. “What is going on?”
“If the scroll exists, it’s not Saba who is going to have a problem with your taking it,” Lucien said. “It’s Arosh. Both of them believe in the blood of Mithra theory, and Arosh thinks Mithra is his sire.”
It was enough to distract Ben. “What’s that?”
“Arosh,” Lucien said again. “He never knew who his sire was, but since his children are sired to wind, he believes his sire must be Mi
thra.” Lucien shrugged. “It’s not preposterous. How many ancient wind vampires were roaming around Central Asia when Arosh was turned? Probably not that many.”
Tenzin muttered, “Maybe more than you think.”
“Either way,” Lucien said, “it’s Arosh who will be the problem, not Saba. This manuscript alone will be enough for her. Desta’s crown? As the Americans say, it would be icing on the cake.”
Lucien and Makeda had returned to their lodging for the day while Giovanni, Beatrice, and Ben cleaned up in the library. Tenzin sipped a glass of blood-wine and watched them, thinking about what Lucien had whispered to her before he left.
“You must tell him. You must tell them all. Otherwise, you’re sending them into what could be a fight with a blindfold over their eyes.”
It was true, and Tenzin felt the weight of knowledge like a rock in her stomach. She looked at Ben, then at Beatrice. They would be angry. To what extent, she didn’t know.
But she knew Lucien was right.
“Benjamin.” She didn’t have to call his name loudly to get his attention.
“What is it?” He walked over, and she saw the knowledge of secrets in his eyes. “Are you finally going to let me in on what you and Lucien weren’t telling the rest of us?”
She looked at Giovanni and Beatrice, who were watching them. Then she turned back to Ben. “This has to do with the night you died. Do you want to talk here?”
Giovanni and Beatrice were at Ben’s side in a blink.
“This has to do with Johari,” Giovanni said. “Saba’s daughter who—”
“She’s one of Saba’s army,” Tenzin said. “She’s not a true daughter.”
Saba had an army of “children” now—those she had healed from Elixir poisoning—who were grateful for her healing and ready to do her bidding, but none of them had Saba’s true amnis as Lucien did. They held mere shadows of her power, but she had their unwavering loyalty.
“Johari stabbed me,” Ben said coldly. “She wanted Zhang’s sword for herself.”
It was as if she was living the night again, seeing Ben’s blood seep from a sword through his spine. His face, pale as death…
Pale as the vampire he had become.
I didn’t want to die yet.
He had been so angry with her; he would be angry again. But Lucien was right; Ben needed to know.
“After I took you to Zhang…” Tenzin forced the words out. “After he took you back to Penglai, I hunted Johari down within a few nights,” Tenzin’s mind drifted back to a storm over the Philippine Islands and a boat bobbing in the churning sea. “There were others on the boat, earth vampires. They tried to kill me, but they died quickly. Then I found Johari.” She looked up. “I told you I didn’t kill her.”
“You said I asked you not to,” Ben said. “When I was dying.”
“But you didn’t die,” Tenzin said. “And when I found that vampire, she said that wasn’t her intention.”
Ben crossed his arms over his chest, his face set in stone. “I’m sure I was only collateral—”
“She was following orders,” Tenzin said. “Orders from her sire. From Saba. She told Johari to wound you enough that you would have to turn.”
Beatrice’s hand came to Ben’s shoulder. “What?” An expression of betrayal wrecked Beatrice’s face. “But Saba healed Giovanni.”
“She’s not good, Beatrice.” Tenzin shook her head. “She never has been. Saba’s daughter was sent to steal the sword but also to make sure that Ben became a vampire,” Tenzin said. “She even told Johari that I had to be the one to make the request.”
Ben’s fangs grew long. “Did you—?”
“Never. I would never ask Saba for anything, and especially not for that.” Tenzin felt her lip curl up at the same time the spear of pain pierced her heart. It wasn’t Ben’s fault that he doubted her. The night sky knew she’d gone behind his back enough times to make him doubt. “Do you believe me?”
Ben hesitated, but Giovanni spoke. “Of course we believe you, Tenzin. You and Saba have never been friends. That story sounds like it was dreamed up to make a reluctant soldier think she was doing the right thing.”
Beatrice still looked stunned. “But Saba—”
“Saba does not see right or wrong as we do.” Giovanni sounded tired. “She has little value for personal autonomy or individual rights. To her, those are all very modern concepts.”
Ben’s voice was bitter. “So making sure I was a vampire serves her purposes somehow.”
“Yes,” Tenzin said. “That is the only thing I can think of.”
Tenzin watched Ben. He still wasn’t looking at her. It didn’t matter what Giovanni or Beatrice thought. Not really. It only mattered—
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” His voice was dark and cold when he finally looked at her. “It’s been three years since I was turned and not once—”
“What would it have benefited you to have an enemy you could do nothing about?” Tenzin said. “You will never be stronger than her, my Benjamin. If you had flown off—”
“You think I’m that big an idiot?” he shouted. “I know she’s more powerful than me.” The air in the library whipped around, confused by his anger. “I deserved to know.”
“I’m telling you now,” Tenzin said. “Because it could be important now.”
“But not before,” he said. “I didn’t have a right to know before?”
She tasted her own blood in her mouth. “You had the right.”
“Then why the fuck did you wait until now?”
Ben turned and stormed out of the library, leaving Beatrice and Giovanni alone with Tenzin as she ached in the wake of his fury.
“I knew it would hurt,” Tenzin said softly. “And he was already hurting so much.” Her eyes rose to Beatrice. “I would do anything to protect him. Anything.”
Beatrice looked away, and Tenzin saw her blinking her eyes hard.
“When you love someone,” Giovanni said, “it’s impossible to shield them from everything, Tenzin. And sometimes shielding them only makes the hurt worse.”
Tenzin looked at the door where he’d stormed out and wondered how dusty her warehouse in Pasadena had become. Ben needed space, and he wouldn’t want to see her. She’d retreat there for the night.
She reached for the shoes she’d dropped under the table, then stood. “You know, I blame you for all this, Giovanni Vecchio. I was happy only caring about three people in the world. Then you had to go and make a family.” Tenzin’s voice was bitter to her own ears. “It’s your fault.”
“I know.”
“But you’re not sorry, are you?”
His eyes were a little sad, but he smiled. “Not even a little bit.”
She walked out of the library, out the front door, and took off into the night.
11
Beatrice found him in his old room, staring at the pictures he’d tucked into the mirror above the dressing table. They were mostly from high school and college. Snapshots of him and Chloe at the prom. Fabia kissing his cheek as he grinned at the camera. A drunken night out with Ronan in Campo di Fiori when they’d both been human.
“Hey,” she said. “Do you need anything?”
Saba’s blood flowing over my hands.
The violence of the instinct shocked him out of silence. “No. I already fed tonight.”
Beatrice came and sat next to him on the bed. “I understand why you’re angry. You have every right to be angry that she didn’t tell you.”
What would it have benefited you to have an enemy you could do nothing about?
The audacity. The fucking audacity.
This was typical Tenzin. Going behind his back, keeping things to herself, pretending like she always knew better.
“I also know exactly why she didn’t tell you,” Beatrice said. “And I don’t know if I would have, if it had been up to me.”
Ben turned to his aunt. “What the fuck?”
“Put yourself in her shoes.” B
eatrice closed her eyes and squeezed tight. “God knows I haven’t been very good at doing that the past few years.”
Ben was silent; he didn’t know where Beatrice was going with this.
“I wanted to be the one to change you.” Her voice was quiet. “Is that stupid? I’m young; nowhere near as powerful as your sire. You’d be a water vampire, and that doesn’t suit your personality at all, but I wanted to be the one. Gio adopted you, and I came along later. I know I’m not your mom, but—”
“The best thing my mother ever did for me was to surrender custody of me to a vampire, Beatrice.” He stared at the ground. “You were way better than my mom, okay?”
“Still, I was being selfish. You were grieving your human life, and I took it out on Tenzin.”
“She’s not a saint.”
“She’s not the enemy either.” Beatrice took a deep breath. “I was really angry with her, but I don’t know how much was really for you and how much was my own messed-up feelings.”
“Well…” Ben fell back on a simple truth that had been the only explanation he’d had for so many puzzles in his life. “Vampire families are really fucking complicated.”
Beatrice shook her head. “Isn’t that the truth?”
They sat in silence for a few more minutes.
“What are you going to do?” Beatrice asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I know you still have issues—every relationship has issues—but clearly the two of you have made peace with each other. I don’t want to interfere with that, because the bond the two of you have isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before.” She finally looked at him. “It was only ever her for you. I know you had your girlfriends and your flirtations, but in your heart, it was only ever her. And the love she has for you—”
“She’s never said it.” His smile hurt. “I don’t think she ever will.”
Beatrice took his hand and knit their fingers together, palms facing each other. “I love you so much. I love Tenzin, and she loves me. And she loves Giovanni and Sadia. She loves Chloe. What she feels for you… it’s so much more than that.” She squeezed his fingers hard. “Knowing Tenzin, the words we use to describe our feelings probably seem cheap to her. Do you know what I mean?”
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