Wild Fire

by Ally Shields

  She’d only strolled part way around the flower beds when Andreas appeared with Fredrico. He parked the wheelchair in the shade of an olive tree at the edge of the garden.

  “Thank you for coming.” The old man smiled up at her. “You are a welcome sight. Your green eyes are quite remarkable.”

  She returned his smile. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

  He chuckled and coughed. “Not for a long, long time. Do sit down and tell me more about yourself.”

  She settled on the lawn chair that Andreas held for her. “There’s not much to tell. I live in Boston with my parents and my older brother Thomas. I lead a typical life, spending most of my time with family and friends.” She leaned forward. “Frankly, I would much rather hear about Italy and what it was like growing up in a time of so many changes.” She had to be safe in saying that. Every period in history could lay claim to important events and inventions.

  Fredrico’s face lit up, and he talked almost non-stop for the next fifteen minutes. Abigail listened closely; between the accent and his frequently fading volume it wasn’t always easy to follow his rambling tale. The story became less coherent, and he began to falter more often.

  Andreas continued to regard his great-great-grandfather with an indulgent smile. When he caught Abigail’s eye, he shrugged one shoulder as if reminding her of the man’s failing health. He glanced at the house once or twice, finally stood and excused himself. “I will try to find out what has happened to our espresso.”

  Once he was out of hearing range, Abigail put a hand on the old man’s knee to gain his attention, but he seemed to have trouble focusing on her. “I need to speak with you privately regarding your family heirlooms.”

  Fredrico stiffened, his vague expression turning suspicious. “Heirlooms? They are mine. Are you a thief come to steal from me?”

  “No, no. I’m just interested in your family history.” She saw Andreas and a servant approaching and leaned back in her chair. “We will talk when you feel better.”

  “Go away. I do not want to talk anymore.” He dropped his eyes to his lap and picked at the robe covering his knees.

  She hoped he wouldn’t say anything else in front of Andreas, but if he did, there was a good chance it would be disregarded. She just had to act natural. She mentioned his change of mood as soon as Andreas arrived. “I’m afraid I’ve made your grandfather tired.”

  “Yes, it looks as if he is ready for his nap.” Andreas took the tray from the manservant who had followed him. “Manfred, would you take great-papa inside? I will see to our guest.”

  The manservant rapidly arranged Fredrico and his lap robe for transport and wheeled him into the house.

  “I am sorry. I heard him tell you to go away. He does not mean it.” Andreas handed her a small cup of espresso. “But I did warn you. Some days are better than others, and he can deteriorate in a matter of minutes, as you saw.”

  “Will he be like that the rest of the day?”

  “Hard to say. He may recover after his nap.” Andreas frowned and set his own teacup down. “He is failing more each day. I suspect one morning soon he will not wake.”

  Yes, in less than a week now. Abigail suppressed a shiver. She felt ghoulish. Thank the Goddess that prophecy was not one of her gifts. She hated knowing his future and being helpless to change it. Even on such a short acquaintance, she liked the elderly man. She stole a glance at Andreas. In spite of his great-papa’s moods, Andreas would miss him.

  “We have almost an hour before the others will arrive. If you have finished your espresso, would you enjoy a tour of the vineyards? I have yet to visit America, but I understand the climate around Boston is not good for growing figs and grapes.”

  “Very true.” She handed him her own cup and rose. “Our growing season is much shorter than yours.”

  He set them on the tray, took her arm, and she allowed him to lead her down the path toward the working areas of his estate. She asked all kinds of questions about the land and the kind of crops he grew. She was interested in everything about him, and she loved listening to his familiar voice.

  By the time they returned to greet the other picnickers, they were laughing and talking as if they were old friends. Which of course they were. The lines were beginning to blur for Abigail. Not surprising under the circumstances. But Andreas had no knowledge of their future life together, and yet, she could swear he felt the same connection.

  Emily, her brother, and two of their cousins arrived in the first carriage. Four friends of Andreas—two women in a carriage and two men on horseback—were right behind them. The servants from the house spread the picnic on the grassy hill behind the garden, and the ladies were seated on blankets and cushions. While Andreas did not neglect his duties as host, he spent an inordinate amount of time at Abigail’s side. It did not go unnoticed.

  On one of his brief occasions away, Emily scurried to her side. “Tell me everything. What happened?” she whispered excitedly.

  “Nothing like you’re envisioning. We talked with Fredrico, then we walked through the vineyards. That was all.”

  Emily’s face fell. “Oh. Well, never mind.” Her expression brightened again. “He is smitten and cannot stay away from you.” She gave a dramatic sigh. “It is so romantic, and to think I brought you together.”

  “Shh, he’ll hear you.”

  “All right, but when something does happen, I want to hear all about it.”

  “Emily, you’re letting your imagination carry you away. I’ll only be here a few more days. Nothing is going to happen, as you put it, but it would be nice to see him again.”

  “You will.” Emily giggled. “You have him wound around your finger.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Ooh! He is coming. I better go. Good luck.”

  Good luck with what? Another date, a stolen kiss? What’s the best a girl could hope for in this society? She blushed at the direction of her thoughts as she watched Andreas stroll toward her.

  Following the picnic and four bottles of wine, the partiers exclaimed over the spectacular sunset, and then headed home. Andreas squeezed her hand when he escorted her to the inn, but he didn’t mention seeing her again. She bit her lip and climbed the inn stairs in disappointment.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Saturday morning’s breakfast tray held another card and invitation. This time it was from Fredrico, inviting her to breakfast. Abigail sat up with a grin. The day was a whole lot brighter.

  The De Luca carriage picked her up at 9:00. Andreas was not driving it, nor did she see him upon arrival at the casa. She was ushered into the house, where Fredrico was propped in a large chair, surrounded by pillows. His general demeanor was less vigorous than yesterday, but his eyes were sharp.

  “Andreas tells me I was rude to you. I suppose I was. Black moods overtake me sometimes. I am sorry.” He frowned. “I believe you asked to speak with me in private. Andreas will not disturb us this morning. He left before dawn to meet with other sportsmen outside of San Gimignano. They are planning for the horse race at Palio in July. A long ride, so he will not be back until late.” He gestured toward a chair. “Please sit. May I have Manfred bring you coffee?”

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “It may sound fantastic, but maybe not as fantastic to you as others.” She looked straight into his eyes. “I know you’re a warlock.”

  The old man’s face drained of color, then he choked and started coughing. Abigail jumped up, patted him on the back and rang the bell beside his chair. A servant came running.

  “I think Signor Fredrico needs his espresso.”

  “Si, signorina.” The manservant regarded his master doubtfully.

  “Go on.” Fredrico’s voice was raspy as he gained control over the coughing. He waved the servant away. “A cup of espresso is all I need.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Abigail sat down again.

  “Of course you startled me. Why would you say such fooli
sh things?”

  “Because I’m a witch.”

  He stared into her eyes as if seeking her power within them, then nodded.

  She breathed a small sigh of relief. He believed her. “I’m going to tell you as much of the truth as I can, but you must repeat it to no one, especially not Andreas. To do so might change the course of history.”

  “This must be some tale.”

  “It is.” She smiled at him. Manfred reappeared with the espresso, and she waited until he had served them and was gone again.

  “So tell me of this incredible truth,” Fredrico said, lifting his cup to his lips with a shaking hand.

  Abigail tried her own drink. It was dark, rich, and not as bitter as she’d imagined. “I need something of yours that only you can give me. Or rather, a descendent of yours needs it.”

  “A descendant? My only living descendant is Andreas.”

  “That’s true. Let me explain.” Should she tell him Andreas had become a vampire? Would he be shocked or even repulsed? Vampires throughout history had a very bad reputation. Perhaps, she should start with herself.

  “I’ve traveled more than two hundred years through a vortex of conjoined ley lines to find you.”

  He shot her a quizzical frown. “On Andreas’s behalf? Then he’s still alive so far in the future. I have sensed some destiny about him. Something more than magic.” He peered at her. “Are you saying he became a shifter or a vampire?”

  She mentally crossed her fingers. “A vampire. He’s a good man. You would be proud of him.”

  “Thank you for telling me.” Fredrico sighed. “And you love him.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes.”

  Fredrico stared at his lap, clearly lost in thought. Finally he raised his head, and his eyes were misty. “What of his warlock magic?”

  “He has just come into it. We have terrible enemies threatening us, but he cannot control his magic and use it against them without the family heirlooms.”

  “Why doesn’t he have them?”

  “We don’t know. We’ve searched everywhere in our time, but we can’t find them. I’m hoping that you have them.”

  “I do, of course, but they should have passed to him with the estate.” He pulled his right hand from under his lap robe. An emerald in an ornate white gold setting of swords and runes adorned his middle finger. His hand trembled with age, and the stone sparkled in the light from a nearby window.

  “The Valvano crest.” He dropped his hand back to his lap. “The reed you speak of is an ancient virge, a magic wand. It is hidden in a wooden jewelry box in my bed chamber.”

  “Andreas never found them.”

  “I had planned to reveal everything to him before I died, but I must have put it off too long.” He swallowed and his gaze moved to the valley outside the window. “I have held on to life too greedily, and my selfishness is coming back to haunt me.”

  Her gut twisted with anxiety. This was a poor time to be having second thoughts, but what if she was the one changing history? “Perhaps you did just as fate intended. Perhaps I should not be here.”

  “If Andreas was not intended to have them, the Goddess would have stayed your hand.” The old man smiled and gave her a wistful look. “You shall have the heirlooms to take with you. When do you return?”

  “Soon.”

  “Then I will give them to you now.” He rang the bell again. When Manfred appeared, Fredrico removed a key from a chain around his neck. “There is a box in the trunk in my room. Bring it to me. Mind that you keep anything else you might see to yourself.”

  “Si, Signor.” Manfred bowed and left.

  “Good man,” Fredrico muttered. “He will stand by me to the end.” The old man rubbed the ring on his finger, as if reluctant to take it off.

  In a flash of perception she asked, “What happens to you when you remove the ring?”

  “I will find out what the next life holds.”

  “You’ll die? Right away?”

  “The magic is the only thing keeping me alive, but even its power is losing to the infirmities of age. My time is near. Today is as good a day as any.”

  “No. I will not tempt fate. This is not the day.” She stopped talking as Manfred appeared again with the long, narrow box Fredrico had requested. Abigail shot him a speculative look. The manservant’s expression gave no indication he thought anything was out of the ordinary.

  “Shall I wait, signor?” Manfred asked.

  “Yes, just a moment.” Fredrico lifted the lid, took out a thin object wrapped in blue silk, and handed the box back to Manfred. “Please return this to the trunk.”

  “Very good, signor.” He bowed and left.

  Fredrico handed the wrapped object to Abigail and sagged back into his chair. She carefully pulled the silk away to reveal a slender ivory wand about sixteen inches long. The handle was carved with runes and held three small emerald stones.

  “It’s beautiful.” She took off her right glove and ran her fingers along the carvings. Her magic stirred in response to the pull of the wand. She held it out to the morning sun streaming through the window and rolled it slowly, watching each stone shimmer.

  “I have not seen it in years. I had almost forgotten its physical beauty.” Fredrico’s rheumy eyes gazed at the object in her hands, then his head bobbed involuntarily, as if he had grown too weary to support it. “The virge will allow Andreas to control and direct his magical energy. He will learn to do it all through the ring, but in the beginning, this will serve him well.”

  “You are tired. I should let you rest. Thank you…for everything.”

  “Please come back and talk with me before the end. I would enjoy speaking with you about things I have been unable to share with others in my life.” His eyes fluttered closed, then he rallied long enough to ring the bell for Manfred. “Nap time, I am afraid.”

  “I’ll be back.” She laid her hand on his for a moment. “I promise.”

  * * *

  Shortly after midday, Abigail left her room at the inn, thinking about the things that could still go wrong. Although she had the virge packed away safely in her bag and Fredrico’s promise to give her the other heirloom, how would she get the ring? What possible excuse could she have for being present at his deathbed?

  Maybe Fredrico could help her figure it out when she visited him again. In any case, retrieving the ring would be easier to do if she had her own means of transportation.

  She set out to explore the village, hoping to find a horse and some kind of carriage for hire. She’d worn the comb and scarf in her hair and brought the parasol to avoid shocking Mrs. Paglia, but the bright sun quickly had her longing for her 21st century sunglasses.

  She gazed in windows of the four shops in town, even admired the women’s hats. On a whim Abigail entered and tried on a white hat with brown trim that looked like a man’s top hat with ribbons. Not bad. She really should return the hat borrowed from Emily. If she bought this one, she could take it back to Claris, who would be thrilled to have an authentic piece in her shop. She was still debating, when two young women entered, chattering in Italian.

  Abigail didn’t understand much of the conversation, but they acted excited and frightened by the topic. The shopkeeper soon joined their conversation. Whatever it was, it seemed to be the big news in town. With her curiosity thoroughly piqued, Abigail was tempted to interrupt and test the language barrier. Then she saw Emily driving up the street and went outside to flag her down.

  The young woman waved and pulled her team to a stop. “Good morning! I was going to the inn, but here you are.”

  “I’m thinking about buying a hat. Come inside, and tell me what you think of it.”

  “Why, Abigail, we’ll have you broken of your American ways by the time you go home.” Emily chuckled, hopped down and tied up her horses. “Let’s see this bonnet that has caught your eye.”

  Bonnet? Abigail mentally cringed. She was almost reconciled to needing a hat, but a bonnet? “It’s a
hat,” she said firmly.

  The moment Abigail and Emily entered the shop, the three women broke off their conversation, and one of them spoke to Emily, her animated voice accompanied by vigorous hand gestures.

  “Goodness!” Emily looked at Abigail, her eyes big with intrigue. “We’ve had some excitement in the village. She says we should beware of a monster in the woods.”

  The other women joined the conversation, and Emily translated. “Two people were walking in the woods last night and saw a large beast.”

  Abigail stiffened. “What kind of a beast?”

  More Italian chatter.

  “It had huge fangs and claws.” Emily widened her eyes and emphasized the word huge. Abigail couldn’t tell whether her friend was enjoying the gossip or deliciously frightened by the tale. Emily asked them something in Italian. There were nods all around. “They say this has happened twice—the other incident was two nights ago.”

  “To the same guys?” Abigail asked.

  Emily frowned. “It was a couple. You know. Alone in the woods.” She gave Abigail a pointed look.

  “Oh. Can they describe this beast a bit better?”

  Emily seemed surprised. “You believe they actually saw a monster?”

  “It could have been a wild animal. A bear or some other local creature. Whatever lives around here. I’d like to know what it is if I’m going to be walking around town.”

  “The easy solution is not to walk about,” Emily said, but she turned and questioned the women. “They didn’t get a very good look, but a cat-like creature—the size of a small pony—chased them.” She quirked her lips doubtfully. “They ran all the way to the village and didn’t look back.”

  “And the other time?”

  “It wasn’t the same couple. Something big and furry ran across the road and frightened a villager’s horse. I doubt if it’s anything,” Emily said airily. “There aren’t bears or lions around here. Probably a stray dog. But it does make an exciting story. Now, where’s this hat you wanted me to see?”

  Abigail didn’t share her friend’s skepticism, but she didn’t pursue the subject. She pointed out the hat under consideration. Emily had her try it on, declared it perfect, and Abigail made the purchase. Claris would love it.