A Fall of Water

  “I stayed at my home nearby for a few months. Rada seemed to be thriving, and I met with Lorenzo again to learn more about this medicine he had developed. He told me about Geber and the four vampires, though he did not tell me who they were. My instincts are always to be skeptical, but how could I be? I had seen the results with my own eyes. And it fit with much of what Ioan and I had theorized over the years. That blood had always been the key. The combination of elemental blood which linked to the four elements present in human blood—”

  Beatrice broke in. “What do you mean? What do you mean the four elements in human blood?”

  “Ioan and I had always speculated that there was something about human blood that fed the elemental energy in all vampires, which was why we must have it. Human blood, in a way, contains all four elements. The cells are made up of matter, as earth is. There is water, of course.”

  “And then the oxygen it carries is the air,” she nodded. “I get those. But what about—”

  “Fire?” Lucien grinned, and she saw the spark of the scientist in his eyes. “More elusive. But blood carries heat, does it not? It carries the energy of the entire human body, an energy grid of far more ancient design than the ones humans have developed.”

  “So, what Lorenzo told you fit with what you and Ioan already speculated, so you bought into the elixir?”

  He shrugged again. “As I said, how could I not? I had seen Rada’s results. And it wasn’t until later that he told me of its other benefits.” Lucien took a deep breath and let it out, slumping into his seat. “I cannot tell you what it felt like to hear, after thousands of years, that I might be free from the demands of bloodlust, Beatrice De Novo.”

  “I don’t understand. Did you feel guilty? Truly? After thousands of years being who you are?”

  Lucien smirked. “You live in a very luxurious time, my dear. A time where there is donated blood for the newborn. A time when you can carry a reserve, if you will. You never had to conquer bloodlust while feeding from an innocent. An innocent who looked you in the eye. Talk to me after a few thousand years and let me know if feeding from humanity still holds no shame for you.”

  She bowed her head, humbled by Lucien’s words. Beatrice knew she was young, though she often forgot it when she was in her friends’ company. “So, you drank from Rada?” she said. “After you’d heard?”

  He took a deep breath and nodded. “I discussed it with her. She was a scientist herself, after all. She offered.” Lucien’s eyes drifted away. “I kissed her, as I had so many years ago, and then I bit. It was only a few drops. She was still recovering, and... we were not as we once were.”

  The vampire fell silent. His eyes seemed to glaze over, and he stared at the flowing water in complete stillness until Tenzin leaned over and touched his shoulder. “Lucien?”

  He blinked and came back. His eyes narrowed on Tenzin. “How long?”

  “Just a few moments this time.”

  He nodded. “I finally left the city and went to my home in the mountains earlier this year. Just after Christmas. It was then that I began noticing odd things happening.”

  Carwyn leaned forward. “What things?” Beatrice noticed that Ziri had come closer, as well.

  “I needed to sleep. Much more than just a few hours in the afternoon as had been my custom. I thought, perhaps, it was the consequence of the lack of bloodlust. Truly, I felt none. I still feel none, though I try to drink. I never feel the burn in my throat, nor the ache in my belly from the lack of it. I have no hunger.”

  “None?” Beatrice asked.

  “None. So I decided, for lack of bloodlust, more rest is surely not so great a sacrifice. If I need no food but a bit of bread, now and again, I am willing to pay that price.”

  Beatrice had a suspicion that more rest was not the only problem. “What else? It was more than just the bloodlust, wasn’t it?”

  Lucien nodded. “I began losing time. I would wake in a room that I had no memory of entering. I woke once, thinking it was the next evening, to find that I had no memory of three days past.”

  Carwyn gaped. “Three days?”

  He nodded. “Three days had passed. I don’t know if I sleepwalked. If I simply slept? I have no memory of it at all.”

  Beatrice asked, “And you live alone?”

  “I had. I can no longer. I have a fear that I would simply wander out of the house and lose time, meeting the dawn without any knowledge of it. I have lived the past five months in fear, my friends.” Lucien ran a hand through his shaggy hair, pushing it off his forehead in a frustrated gesture. “I have no idea what has happened to me. I must assume that it is the result of drinking Rada’s blood, but I have no idea why. I force myself to drink now, but it is difficult. I have no taste for it, and I’m not sure my body is drawing any strength from the blood I ingest, no matter how fresh it is.”

  “And it’s getting worse?” Beatrice whispered.

  Lucien paused, looking around the courtyard. “Yes. And I have no idea how much worse my condition will grow. I tried to find Lorenzo when I started noticing symptoms, but I heard he was in Rome. He did not answer my letters. In truth, I did not expect him to.”

  “What about Saba?” Carwyn asked. “Have you written to her?”

  “I have sent a messenger to my mother, but, as you know, she is difficult to find. I do have hope that some of my sire’s own blood might heal me. But even if the messenger finds her in the mountains, it would be some time. I have no idea how fast this illness might take me. And the distance from Ethiopia to Rome—”

  “Ethiopia?” Beatrice sat up straight. “Did you say—”

  “It might not matter.” Ziri’s quiet voice came from the edge of the courtyard. He drifted over and stood next to Lucien, running a hand along the man’s cheek in a tender gesture. “Even if you found my old friend, dear Lucien, I don’t know if your mother’s blood would heal you.”

  “Uncle...” Lucien took a deep breath. “You have knowledge of this, I think. But not knowledge that will comfort me.”

  Ziri nodded. “I have knowledge about the elixir, yes. We were foolish to keep it a secret. We truly thought it had been lost, that our children were safe from our folly. We should have known better.”

  Beatrice murmured, “No secret stays hidden forever.”

  Ziri nodded. “You speak truth, Beatrice De Novo.”

  Lucien gripped Ziri’s fingers. “Uncle, am I dying?”

  “I don’t know.” Ziri’s eyes furrowed in pain. “But I know that something is wrong. Something that can even hurt the most ancient among us. Something that I and my closest friends are responsible for creating.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Crotone

  1507

  Jacopo was crouched in the corner, his throat aching and his eyes glued to the small, lit candle. He reached a finger out, and the flickering flame reached toward him. For a moment, he held it, then it began to spread as if by its own will, up his finger, quickly engulfing his hand. The sharp bite of pain caused him to wince, and he quickly reached for the basin of water Andros had left for him.

  For the first time in ten years, he was grateful for the damp air of the craggy castle his father called home. The wet soothed his aching skin and helped him to tame the blue fire that wanted to rush over his body.

  Andros had told stories of those fabled immortals who could control fire. His education in both mortal and immortal history had been exemplary. But he had never expected to carry the burden of it. He closed his eyes again and tried to forget the terror of the flames bursting out on his aching body and the quick flash of water his father had used to douse him. Every hair on his body had been burned away within seconds after he first woke, and he rubbed a hand along the bare skin on his scalp.

  He heard a commotion in the hall, and a sweet scent reached his nose, causing his new fangs to drop in his mouth. They pierced his lip and the pain caused his skin to heat. Steam rose from his arms as the door opened. Andros entered, dragging one of
the servant girls.

  She smelled like food.

  It was the smell of an orchard when the fruit was ready to drop. The tantalizing aroma of new bread and freshly pressed olives. It was everything. He heard the rush of her blood, rich and sweeter than new wine, as a low growl built in his throat.

  He spoke around his long fangs. “Why is she here?”

  Andros held the girl up like a prize. “For you. My blood is gone from your system and you need sustenance.”

  Her name was Serafina, and she was Paulo’s lover. Jacopo struggled to look into her eyes, forcing himself to look at her and remember her voice, her laugh, and her smile before she became nothing more than blood to him. He had known he would need to feed from one of the servants, but he had not known which it would be.

  He closed his eyes and tried to block her scent.

  “I don’t want—”

  “You will not drain her. That only exhibits a lack of control. Though you are young, you must never be without self-control, do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Jacopo rose to his feet and approached, a small fire burst out on his shoulder, causing the once-friendly girl to look at him in horror. Though Andros quickly doused the flame, another pain twisted his heart. Serafina had once sung and laughed while she cleaned his room.

  He held a hand out toward her, trying to calm the terrified girl who had reminded him of his uncle’s lover, Giuliana. She had the same dark brown hair and fair skin. The same sweet disposition. Tears streamed down her face, though she bit her lip and smothered her cries.

  Andros tossed her toward him and he caught her in his arms. She slumped against him and he heard her whispering under her breath. “Per piacere, Signore. Abbi pieta. Per favore, per favore.”

  Andros’s voice slipped over her cries. “Now feed.”

  Jacopo tried to soothe the burn in his throat. He embraced Serafina, running a hand through her long hair. He could do this. The iron control that enabled him to stand the harshest beating from his sire would let him drink from the girl without killing her.

  It had to.

  “Shhh,” he whispered. He nosed against her neck, forcing himself to become accustomed to her scent before he bit. “Be still. I will try not to hurt you.”

  As if by its own volition, he felt the energy flow from his fingertips, soothing the girl who ceased her struggles. Serafina lay limp in his arms as he put his mouth to her neck, felt for her pulse, and bit.

  Heaven.

  He moaned against her neck, pulling her closer as her blood poured down his throat. He pressed her body to his, feeling his flesh rouse as he drank the girl’s blood. For a few moments, he was lost in lust. Blood. Body. Desire for both wound him in iron coils until the girl’s cries broke through.

  She was praying.

  So Jacopo pulled his fangs from her neck, forcing back the monster inside that wanted to take her. He willed down his arousal and let his fangs pierce his own lips, pushing her away while he dug burning fingers into his arms.

  The girl stumbled before she fell to the floor. He backed away from her and into the corner of the room. The scent of her open wound called to him. Her dress was torn at the neck. He swallowed the lingering burn in his throat and closed his eyes, licking the last of her sweet blood from his mouth. He stopped breathing. Anything to keep from killing the helpless girl.

  “Nicely done. Your control is impressive. Exactly what I would expect of my son.”

  Jacopo’s voice was a hoarse growl. “Thank you, Father.”

  “Do you need another?”

  Another? He needed thousands. A vision of the Arno River came to him. If the Arno was a never-ending stream of blood, he would swallow it whole. But that was not what Andros wanted to hear.

  “I am fine.”

  The old water vampire smirked as if he knew the truth, but appreciated Jacopo’s lie anyway. Then he walked over and picked up the girl by her arm.

  “Grazie, Signore Andros,” she gasped. “Grazie per—”

  Her words stopped when Andros twisted her neck. Jacopo heard the tiny snap before she fell to the ground, lifeless.

  “No!” He started toward her, his heart breaking as he looked into the girl’s lifeless eyes, but Andros intercepted him. “Stop.” He put a hand on Jacopo’s chest and shoved him into the wall. “This will not do. She was human. You are a god. We do not control ourselves to have mercy, but to conquer our own lusts. To be master of them.”

  “But she was an innocent.”

  “She was a whore. She had no honor. The girl lay with anyone who paid her attention.”

  A vision of Serafina and Paulo came to his mind as he stared at her body. They were whispering in the kitchen at night while Paulo snuck some bread and a few kisses from the pretty servant. It was the only time Jacopo ever saw the young man truly smile.

  “She wouldn’t have been useful much longer, anyway. She was carrying Paulo’s bastard in her womb.” Andros curled his lip and shook his head, patting Jacopo’s cheek in a friendly gesture. “Remember, never keep the same woman for too long. They begin to have expectations.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes from her. Andros walked to the door and opened it.

  “Paulo!”

  Jacopo heard the steps approaching. Had Paulo known that the girl carried his child? The young man stepped into the room and his fangs dropped again. Jacopo bared them viciously when the scent of the human’s blood reached his nose. He heard the faint intake of breath when Paulo spotted his lover’s body, but he made no protest.

  “Clean this up. Take it out to the sea and dispose of it.”

  The young man was frozen, his eyes fixed on Serafina’s body. For a moment, Jacopo saw his fists clench, then the young man deliberately relaxed them and bent down, kneeling beside his lover. His eyes darted to Jacopo’s in the corner of the room, and his lip curled in disgust.

  Andros brought a basin and a rag over and began to wash the blood from Jacopo’s chin, neck, and chest where it had dripped down. “There, my son. Let me help you. You did well. I am proud of you, so very proud.”

  Jacopo watched as Paulo closed Serafina’s eyes and smoothed her crumpled dress behind Andros’s back. For a moment, the young man’s hand halted over the girl’s belly where his unborn child had grown, then he lifted her slight frame in his arms and walked from the room.

  Jacopo felt his fangs retract, and the taste of her blood was bitter in his mouth.

  Castello Furio

  June 2012

  Giovanni stared into the hateful eyes of his son as Lorenzo accompanied Emil Conti and Ziri into his dungeon. He knew, from all outward appearances, that he was being treated well. Though he refused to speak, the two men would have seen the simple, comfortable furnishings that Livia had brought to his cell the previous evening.

  He was being fed every evening. He needed it; otherwise the nightly rage that Livia loosed upon him would have been far more evident. Luckily for her, his freshly washed clothes hid the red slashes across his chest, back, and thighs from where she tortured him.

  “As you can see, signores, Signore Vecchio is being treated well, despite his refusal to speak or confess his crimes. Livia provides him with plentiful meals and all the necessary comforts, and she will continue to do so until a determination of his guilt can be provided to the court’s satisfaction.”

  Emil nodded. “I do see, Lorenzo. And while I am satisfied that Giovanni is well—”

  The canny water vampire drew Lorenzo into a detailed discussion of Giovanni’s “case” leaving Ziri to mouth his ghostly whispers from across the room.

  ‘Is she feeding you? Blink once for ‘yes.’’

  Giovanni blinked.

  ‘Is she torturing you?’

  Giovanni did not blink.

  ‘You are lying. I can see a mark on your chest. But I will not tell your wife.’

  Giovanni mouthed, Thank you.

  ‘She is well, and your friends are working toward your release.
Do you understand?’

  He blinked once.

  ‘Keep strong. You will be in your mate’s arms soon. And remain silent, as much as you can.’

  He blinked again.

  ‘Your grandsire would be very proud of you, if he could see your strength.’

  When Giovanni blinked, it was not in response to anything the old wind vampire had asked. A frown spread across his face.

  ‘Keep silent. I knew your grandsire well. We will speak—truly speak—soon, Jacopo.’

  “—and so I am satisfied for now, but this matter must be resolved quickly. I do not care for this drawn-out process. It disrupts business and becomes an unnecessary distraction for the younger members of the court.”

  Lorenzo nodded at Emil with respect. “I will make mention of your concerns to Livia, Signore Conti. And Ziri?”

  The old vampire glanced toward Lorenzo, seemingly disinterested in his surroundings. “Yes?”

  “Are you satisfied that the prisoner is being taken care of in a proper way? Do we have your testimony to this? Your opinion would go very far in assuaging some of the more squeamish members of the court.”

  Ziri waved a hand. “Oh, yes. He’s fine. I was simply curious. The design of this chamber...” He looked around in an academic way. “It is most unusual. Will it hold him, do you think?”

  “I cannot go into the specifics, of course. But be assured, it is very secure.” Lorenzo’s lip curled as he eyed Giovanni in the corner. “Even against a vampire as ruthless and cunning as my father.”

  When Giovanni woke the next night, Livia was in his chamber, staring at him.

  “I told him to kill you,” she said.

  Giovanni only shrugged.

  “When Andros wrote to say he had sired you to fire, I told him then that he should spare himself the trouble and kill you.”

  He blinked and felt along his bare chest to see if the new wounds she had opened the previous night had already closed. They had.

  “He didn’t listen to me, of course. He rarely did.”

  She walked over to the side of his bed and sat on it. He lay still and silent, stretching his arms up and knitting his fingers together behind his head. Livia’s eyes roamed his chest, and she reached down to trace along the red marks she had made the night before.