Beatrice wondered again who the generous anonymous donor could be, and why exactly he had chosen a relatively obscure state university in Texas to be the recipient of such a generous gift. Thinking about the strange turn her life had taken in the previous two months, she wondered where to draw the line between coincidence and calculation.
She went about her duties preoccupied with the mysterious letters, finally escaping to the stacks that afternoon to examine them and look over the translation of the first letter.
Most of it detailed the new addition to the Pico household, a boy of seven named Jacopo, who the Count adopted and intended to educate. It sounded like he was the illegitimate child of one of the Pico brothers, though the letter didn’t say which.
One passage seemed to leap from the page:
“Lorenzo has mentioned you several times since your visit with him. He was amused by your sometimes outrageous statements; and I believe, were you to find yourself back in Florence anytime soon, he would be most delighted to continue your acquaintance.”
Wow, she thought, Lorenzo de Medici. Lorenzo the Magnificent. Could Giovanni have met him? If he was really over five hundred years old, it was possible.
There was mention of city gossip: a strange man named Niccolo Andros, something about Lorenzo’s children, and finally, a mention of some sort of scandal Pico was involved in with a married woman.
That brought a flush to her cheeks, and she set the notes down. It was hard not to imagine a woman being attracted to Giovanni. Despite his brusque demeanor, she still couldn’t seem to help the growing attraction she had to the vampire.
She read the letter four times, making notes and jotting down names and dates. She examined the second letter, but decided to do some research on the two men before reading it. She had little background in the Italian Renaissance, and the person she knew was most knowledgeable was the one person she couldn’t ask. She snorted as she imagined how the conversation would go:
“Oh, hey, Gio. Do you happen to be a fifteenth century philosopher named Giovanni Pico? Oh, and what does all this have to do with my father, by the way?
“Please go back to searching through endlessly boring auction catalogues, Beatrice. I’m far smarter than you are and too stuck-up to answer your questions. Also, I’m very good-looking and can get away with being an asshole.”
Beatrice sighed and slipped the notes into her messenger bag. She would have time to go online at home after she took her grandmother to dinner with her friends that night.
“Beatrice, you must get a picture of Giovanni for the girls!”
She scowled at her grandmother’s voice from the kitchen as she finished putting on her make-up for their night out. Isadora and her closest friends had kept a long-standing dinner engagement every Tuesday night for as long as she could remember. It used to be the time that Beatrice and her grandfather would spend in his workshop or watching old horror movies together, but since his death she had joined her grandmother for the weekly outings.
At first, it was simply so she wouldn’t feel the aching loss of her grandfather, but now she enjoyed the evenings with the interesting group of women.
“Grandma, I’m not going to ask my boss for a picture to show your friends. It’s embarrassing.”
“But he’s so handsome! Maybe with your phone camera?”
“No! That’s creepy. I don’t think he likes getting his picture taken anyway.”
Probably not a good idea when you’ve been around for over 500 years, she thought as she lined her eyes in black.
“Well, it’s very exciting. You must tell everyone about the thrilling book mysteries you’re helping to solve now.”
Beatrice snorted. “I’ve been searching online auction catalogues for a single document for almost a month, Grandma. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds.”
“Still,” Isadora smiled as she walked into the bathroom to check her hair in the mirror. “The library sounds beautiful. Can you imagine how jealous your father would be? He’d be so proud of you.”
Beatrice fell silent as she thought about her father. She’d been reluctant to bring him up to Giovanni since the night she agreed to work for him, still unsure of what the vampire really wanted with her. Though she’d been reassured by meeting Caspar, she still had the uneasy feeling that there was a lot about Giovanni Vecchio she didn’t know.
And maybe a lot she didn’t want to know.
“Always be grateful for unexpected opportunities, Mariposa. You never know where a job like this might lead.” Isadora turned and patted her granddaughter’s cheek. “Imagine what exciting things might be in your future!”
Beatrice sighed. “It’s just a research job, Grandma. But it’s a good one, and I have no complaints about my boss. He’s demanding, but it’s not anything I didn’t sign up for.”
“You said he has an interesting friend visiting from overseas? Who is he? Is he a book dealer as well?”
She grinned when she thought of Carwyn. Since their meeting, the unusual priest had charmed her, although she didn’t know what to make of him at first. He looked like he had been turned in his thirties, but had the personality and humor of a teenager. He wore the ugliest Hawaiian shirts she had ever seen, but still seemed to attract more than his share of female attention when he and Giovanni had visited the library together.
He was as boisterous as Giovanni was taciturn, yet the friendly affection between them was obvious and she had started to see a slightly softer side to the aloof vampire.
“No, Carwyn’s not a book dealer; he’s a priest of some sort. He’s Welsh, I think. I guess he usually comes out this time of year. I think they’re working on a project together.”
“Well, that sounds lovely. It’s so nice to have friends with the same interests.”
Like drinking blood, avoiding electronic equipment, and staying out of sunlight so you don’t burn to a crisp, she mused silently as she pulled her long hair into a low ponytail.
She grabbed her purse and helped Isadora to the car. Her grandmother immediately began texting her friends that they were on their way and Beatrice took advantage of the silence to think about the past week.
The two vampires had been working on something they didn’t want anyone to know about; she was sure of it. Carwyn had come to the library with Giovanni the previous Wednesday, but they spent more time speaking in furtive whispers than they had transcribing characters for the mysterious Tenzin. When she went to the house on Thursday the odd mood had continued.
Even Caspar seemed out of the loop, and she had no idea what they would hide from someone they seemed to trust so much. Giovanni had been secretive before, and Carwyn’s appearance seemed to have done nothing but intensified his mood.
Their veiled references to their friend in China also caught her attention. She knew Tenzin was another immortal that had been friends with them for presumably hundreds of years, but anytime her name was mentioned an odd sense of foreboding fell over the two men.
“Oh, Beatrice, there it is!”
She brushed her concerns away when she spotted the small restaurant where her grandmother’s three closest friends were waiting outside. As she pulled into the parking lot, her grandmother waved like a school girl and Beatrice smiled, wondering for the thousandth time why she couldn’t be more like her grandmother when it came to making friends.
Beatrice hadn’t always been antisocial. When she was younger, she’d had lots of friends. Even after her father died, she’d been a happy child, wrapped in the comfort of her grandparents’ home. It wasn’t until the summer she had seen her father again that her social life began to collapse. It had never really recovered.
She tried to shove back the bitterness that reared its head when she thought about the cause of her depression. The self-destructive choices she’d made still haunted her at times. During that dark period, she mostly found solace in books. Never an avid reader before, she pulled herself out of depression by escaping into the other worlds books offere
d.
She realized it probably wasn’t the healthiest way to cope, but between the library and her grandfather, she had managed to make it through high school. After that, she had buried herself in her college studies, and it wasn’t until she’d begun working at the university library that she felt like she found her niche.
“B, honey, you just look more gorgeous every time I see you!” she heard her grandmother’s friend, Sally Devereaux, call across the parking lot. Sally was the epitome of a Texas matriarch, complete with the requisite giant hair, heavy twang, and big personality. The others in the group, Marta Voorhies and Laura Gambetti, were quieter.
“How is your wonderful new job, B?” Marta asked.
“Yes, Isadora says you’re working for an Italian gentleman,” Laura added with wink. “Italian men are, of course, the most handsome on the planet.”
Beatrice laughed at the women’s curiosity. She had a feeling that knowing her employer was a five hundred-year-old vampire would do nothing to put them off. They would probably just ask to see his fangs.
“Hey, everyone. Yeah, it’s pretty cool. I’ll tell you all about it during dinner, okay?”
“If we don’t get in there, we aren’t going to be dining, girls!” Sally boomed. “Let’s go inside, we’ll talk while we eat.”
“Yes,” Isadora added, “and you can try to persuade her to get a picture of him.”
“Grandma—”
“Oh, B, you must!”
“Is he really that handsome?”
“More importantly, is he single?”
“I’d like to hear more about his work; it sounds fascinating!”
Beatrice sighed deeply, enveloped in their familiar chatter and followed the four women inside.
Hours later, after she had tentatively agreed to take a picture of her boss and set her grandmother up on a blind date with Caspar at Sally’s insistence, she drove back to their small house.
“Beatrice, did you remember to pick up those art books for me from the library?” Isadora asked. “I need them to teach my class tomorrow.”
“Oh shoot. I got them, and then left them at Gio’s last night when I was working. I’m sorry.”
“It’s no problem, dear. I did want them soon so I could show the young man in my class about the brush technique I was trying to explain. When do you go back?”
She frowned. “You know, I’ll run by and get them. Otherwise I won’t be back until Thursday night.”
“Oh, it’s too late. I don’t want to wake anyone for some silly books.”
Beatrice smirked. “Trust me, they’ll be awake.”
“Well, if you’re sure…”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Beatrice reasoned that even if Giovanni was out with Carwyn, Caspar was likely to be home. Plus, the vampire’s house in River Oaks wasn’t all that far from her grandmother’s place.
She dropped Isadora off and made the short drive to Giovanni’s home. As she pulled up to the gate, she could just see Carwyn’s huge Irish wolfhound peek his head over the low wall.
She pushed the button to call the house.
“Yes?”
“It’s B, Caspar. I forgot some books here last night. Do you mind if I come in quick and grab them?”
She heard the gate buzz and the butler’s amused voice could be heard as she pulled forward. “Of course not, and—may I add—what wonderful timing you have, my dear!”
Narrowing her eyes at the odd statement, she pulled through the gate, keeping her window down as Bran, Carwyn’s grey dog, trotted alongside her car.
“How’s it going tonight, Bran?” The huge dog huffed as he escorted her up the driveway.
“Dig up any more roses?” Beatrice grinned, remembering the amusing rant Giovanni had gone on last Thursday after a particularly muddy set of footprints found their way into the living room. “Manage to find Doyle yet?”
At the mention of the cat’s name, the wolfhound abruptly halted, looked across the yard as if remembering something and let out a bellow before he shot across the lawn.
Laughing at the amusing and very friendly dog, Beatrice finally pulled behind the garage where she usually parked her small car. She walked to the kitchen door and knocked, pleased to see Caspar’s smiling face through the glass panels.
“Ah! B, I’m so glad you’re here. No one ever believes me, but now you’ll know the truth.”
She frowned in confusion. “Uh…Cas, what are you talking about, and does it involve bodily injury? Because I kind of like this blouse, and I’m not wearing my boots.”
Caspar snorted. “No, but he always comes across as so dignified, doesn’t he? Now, my dear,” the grey-haired butler winked, “you’ll know the real Giovanni.”
And with that mysterious statement, he practically pulled her into the kitchen. She looked around in confusion for a moment before she heard the loud yells coming from the living room.
“Bloody bastard, I did not see that coming!”
“Use the folding chair! It’s sitting in the corner for a reason!”
Beatrice’s eyes widened when she heard the two men yelling. The sound of applause filled the living room and the surround sound poured into the kitchen.
“That’s not—” Beatrice started.
“Oh yes.” Caspar nodded. “It’s exactly what you think.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she muttered. “Cas, you have made my year.”
Beatrice walked silently into the living room, suddenly happy to be wearing her soft ballet flats. She approached the two vampires watching the television, who had well over a thousand years of life between them, careful to keep her distance so they didn’t smell her.
Giovanni had donned his usual grey sweater and black slacks for the evening, but Carwyn appeared to be wearing a garish t-shirt with an ugly masked face on it. They were totally absorbed with the spectacle on the television screen. Just then, the crowd went wild and both vampires jumped up shouting.
“Tap out, you buggering idiot!”
“Use the damn folding chair!”
Beatrice couldn’t believe the ammunition she had just been given.
“Hey, guys.”
They both spun around when they heard her quiet voice from the back of the living room. Carwyn grinned at her.
“Hello, B! Grab a beer, you’re just in time. The main event’s on right after this match.”
Giovanni, if possible, looked even paler than normal. “Beatrice, this is—were you scheduled to work tonight?” He scratched at the back of his neck in obvious discomfort.
“Nope. Just came by to pick up a couple of books I forgot from the library.” She smirked in satisfaction as he squirmed. This mental picture was priceless.
He continued to stare at her, speechless and obviously embarrassed, until he heard the roar from the crowd and Carwyn shouted again. Giovanni spun around to see what was happening on the television.
“Finally! Damn it, Gio. They always go for the folding chair.”
“Of course they do. Folding chairs are always there for a reason. They’re never just stage props.”
Shaking her head, she walked closer to the back of the couch. Both men were staring at the television again, completely engrossed in the professional wrestling match on screen.
“Seriously, guys? Professional wrestling? I might have suspected archery or fencing. Hell, even soccer—”
“Football!” they shouted simultaneously.
“—wouldn’t have been that big a surprise, but this?”
Barely clothed women walked around the ring, and flashing lights filled the screen. The announcers shouted about the final match-up of the night, which was on just after the previously taped profiles of the two participants.
“This is the most bloody brilliant sport ever invented,” Carwyn almost whispered in awe as he stared at the screen.
“It’s not a sport!”
Both turned to look at her in disgust.
“That’s not the point!” Carwyn shouted.
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“You see, Beatrice,” Giovanni started, while the priest turned the volume down just low enough so they could be heard. “Professional wrestling is simply the most modern interpretation of an ancient tradition of stylized verbal battles between enemies. From the time that Homer recorded the Iliad, the emergence of what Scottish scholars call ‘flyting’—”
“That would be a verbal battle preceding a physical one, but considered equally as important to the overall outcome,” Carwyn interjected.
“Exactly. Throughout world myth, warriors have engaged in a verbal struggle that is as symbolically important as the battle itself. You can see examples in early Anglo-Saxon literature—”
“You’ve read Beowulf, haven’t you, English major?”
Giovanni glanced at the priest, but continued in his most academic voice. “Beowulf is only one example, of course. The concept is also prevalent in various Nordic, Celtic, and Germanic epic traditions. Even Japanese and Arabic literature are rife with examples.”
“Exactly.” Carwyn nodded along. “See, modern professional wrestling is following in a grand epic tradition. Doesn’t matter if it’s staged, and it doesn’t matter who wins, really—”
“Well, I don’t know about—”
“What matters,” Carwyn shot his friend a look before he continued, “is that the warriors impress the audience as much with their verbal acuity as their physical prowess.”
Giovanni nodded. “It’s really very fitting within classical Western tradition.”
Beatrice stared at them and began to snicker.
“Did you two just come up with some really academic, smart-sounding rationalization for why you’re watching professional wrestling on pay-per-view?”
Carwyn snorted. “Are you kidding? It took us years to come up with that. Grab a beer and sit down.”
Still snickering, she walked into the kitchen, where Caspar was holding an open long-neck for her. “Do you—”
He shook his head. “Oh no, this is their own crass amusement. I’ll have nothing to do with it, no matter how many times they cite Beowulf.”
Beatrice chuckled and took the beer. “I guess I can hang out for a while. After all,” she smiled, “the main event is just ahead!”