A Hidden Fire

  “When do you think you’ll move?”

  “I want to be there by the middle of August. That should give me enough time to find my way around before classes start.”

  She knew they weren’t mentioning it, but the prospect of the Lorenzo problem continuing unresolved into the fall was something that hung heavy over her plans for the future.

  “That’s a good idea. I want you to know,” he paused and looked around the empty room. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to worry about your grandmother. Whatever happens. Please don’t let that trouble you. I will make sure…nothing will happen to her.”

  She nodded, touched by his concern for her grandmother, which was no doubt partly the result of Caspar’s growing affection, but also—she hoped—at least partially out of concern for her, as well.

  “Thanks. That does—” She broke off when the small Italian professor stepped through the door of the reading room.

  “Ah!” he said. “How are you young people today? Dr. Vecchio, a pleasure as always. How goes your transcription?”

  Giovanni glanced at the open scroll which sat lonely on his table near the desk and smirked at the twinkling eyes of the cheerful academic.

  “Slow, at the moment, since I am pestering Miss De Novo with questions. I’d better get back to work and let her get your letter.”

  “Oh, don’t mind me…well, actually do! I’m very excited to get a look at this new document.”

  Beatrice chuckled at both of them, filled out the call slip and went back to the stacks to grab Dr. Scalia’s letter, and the letter the professor with the eight o’clock appointment requested to save her a trip back. Walking out the door, she tripped a little, and one of the document boxes slid out of her grasp.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, but before it could hit the ground, Giovanni darted over and caught it with almost inhuman speed. He glanced over his shoulder at Dr. Scalia, who already had his back to them getting out his notebooks.

  Beatrice shook her head a little, and mouthed, “Close one.”

  He shook his head and whispered, “I forget myself around you, Beatrice.”

  Suddenly, his proximity caused her to blush, and she quickly spun and set the document box on the counter, trying to distract herself and wishing he couldn’t hear the sudden rush of her pulse.

  “Beatrice,” she heard him whisper. She took a deep breath and turned around, meeting his eyes. They burned with the strange intensity she often noticed when the energy crackled around him. She didn’t know what mechanism of his immortality caused his eyes to change the way they did, but at that moment, they were an almost swirling blue-green, the color she’d seen in pictures of the sun-washed Mediterranean Sea.

  His fingers brushed hers when he handed her the box containing the precious new letter, but she pulled away from his gaze and walked over to take the document to Dr. Scalia’s table. She saw Giovanni walk back to his own table and begin work, so she sat down at the reference desk, pulling out her own translation of the Pico letter.

  He was in prison again. This time, it was Paris and his friends didn’t have as much influence.

  We are working to see to your speedy release, and I hope you will retain good spirits in the meantime. I have been most disheartened to hear of your poor treatment, and I hope, by this time, you have been given better access to your books and to Jacopo, though your man assured me he was being well taken care of.

  She had finished reading the letter for the third time, taking notes in her quickly expanding notebook when she heard the door push open. Beatrice looked up, immediately aware of the hiss of energy that filled the room. She glanced toward the door to see an attractive man in his mid-thirties approach the reference desk with a smirk on his face.

  Something about him gave her pause and as he approached the desk, she knew what it was.

  This was definitely another vampire.

  A distinct tremor ran down her spine. He was more than handsome, with his pale curling hair, soft blue eyes, and almost feminine features. He reminded Beatrice of a Botticelli painting she had seen during her recent research on the Italian Renaissance. However, the light behind his smiling eyes was cold, and she looked at Giovanni to reassure herself.

  Unfortunately, Giovanni’s expression was anything but reassuring. His nostrils were flared, and he looked as inhumanly fierce as she had ever seen him. She immediately glanced at Dr. Scalia to see if he had noticed anything. Luckily the cheerful academic was happily immersed in his research and took no notice of anything else.

  Giovanni rose and walked to the desk, passing Dr. Scalia on the way and placing his hand on the academic. The small professor immediately rose, packed up his things, and without a word, walked out the door and down the hall. The three of them, Beatrice, Giovanni, and the new vampire who had walked through the doors, waited until the click of the stairwell door echoed down the hall.

  She could barely catch the movement as Giovanni shoved the blond vampire up against the wall, where he dangled as he was held by the throat. Blue fire licked along Giovanni’s hands, and the cuffs of his oxford shirt began to smoke. As the flames grew, she noticed they were almost immediately quenched as the moisture in the room was drawn to the nameless man who wore a twisted smile.

  What do you know? she thought. Water quenches fire.

  Giovanni stood there, completely still with his fangs bared at the intruder and a low growl emanated from his chest, as the vampires’ elements fought their silent battle. Beatrice looked on in horror, completely unsure of what she should say or do.

  As if reading her mind, Giovanni growled, “Beatrice, stay back. Take both the letters and lock yourself in the stacks.”

  “Oh, why shouldn’t she stay, Giovanni?” the blond man mocked in an eerily melodic voice. “After all, this concerns her, too. Plus, she smells as delicious as her father.” The vampire’s eyes strayed to hers, and she found herself baring her own useless teeth. He only laughed. “I wonder if she tastes as good as he did!”

  “Shut up, Lorenzo.”

  “But, Papà, I do so love telling secrets!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Houston, Texas

  April 2004

  “Papà? As in—what the hell?”

  Giovanni ignored Beatrice, keeping his eyes and his hands on his son, who was still hanging a foot off the ground and laughing at him. Insolent boy, he thought. Siring Lorenzo, while it had seemed the most honorable thing at the time, remained Giovanni’s biggest regret in five hundred years.

  “Papà, don’t you want to introduce me to your little toy?” Lorenzo sniffed the air. “She smells delicious when she’s afraid. Her father was, too, you know. Such a perceptive human he was. Clever, clever man. Is she clever, too?”

  “Stay quiet and stay still,” Giovanni growled. He had always been stronger than Lorenzo; even when they were human, the boy could never have bested him. With their comparative elements and the strength of their blood now, it was still no contest.

  “Hey, vampires,” he heard Beatrice say. “Just letting you know that the library is still open. Granted, this isn’t the most hopping place on the fifth floor, but there are people who could just walk in.”

  The two vampires continued to stare at each other, and small flames burst out periodically over Giovanni’s hands and were quickly extinguished by Lorenzo as he manipulated the moisture in the air.

  “She’s lovely, too. Is she good in bed? She’s American, I bet she is.”

  Giovanni tightened his grip on the other man’s throat as he held him up, but Lorenzo only let out a rasping laugh. “They can be so feisty. But she’s young! I can’t imagine she knows what she’s doing yet,” he choked out.

  He snarled at the laughing man, part of him wishing he could simply tear his son’s head of and be rid of the problem. Until he had his books, however, it wasn’t something he wanted to risk.

  “Seriously,” Beatrice spoke again. He could hear her voice shaking. “I think I heard the elevator din
g just now. So either kill him quick, Gio, or let him down so no one calls security.”

  Her words finally registered, and he lowered Lorenzo to the ground, but didn’t release him from his grip.

  “By the way, ‘Dad,’ can I just say, thanks a bunch for living in this lovely humid climate?” Lorenzo affected a flat Middle American accent. “Makes it so much easier for me to put out the little love sparks you throw off. Whatever you do, don’t move to the desert, it would just throw me off.”

  Giovanni angled himself so he was between the delicate blond man and Beatrice and the letters. “Why are you here?”

  “Can’t I just come for a visit? It’s been—what? One hundred years or so? Time just flies when you’re building a business empire. Sorry I forgot to send Christmas cards.”

  “He’s really your son?” he heard Beatrice ask.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Giovanni muttered, glaring at the mocking vampire.

  “That hurts, Dad. Really, it does.”

  “Shut up.”

  Lorenzo peeked over Giovanni’s shoulder and winked at Beatrice. “He can just be so cross about sharing, you know? Hello, by the way. I’m Lorenzo. You must be the lovely Beatrice. I’ve heard so much about you, my dear.”

  “You killed my father, didn’t you?” Beatrice whispered.

  Giovanni wondered when she had figured it out. He was betting that Lorenzo’s words tonight had only confirmed her suspicions. He had suspected that his son was Stephen’s sire months ago, but hadn’t wanted to say anything to her.

  “Kill is such a harsh term. And not really all that accurate; after all, I sired him as well. He’s alive and well…I think. Naughty boy, that Stephen, running away from me like that.”

  Though his tone was teasing, Giovanni recognized the cold light in Lorenzo’s eyes that had only grown stronger in the last hundred years.

  “I want to know why you’re in Houston. I’m assuming you sent the letters, didn’t you?”

  “Oh,” Lorenzo’s eyes lit up, “are we telling old stories? Does she know all about us? Did you tell her our little secret? Does she know about old Nic?” He grinned slowly when he saw the slow burn in Giovanni’s eyes. “Oh, I just bet she doesn’t, does she?”

  “Why are you here?” he roared in Italian. Blue flames flared on his arms, and he felt the scraps of his sleeves turn to ash and drift to the ground. “Is this some sick game to you? Tell me your purpose, boy, and leave!”

  Lorenzo looked as if he had won a prize. “Oh, she’s wonderful…or is it your books? What has finally caused Niccolo’s perfect boy to lose his temper? It’s too beautiful for words.” A sick, dulcet laugh burbled from his throat.

  “Gio?”

  He tensed when he heard the tremor in Beatrice’s voice. He could tell she was terrified and trying to hide it. He wished he could reach out and calm the race of her pulse. Its frantic beat was starting to distract even him, and he knew that if he could feel the delicious burn in his throat, then Lorenzo must have been aching to feed from her.

  He took an unnecessary breath, hoping the habitual action would calm him, and slowly the blue flames were absorbed by his skin. Lorenzo also took a deep breath, and his nostrils flared as he scented the air. A slow smile grew on his son’s face, and his eyes closed in satisfaction.

  “She does smell like her father,” he purred. “You would have loved his taste, Giovanni. So pure—like a cool drink of water on a hot day. Do you remember that? So refreshing. But again, I spend too much time reminiscing.”

  Lorenzo opened his eyes and attempted to straighten his charred jacket. “I do believe I have an appointment at seven o’clock. If you could allow Beatrice to get my document for me, there’s no need for you to linger.”

  “Go to hell,” Giovanni said in a calm voice. “Why are you here? I obviously know you have my books, you lying bastard. So what else do you want?”

  “The girl, of course. I need her to get her father; he’s become quite the problem child.” Lorenzo clucked his tongue and shook his head. “So typical for adolescents, I’m afraid. You were lucky with me, Giovanni. I waited almost fifty years before I began to give you headaches.”

  Lorenzo looked over his shoulder again and winked at the terrified girl. “It’s just a phase, my dear. No need to worry about your father. I’ll have him back into the fold in no time.”

  Giovanni stepped away from Lorenzo and went to position himself closer to Beatrice, who stood guarding the letters on the table like a mother hen. “The girl is mine. Leave.”

  “Is she?” Lorenzo cocked his head. “Is she really, Giovanni? That would be something, wouldn’t it? Quite out of character for you, keeping a human. Whatever could be the attraction?” The vampire eyed Beatrice with new interest, and another feral growl issued from Giovanni’s throat.

  Lorenzo looked at him hopefully. “I’ll pay you, of course. Especially if she’s that much fun. I’m not expecting something for nothing. I’d even be willing to trade.”

  Giovanni’s eyes narrowed. “Not expecting something for nothing? Now that’s out of character for you, Lorenzo.”

  The blond vampire rolled his eyes. “Now, really, you act as if you got nothing out of the deal, Papà. And we both know that’s not true. What are a few old books and letters between father and son, hmm?” Then he slipped closer to them, twisting his neck around to peer at Beatrice before he looked up at Giovanni again. “Then again, maybe they’re worth more than I thought.”

  Lorenzo brushed the blond curls from his forehead and flicked a bit of ash from his sleeve. Giovanni could see the outline of the burns his hands left on his throat already healing, but he wouldn’t be able to wear his jacket again. He stood in front of his son, fuming silently.

  “Well, Giovanni, talkative as ever, I see.” Lorenzo sighed. “I suppose I’ll just have to make an appointment for another time. Maybe one of my associates can come take a look during the day when it’s more convenient.”

  He winked at Beatrice. “Either way, I’ll see my letters again. It was really more of a loan to pique your curiosity.”

  “Get out,” Giovanni said.

  “I can see that it worked even better than I’d hoped,” he sang as he turned and left the room. “I’ll be seeing you! Both of you. Soon.” He sailed out of the reading room with a flourish, and in a second he was down the hallway. They heard the door to the stairwell click behind him.

  Giovanni took a deep breath and finally turned to Beatrice. He had been able to smell the waves of adrenaline rolling off her during Lorenzo’s visit and he could hear her heartbeat pounding, but he was not prepared for the tears that poured down her face.

  “Beatrice?”

  She choked and waved a hand in front of her face, trying to turn so he wouldn’t see her crying, but he placed his hands on her shoulders to examine her, looking her up and down her to make sure she wasn’t hurt. It didn’t seem possible that she could be, but her reaction startled him.

  She finally choked out. “He—he wants me. He wants my father. I can’t…I’ve never been more—” She panted and tried to pull away from him. “I need a bathroom. I’m going to throw up.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “I don’t need someone to take me to the bathroom,” she shouted.

  “And I’m not letting you out of my sight while he’s around,” he shouted back.

  She lifted her hands and shoved him back. “This is your fault! I wish I’d never met you. He’s going to kill me and it’s your fault!”

  He felt a twist in his heart and it gave a quick thump. He took a deep breath and tried to remain calm.

  “One, he doesn’t want to kill you. Two, the only one in the wrong is Lorenzo. Don’t blame me—”

  “Why didn’t you just kill him?”

  His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “So eager to collaborate in a murder? Ready to explain a rather large burn mark on the floor? It’s a small room. Not that attached to your eyebrows, are you?”

  She wiped the a
ngry tears from her eyes and sniffed, her upset stomach apparently settled. “Well—”

  “You have no idea what you speak of. I can’t say I’m not impressed by your blood lust, tesoro, but you really must learn to pick your battleground.” He rolled his eyes and walked to the table to pack the Pico letters away. Next he walked over to the scroll and closed the large document box it lay in.

  “What are you doing?”

  “These need to be put away, you need to lock up, and we need to go to my house. We’ll stop on the way and get your grandmother.”

  “But it’s not nine o’clock.”

  He turned to her, his irritation finally spilling over. “Are you serious? I’m going to assume you’re still in some kind of shock, Beatrice, because I refuse to believe that after being threatened by a rather powerful, centuries-old, water vampire—who we just confirmed killed and turned your father, and now seems to have a sick fascination with you—you’re not arguing with me about closing the reading room a couple of hours early!”

  The color drained from her face before she turned and ran down the hall. He heard her throwing up in the bathroom and sighed, quickly packed up the documents and placed them on the counter before he walked down to stand outside the door.

  Giving her a few moments to collect herself, he waited in the hallway and thought about his son’s appearance at the library.

  He had thought of the girl first.

  It was…unexpected, even with his earlier reaction to Lorenzo’s scent on her. He had been thinking defensively as his son entered the room, but his first instinct had been to protect the girl and not his letters.

  He could still hear her sniffling alone in the bathroom. The urge to walk in and comfort her was also unexpected, though with his growing attraction it probably shouldn’t have been. He had avoided long-term attachments to women for this reason. Once his protective instincts were triggered, he became much less rational.