The Force of Wind

  “I killed them… eventually. It took longer than I had hoped. These were not raw warriors. They had training and most of them, I would guess, were my age or older.”

  Beatrice whispered, “You killed six on your own?”

  Baojia’s eyes softened when he looked at her. “I have had many years fighting, Beatrice. You and your father did well against your opponents. Four against two. One of whom was your father’s sire? Do not blame yourself for his death. Others bear that responsibility.”

  But Beatrice did. It was unavoidable. Her mind kept replaying little things she could have done differently. If she hadn’t panicked. If she had been faster. If she had better control of the bloodlust that had ambushed and distracted her.

  “When I got to the river, Lorenzo was already gone. Stephen was dead. B was pinned—”

  “Pinned?” Giovanni squeezed her hand.

  “He pinned me to the ground with his sword. I tried to pull it out, but it was so deep. He broke off the handle so I couldn’t… And then, I’m pretty sure it cut my spine and—”

  She broke off when Giovanni grabbed her and pulled her into a fierce embrace. She heard Tenzin and Baojia quickly leave them as Giovanni rocked her back and forth.

  “Tesoro,” he whispered as he rocked her back and forth. “Beatrice, I should never have left you.”

  “You can’t say that. You were trying to find Lorenzo. You were trying to protect the monks. I’m not the only person in the world, you know.”

  He said something low in Italian before he cleared his throat.

  “Do you want to rest? Do you want to help Tenzin with your father? What would you do?”

  “I’ll help Tenzin. What… what will happen to his body?”

  He paused. “It will linger for two more nights. On the third night, we return to our element. We will take him to the river.”

  She nodded. Beatrice was glad they were near a river. Some instinctual part of her recoiled at the idea of her father’s remains dissolving into the earth. She peeled herself away from Giovanni, rose, and went to find Tenzin.

  Giovanni and Baojia were silently sorting and replacing the scrolls on the shelves while Beatrice and Tenzin sat next to Stephen’s lifeless body. Giovanni kept an eye on his wife even as he worked. He also watched in fascination as Tenzin performed the ancient mourning ritual over her mate.

  She chanted a low, droning song, first washing, then covering his body in oils she had gathered from the monks’ workrooms. She had closed his eyes and bound his mouth closed with a piece of saffron cloth, before covering his face with a white fragment torn from her own tunic. Tenzin rose to her feet, leaving the library on some errand, while Beatrice remained watching over her father.

  Giovanni came to sit with her.

  “I wish we had a priest.”

  “Rituals are for the living, not the dead.” He knew Stephen had been Catholic, and he wished that Carwyn was there to comfort Beatrice.

  As if reading his mind, she spoke. “Have you called Carwyn?”

  “I sent a letter out to him and one to Kirby last night. Zhang’s men will see that they are delivered.”

  “And Matt will tell my grandma.”

  “Yes.”

  “Because I can’t.”

  He hesitated. “You can’t see her right now, Beatrice. You’re too volatile.”

  He heard her begin to cry again, and he put an arm around her, drawing her into his chest. He was grateful for the black robes that Zhang’s guards had brought for them, as his shirt and her own were stained with bloody tears. Tenzin came back with a large white cloth and Beatrice pulled away from him, sniffing and wiping her eyes.

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  Giovanni rose and let them continue. Beatrice tore the linen cloth into long strips, which Tenzin used to bind the body and head together. He watched in fascination as his friend took a dagger and cut her long hair at the shoulder, twisting it into a braid that she placed over Stephen’s chest before she crossed his arms and began wrapping him in his shroud, tucking fragrant herbs among the linen. He had no idea where Tenzin had found the white cloth with which she wrapped her mate, but he watched carefully as Beatrice helped, following Tenzin’s murmured instructions as they cared for Stephen’s earthly remains.

  Giovanni wondered what ancient rite they were following. He had never seen Tenzin grieve. Giovanni doubted anyone ever had, and he wondered if any human or vampire in the last five thousand years had sung the low song she chanted in her mother tongue.

  No one entered the library or disturbed their quiet sorrow. Giovanni left briefly to check with Zhang’s men, who were clearing the human remains and waiting for the company of humans and vampires that Lu Dongbin would send.

  “The young monks?” he asked Zhang’s lieutenant as he stood near the gates and watched them work.

  “Have been taken to Penglai. They will go to another monastery. One only Lu has knowledge of.”

  “Please tell Elder Lu that we are sorting the library as best we can. It was left in shambles.”

  The wind vampire said, “The elder will be most grateful. After Mistress Tenzin has mourned her mate, his people will take care of the rest.”

  Giovanni nodded and slipped back into the dim hall.

  Beatrice and Tenzin sat silently next to the wrapped body the rest of the night, while he and Baojia continued to put the library in as much order as was possible. Much had been destroyed in Lorenzo’s frantic search for Geber’s manuscript, but much still remained.

  “I didn’t love him, you know.”

  “What?” Giovanni looked up from sorting the next night.

  Tenzin was still sitting by Stephen’s body while Beatrice and Baojia swam. Like most of her kind, Beatrice was drawn to the water, taking comfort from its presence. She and Baojia had slipped away when the sun had set and they had fed. The water vampire had refused to leave Beatrice’s presence since her attack, even sitting within eye distance while she rested for the day. Giovanni had allowed it, understanding the other vampire’s burden.

  “Stephen. When we started exchanging blood. I did not love him. We did not have what you and Beatrice… It was not the same.”

  Looking into her grief-stricken eyes, Giovanni knew that his friend had loved Stephen, no matter what she said. He only shook his head. “You do not have to explain yourself to me.”

  “I exchanged blood with him to protect him. And for Beatrice. I knew it was his fate to sire her, and he needed to be strong.”

  “He was as strong as you could make him, Tenzin.”

  “I was overconfident.”

  “We all were.”

  She fell silent before she left Stephen’s body and came to sit next to him. He handed her a stack of loose paper, which she began paging through.

  “What will you do now?” she asked.

  “Try to get it back.”

  “I think you need to find out who his partner is. Someone provided him with those guards. Someone other than Elder Zhongli.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  They worked steadily for another hour.

  “You will take Beatrice to Cochamó?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know you think it was a mistake to turn her. That it left her vulnerable to the bloodlust, but—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  She looked up. “Surely you must see that she would not have survived if she had not turned.”

  Giovanni clenched his jaw in frustration. “Did you see the council giving her the book? Did you see them forcing Lorenzo’s hand? Causing this confrontation? Did your mystic eye see that, Tenzin?”

  “Lan would have voted with you if there was no other option,” Tenzin said in a firm voice. “They would not have allowed you to kill him on the island, you know how they are.”

  “And then Lorenzo would have done this anyway.”

  She made no response, only continued to quietly leaf through the old papers.

  “Steph
en told me he would not live long.”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “He told me months ago that he felt he was ‘living on borrowed time,’ as he put it. That he would not escape this fate. He was peaceful about it. Stephen claimed that he should have died years ago when Lorenzo turned him. That all this time was only a gift.”

  “Because he saw Beatrice again.”

  She nodded.

  “But you did not see this fate for him?”

  “No, I did not see this.”

  “Or you did not choose to.”

  Tenzin looked at him with guarded eyes. “Perhaps, I did not choose to.”

  Giovanni cleared his throat. “Will she… will she join him?”

  It had weighed on his mind more than he wanted. As much as Beatrice loved him, new immortals were impulsive and irrational, and he clearly remembered his own sense of despair hundreds of years before when he had murdered his own sire. Despite Giovanni’s loathing for him, there was a gaping hollow where he felt Andros’s loss.

  “Gio, you know her better than that.”

  “Do I?”

  Tenzin frowned. “How can you ask that?”

  “She is the same to me, but more. Surely you can see it.”

  His friend placed her hand on his arm, squeezing slightly. “She is… exactly who she will need to be, my boy.”

  He took a deep breath. “Beatrice is as much your daughter as she was Stephen’s, Tenzin. Please, don’t disappear.”

  Giovanni saw her grey eyes shutter. She slipped away and went to sit by Stephen’s body again, and in his heart, he knew she was already gone.

  Two nights later, a solemn procession slipped down the steps from the monastery. Giovanni walked ahead and lit the stone lanterns on the path before four of Zhang’s men, who carried Stephen’s body. Tenzin and Beatrice followed them. Lu’s water vampires had arrived the night before and stood near the edge of the river, watching the procession in silent respect.

  The four wind vampires carried the body to the edge of the river where Tenzin and Beatrice, both dressed in white robes, held out their hands and cradled Stephen between them, waiting until the water claimed its own.

  He felt a flutter of wind and looked to his right to see Zhang light on the stone steps and walk to him. They nodded toward each other.

  “Giovanni.”

  “Zhang.”

  “How is your wife?”

  “Beatrice will be fine. She is very strong.”

  He heard a slight hoarseness in Zhang’s voice. “And how is my daughter?”

  Giovanni paused. “She will be fine.”

  “The elder has been executed. Lu carried it out himself. The whole council was displeased by his actions.”

  “He broke their trust.”

  “And sacrificed a sacred place of learning for a human.”

  Giovanni couldn’t help but think that he would have done the same if the human had been Beatrice, but he remained silent.

  “Does your son have Beatrice’s book?”

  “Yes. She saw him take it.”

  “You will retrieve it. The book was given to Beatrice as a scribe of Penglai; it is rightfully hers. If the council of the Eight Immortals can help you, we will. We do not care to have our will averted.”

  “It is the Seven Immortals now, isn’t it?”

  Zhang was silent for a moment. “Surely you must know that the council is immortal. There will always be eight.”

  “But—”

  “Elder Zhongli is more than the vampire who wore his name.”

  Giovanni nodded in understanding. So, another Elder Zhongli Quan would be chosen. Giovanni wondered how that would come about, but chose not to ask, knowing he would receive no answer. He wondered if Zhongli had been the original vampire of legend, or whether he had been a replacement himself.

  “Of course, Elder Zhang. Continuity is important.”

  “As is balance.”

  “Yes.” Giovanni looked to his mate. She stood proud and solemn across from his oldest friend. He thought of Beatrice and Tenzin. Of Carwyn and himself. Water, wind, earth and fire.

  Balance.

  Four elements.

  Always four.

  His eyes narrowed and he glanced at Zhang, who only looked at him with a slight smile.

  “Balance,” Zhang said again, “is the key, Giovanni Vecchio. The wisest of immortals have always understood this.”

  A thought began to bloom at the back of his mind. A path in the darkness began to grow lighter.

  Balance.

  He nodded at Zhang a little more deeply. “Of course. Thank you, Elder Zhang.”

  Giovanni turned back to the river; he could feel the change in the air. Beatrice’s heart began to beat more rapidly, and he and Zhang stepped closer as the air became charged.

  It was only a ripple at first. The solid shroud of Stephen’s earthly form seemed to shudder in the current. Then, little by little, it grew thinner. The strips of cloth that had bound his feet came loose, curling in the water as the river teased them. Then, as if by silent command, the white cloth slipped away from the women’s grasp, unfurling like a silken cocoon as the pure white linen was washed away in the stream. He watched it spread, a silver web scattering in the curls and eddies of the Nine-Bend River, washing down the mountain and into the sea.

  He watched Stephen’s shroud until the turn of the river took it out of sight, then his eyes sought his mate. She was standing in the shallow water, watching with dark eyes. He could see the longing in them, and he knew that she felt the call to follow him, to lose herself within the soft embrace of her element. He sent a silent plea to her, willing her eyes to turn toward his.

  She was poised on the riverbank. One foot on the muddy ground and the other sunk in the water. Finally, her head turned, she looked at him, and he felt her return. Beatrice climbed from the edge, and he caught her in a tight embrace.

  “I want to go home,” she whispered. “There is nothing here. Take me home.”

  “We will leave tonight.”

  Beatrice pressed her face into his chest as Giovanni watched Tenzin walk toward them. His friend stopped and spoke a few words to her father in the old language, then walked to them. Beatrice turned, and Tenzin put one hand on her cheek, wiping the tears that stained it as she pulled Beatrice toward her, laying a soft kiss on her forehead and whispering in her ear before she stepped back.

  Tenzin met Giovanni’s eye, nodded once, and took to the air, silently disappearing into the black shroud of night.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Los Angeles, California

  November 2010

  “Where is she?”

  “A small airport outside of Chino. It smells more like cows than people there.”

  “And she’s alone?”

  Giovanni paused, looking at Beatrice’s grandfather. Ernesto’s measuring gaze bored into him. “She prefers the solitude. She asked that I lock her in while we had our visit.”

  Ernesto waved a dismissive hand at him. “I will be by to visit later tonight. She will see me.”

  Giovanni cocked his head. “You are welcome to try. Kirby is guarding the hangar. Call him for directions.”

  “And the boy?”

  “I’ve already sent him south. He’s being looked after.”

  Ernesto nodded, quietly tapping the arm of the leather chair in his study where he met with Giovanni. They were sipping red wine in Ernesto’s mansion in Newport Harbor. Quiet servants scuttled about in the background, but no one disturbed their quiet conversation.

  Beatrice and Giovanni had arrived in Southern California the night before to return Baojia to his sire. Giovanni was meeting with family and associates for the next two nights; then he and Beatrice would leave for Chile.

  “You’ll be in South America for a year?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where can I reach my granddaughter if I want to contact her? I need an address of some kind.”

  Giovanni smiled and
avoided the question. “You may reach us through Kirby, of course. And we’ll also be making sure that Isadora is kept informed of Beatrice’s progress.”

  Ernesto may narrowed his eyes, but Giovanni suspected the old vampire knew he would not get more, no matter who he was related to.

  “You may be sure that I’ll be keeping a close eye on Isadora while you are away.”

  Threat or promise? Giovanni suspected that for Ernesto Alvarez, it was a promise. “I’m sure Beatrice will appreciate it. As do I.”

  “I’m not doing it for you, di Spada.” It had not escaped Giovanni’s notice that Beatrice’s grandfather was using his more notorious name. “Beatrice may be under your aegis—”

  “She is under no one’s aegis but her own.”

  “—but she is still my granddaughter. It is my responsibility that Stephen was lost, and I will not risk her. I only let her go with you now because you are her mate, and I know your reputation.”

  Giovanni forced down the instinctive surge of fire that flowed under his skin and narrowed his eyes at the old man. “Let me be clear, Alvarez, no one will be allowed to interfere with my family. Particularly with my wife. She is no one’s pawn, no matter how they may care for her. Be very careful in your presumptions.”

  The old man’s eyes gleamed for a moment before a smile curved his mouth. “Excellent. She has chosen a good mate in you.” Ernesto sighed and leaned back into his chair, showing his age more in the slump of his shoulders than the lines that marked his face. It was the least guarded Giovanni had ever seen him.

  “How is she, really?”

  Giovanni took a deep breath and tried to release the tension. “She is grieving. Her father and her sire.”

  “It would have been better if I had sired her.” Ernesto waved a hand as Giovanni opened his mouth to protest. “I know you think I have my own designs on her future, and I will not deny it. She was an extraordinary human, and she will be an even more extraordinary immortal, even the Elders of Penglai recognized it.”