A Hidden Fire: Elemental Mysteries Book 1 (12 page)

“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. 

“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!”

Caspar chuckled and went back to his crossword puzzle on the counter.  She walked back into the living room and sat in the open spot between the two vampires.  Carwyn was already shouting at the screen on her left, but Giovanni sat back, slightly more subdued as he stretched his left arm across the back of the couch and looked at her. 

Beatrice chuckled.  “It’s kind of cute, to be honest.”

“Really?”

“You’re usually so dignified,” she raised her beer to take a drink, and Giovanni leaned in slightly with a small smile on his lips.  “It’s kind of nice—”

Just then, he grabbed the beer out of her hand and jerked her arm toward his body.  His nostrils flared and his eyes glowed as he pulled her hand to his face and inhaled deeply.  Her heart rate shot up when she heard the growl rip from his throat, and his left arm coiled around her waist. 

“Gio—”

“Where is he?” he hissed. 

Chapter Nine

Houston, Texas

December 2003

“
G
iovanni, let her go.”

He was lost in instinct, trapped in the scent of the unexpected enemy on a human his nature had claimed, even if his mind had not.  His fangs descended, spurred by the sudden rush of blood in his veins and the unseen threat.  He wanted to sink his teeth into her, marking her as his own so no other would dare to touch her.

“Giovanni!”  He heard the priest’s voice as if he was calling from far away.

“Gio,” she whispered; her pulse pounded in his ears, and the scent of her panic rolled off her in seductive waves.  “Please, don’t—I don’t understand—”

His head inched toward her neck, the ancient, territorial compulsion roaring through him to drink and claim her blood as his own.  He felt the current in his fingertips crawl across the girl’s skin as the amnis began to run through him and into her. 

“Giovanni di Spada!”

He stared, hypnotized by the pulsing heartbeat that sped faster the closer he held her.  His own heart began to thump faster and he bared his fangs. 

“I will end you if you harm the innocent!” Carwyn roared in Italian, the language of his youth finally breaking through the haze that clouded Giovanni’s rational mind. 

His hooded eyes flew open, and the vampire leapt away from the girl, staring at her in horror when he saw the tears coursing down her face.  He stopped breathing and took another step back, pushing down the snarl that threatened to erupt when Carwyn stepped between him and Beatrice.

“Outside.  Now!”

He tried to look around Carwyn.  “Beatrice—”

“Now, before I throw you out!” he yelled as Caspar stood gaping in the doorway. 

Giovanni threw open the terrace doors and stalked outside.  Caspar met him pacing near the pool a few minutes later with a bag of blood from the refrigerator.  Biting directly into the bag, Giovanni ignored the stale taste as he sucked it dry.  He felt the volatile energy licking along his skin, so he stripped off his clothes, and dove to the bottom of the pool where he sat in utter stillness, gradually slowing the beat of his normally silent heart. 

He watched the moon through the dark water, disgusted with his actions in the living room and furious with himself for losing control of his base nature after hundreds of years of strict discipline. 

“What is our first lesson from Plato?”

“’For a man to conquer himself is the first and noblest of all victories.’”

“You must always be stronger than your nature.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

“It is the key to your survival in any circumstance.  You more than any other.”

He didn’t know how long he sat at the bottom of the pool, but eventually his ears alerted him to the faint splash near the shallow end as something broke the still surface. 

He shot up, shocked to see Beatrice sitting near the steps with her shoes off, and her feet dangling near the steps. 

“Hey.”

He didn’t speak, but scanned the surrounding area, spotting Carwyn who sat, glaring at him from one of the chaises on the terrace.  Giovanni nodded toward his old friend, his eyes communicating his careful control, and he saw the priest relax.  He looked back to the solemn young woman who met his gaze without flinching. 

“I would offer an apology, Beatrice De Novo.”

The girl had no idea how rare an occasion it was for Giovanni to admit wrongdoing, so she only narrowed her eyes.  “Is it going to happen again?”

He paused, wanting to answer honestly.  “I had underestimated how territorial I felt toward you.  I won’t make the mistake again.”

“Why do you feel territorial about me?” she asked quietly. 

He treaded water, still keeping his distance.  “You are under my
aegis
, whether you accept it or not.”  Giovanni ignored the sudden tension he sensed from Carwyn on the patio, choosing to lock his gaze on the girl at the end of the pool.

“What does that mean?”  She looked at him, confusion evident in her features.

There was no need for her to know the full extent of his aegis, or that by claiming her, he had every right to drink from her as he wished.  He decided the simplest explanation was best.

“It means I have taken responsibility for you in my world.  Part of that responsibility is to protect you, and I failed in that tonight.”

“You stopped.”

He couldn’t speak, afraid that honesty would send her running.  If Carwyn had not been there, he wouldn’t have stopped. 

She must have seen the truth in his eyes.  “Would you have killed me?”

Most definitely not.
  “No ... but I would have marked you.  Without your permission.”

She frowned and looked at him curiously.  “Do humans—do they
ever
give you their permission?”

He avoided the question, diving and surfacing a few feet from her.  She looked away, flustered by his presence, so he retreated a few feet. 

“Wh—who is Giovanni di Spada?” she asked. 

“Who?”

“Carwyn, he called you that when you were…you know.”

Giovanni frowned a little, faintly remembering the priest calling the name of his more violent past.  “Giovanni de Spada is the name I was using when Carwyn and I met.  I went by that name for almost two hundred years.  He still forgets and calls me that occasionally.”

“So you changed the last name, but you kept Giovanni?”

He nodded, baffled by her questions, but willing to entertain them if it regained some of the trust he had broken.  “It seemed easier to keep the given name.  If I ever traveled back to the same place or the same business and someone happened to remember me, it was easy enough to claim I was a relative.  And, of course, there were no photographs until recently.”

“Oh,” she nodded, “that makes sense.”

“It wasn’t difficult to change your identity for most of history.”

“And now?”

He shrugged.  “Now it is harder, but not impossible.”

She paused and finally met his eyes.  He could see her start to relax and wished he had not agreed to avoid using his amnis on her.  It would make questioning her far more straightforward. 

“Who did you meet today?” he asked quietly, slowly moving closer to her at the edge of the pool. 

“Who did I—what?  I met…” she cleared her throat, suddenly flustered again, “lots of people, Gio.  What does that—”

“You met someone new.  A stranger.  You had the scent of another immortal on you,” he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. 

She scowled at him.  “I did not!  I had a completely normal day.  I didn’t meet any vampires.  I think I’d know what to look for at this point, don’t you?”  He could hear her pulse pick up, but he sensed it was from anger, not fear.  

He glanced at Carwyn, who moved slightly closer to the pool, his hands in his pockets as he sauntered toward them. 

“I smelled it too, B.  It was faint, but it was there.  It’s on your hands.  Gio’s nose has always been sharper.  Did you shake hands with anyone?  Go anywhere new?”

She rolled her eyes and huffed in frustration.  “I went to school and work.  I went to dinner with my grandma and her friends.  I went to a new Thai restaurant where none of the waiters looked any paler than usual, Carwyn.  I didn’t meet a vampire!”

“Something,” Giovanni muttered, swimming over to the edge of the pool and lifting himself up.  “There has to be something.”  He strode over the patio, dripping cold water as he walked.  He only remembered his nudity when he heard Beatrice gasp a little from the steps. 

Carwyn rolled his eyes and tossed Giovanni a towel from the end of the chaise.  “Cover yourself up.  We all know she’d rather see
me
naked.”

He glanced over his shoulder toward Beatrice, who was blushing and staring at his feet.  He smirked when he realized why her heart had been racing.

It didn’t appear to be anger.

He slung the towel around his waist and walked back toward her, holding a hand out to help her up.  She was still looking anywhere but at him. 

“Beatrice,” he said, trying to smother a smile.  “I apologize.  My behavior in the living room was unconscionable.  It won’t happen again.”  She still refused to look at him.  He sighed and dropped his hand. 

“It’s fine, Gio,” she said, bright red in the face.  “Just don’t scare me like that again.”

“I’ll try not to.”  He held out his hand again; this time she took it and allowed him to help her stand. 

“And don’t think I didn’t feel the current thing when you grabbed me.  Do
not
mess with my brain.”

He allowed her to see the edge of his smile.  “Understood.”

She nodded, resolve clear in her eyes.  “I’m going to go call my grandmother so she doesn’t worry.  I’ll be up in the library when I’m done.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.  Now go put some clothes on.  Because if you want me to concentrate, you can’t dangle that much naked man in front of me.  Vampire or not.”

Giovanni stifled a grin as he walked into the house, punching a laughing Carwyn as he walked by. 

“Ow,” the priest pouted, back to his normally gregarious nature. 

“Liar.”

“I’m practicing for wrestling!”

Giovanni couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face or the sense of satisfaction as he ran upstairs to get dressed. 

She still hadn’t run. 

He met them all in the library, where Carwyn started a fire and Caspar had already brought drinks for everyone.  The butler sat next to the girl on the couch, leaving the two end chairs for the vampires to perch. 

Neither vampire sat; Carwyn leaned a shoulder into the mantle and watched the room, while Giovanni roamed the length of the library.  His mind was shuffling information, moving clues like a puzzle.  Now that he could think more rationally, the pieces were beginning to fall into place.  The anger, however, was only beginning to grow. 

“Carwyn,” he heard Beatrice ask as he walked toward his locked cabinet, “why can you use the stereo and the remotes when Gio can’t?  You’ve got the same current under your skin, right?”

Giovanni’s eyes shot to his friend’s, who simply shrugged a little before he answered. 

“Well,” he winked at Beatrice.  “Let’s just say I’m better grounded than Sparky over there.”

“Better groun—oh, elements!  Fire.  Earth.  Air.  Water.  Are you an earth vampire, or something?”

He nodded and stared at her in the flickering light from the hearth.  “Such a clever girl,” he murmured.  “I wonder what else we can figure out together, hmm?”  He glanced back to Giovanni, who only nodded silently at the back of the library. 

“Beatrice,” the priest continued, “may I smell your hand, dear girl?  Just once more.  I promise not to get all fangy.”

Beatrice smiled and glanced over her shoulder at Giovanni. 

“Sure.”  She held out her hand.  “But I’m pretty positive I didn’t meet a vampire today.  My day was completely boring.  The only exciting thing about it was a couple of new documents at work.  And that’s…”  She trailed off and Giovanni could see her make the connection.  “I mean…the documents—”

She broke off abruptly when she saw the gleam in Carwyn’s eyes.  He bent over her hand as if he was going to kiss it, but just like the night they met, he inhaled a deep, almost predatory, breath over her fingertips. 

“Carwyn?” Giovanni asked with growing certainty. 

“Parchment,” he muttered into her hand.  His blue eyes shot up.  “The new documents at the library—I need to know what they were.  Where were they from?  Were they bought?  Donated?  I need to know everything you can tell me about them.”

Giovanni felt electricity begin to charge the air as he moved closer to the couch, but the priest held up a hand as Beatrice’s eyes began to dart nervously around the room.  Caspar reached over and patted the girl’s arm. 

“Everyone take a step back,” the butler said soothingly.  “I’m sure Beatrice is already an expert, gentlemen.  Let her speak.”

She glanced gratefully at him, and Caspar smiled in encouragement. 

“It’s—it was donated anonymously.  It’s a letter.  There are two of them.  From the Italian Renaissance.  Two friends, a philosopher and a—a poet.  They were authenticated at the University of Ferrara.  Dated 1484.  From Florence.”

Giovanni was drawn to her voice, walking silently over to stand by the fire as she spoke.  Her eyes lifted and met his.

Carwyn’s eyes darted between him and the young woman.  “Who were the letters addressed to, B?”

“Giovanni…” she began, staring with her warm brown eyes.  “Count Giovanni Pico della Mirandola.  That’s who the letters were for.”