“You know, you forget that I don’t sleep as soundly as your husband, and my room is right down the hall,” Carwyn muttered as he stumbled in the library and collapsed on the sofa. “Why am I awake?”
“Because I...” She continued to strut, a smile plastered on her face, as she sat down and hugged him. “Figured out how to work the computer by myself.”
“Well, aren’t you the big girl?”
“Cranky, cranky.”
Carwyn glanced at the clock on the mantle, draped his arm across the back of the sofa, and gave Beatrice a squeeze. “It’s twelve o’clock in the afternoon. Of course I’m cranky. But congratulations anyway.”
Beatrice couldn’t stop grinning, and she leaned into her friend’s shoulder as he sat at her side, blinking. As silly as it may have seemed to Carwyn, being able to use a computer again felt like a huge victory.
“I should wake your husband up, just for spite. I’ll pound on the door. Threaten to harm his piano. Flush his first-edition Gatsby. Something horrible like that.”
She snickered. “Don’t. And don’t even think about the Gatsby. He hasn’t been resting well lately.”
“Hmph,” he said and pinched her neck. “Been drinking too much daywalker.”
He took a deep breath and relaxed, drifting in a hazy state as she leaned against him. Beatrice knew that, at over a thousand years old, Carwyn would often wake during the day, but unlike Tenzin or her father, he was groggy and slow. Still, it was nice to not be alone like she usually was.
“Carwyn?”
“Hmm?”
“How did your meeting go last night?”
“With the cardinal?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“It was fine. About how I expected.”
“Were you in trouble or anything?”
He said, “Not exactly. I’m the second oldest priest in the church. They don’t really reprimand me anymore. They leave me to myself.”
“Second oldest?”
Carwyn simply cocked an eyebrow before he closed his eyes again.
“Are there a lot of immortal priests?”
“There are a few. It’s not unheard of. The church has known about vampires for hundreds of years. Perhaps longer.”
Beatrice really didn’t know what to think of that, except that it wasn’t as surprising as it should have been. “But everything’s okay?”
He squeezed her shoulders again and leaned over to kiss the top of her head. “Everything’s fine, darling girl. Or it will be soon. Why is your man not resting well?”
“Dreams. He's been dreaming.”
“Ah.”
“He won’t talk about it, though.”
“Gio’s always been a quiet one about things like that.”
“I think he loves it and hates it here.”
Carwyn chuckled. “I think you know him very well.”
“I think I feel the same way.”
“Well, you’re both ahead of me. I just hate it.”
“So why were you so eager to come here?”
He gave her a side-eye and clammed up again.
Interesting.
“Come with us to this crazy party she’s throwing next week.”
Carwyn groaned. “Oh, don’t use the pitiful voice on me, B.”
“Please.” She hugged his waist. “Please. Everyone is so...”
“What?”
“Fake.”
Carwyn let out a snort.
“And weird.”
“You always have been a perceptive girl.”
“And they all look at me like I’m some sort of cross between a celebrity and a sideshow freak. I don’t care. I really don’t, but it’d be nice to have someone to talk to while Gio has to play the dutiful... whatever.”
“Son? Ward? Strange and inappropriate escort for his stepmother?”
“Yes, exactly.”
Carwyn groaned again, but Beatrice knew she was wearing him down. “Please. Come with us. You can help me make sense of all the players in this crazy game.”
“I’ll tell you now. Who do you want to know about?”
“Nice subject change.”
“I thought so.” He sniffed and sat up, rubbing his eyes a little.
Beatrice searched her mind. “Emil Conti.”
“Not a bad sort for a Roman. Far better than Livia. He’s a Republican, of the ancient Roman variety, and a fairly solid businessman. He’s got diverse interests. Lots of shipping, since he’s a water vamp. Most of his business is run out of Genoa, and he has ties with Jean Demarais, but like most aristocrats, he farms out most of the day-to-day and stays here to dabble in politics.”
“Matt said he could rule Rome if he wanted.”
Carwyn frowned. “I think it would be more accurate to say that he could rule Rome if he wanted to, and Livia didn’t. He’s not as ambitious as she is and, as much as he dislikes her, he’s not willing to go to war with her over the city, though some would like him to. The Vatican likes him. Would back him in a conflict, for what it’s worth.”
“How much influence do they have?”
He shrugged. “Now? Not much. In the past? Enormous. Livia courted whoever the Holy Father happened to be when it suited her in the past, but the Vatican isn’t the political power that it once was. Thank heavens.”
“That sounds kind of funny coming from a priest.”
“Why? When I became a priest, the church wasn’t a global power. It was a church. Its purpose was to shepherd the faithful, not influence worldly governments.”
“This sounds like a much longer discussion than we want to have at twelve thirty in the afternoon.”
“Very true.” He patted her head. “What other gossip do you want? I know most of it.”
She laughed. “Okay, Livia. Honestly, is she that bad? Do you actually think she could be the one behind Lorenzo?”
“Yes,” he said immediately. “If it suited her purposes and enriched her holdings, yes. Gio is sentimental, but she is completely self-serving, and she’s very, very greedy.”
“You think—”
“I think I don’t trust her to fetch my boots. She’d most likely put a scorpion in them.”
She smiled. “So... good friend of yours, then?”
“Oh yes,” he said. “We correspond regularly. Plus, she hates me because she blames Ioan and me for Gio retreating from public life, as she sees it.”
“Oh?”
“She rather liked being the stepmother to one of the most feared vampires in Europe and Asia. Gave her a certain cache. She’s been trying to convince him to move back and be her personal enforcer for centuries.”
“‘Personal enforcer.’ Is that what they’re calling it now?”
Carwyn’s laughed cracked the still air. “Oh, B, I can tell you’ve bonded with her already.”
“I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual. She has that bitchy ‘I’m pretending to like you, but I’d actually like to stab you in the eye’ look I remember from high school.”
Carwyn shook his head. “Heaven help me.” He was silent for a few moments, drifting in the warm afternoon air. “Women are... gloriously tangled creatures, aren’t they, Beatrice?”
She looked up with a smile. “You having woman problems, Father?”
Carwyn didn’t answer, and Beatrice leaned back, studying his still face. She didn’t know whether he had drifted off, or was just avoiding her question. “Carwyn?”
He sighed and let out a string of soft Welsh, his eyes still closed.
“Carwyn, you awake?”
“Shh.” He put a heavy arm around her shoulders and pulled her a little closer. “Shh, love. Rest now, Brigid.”
Beatrice’s eyes flew open, and her mouth dropped. “Who’s Brigid?”
At the sound of the name, Carwyn’s eyes popped open. “Hmm?”
“Who’s Brigid?”
He only frowned and cleared his throat. “Sixth century Irish bishop. Patron saint of Ireland. Who else do you want to know about? Matilda? Bo
meni?”
“You’re so not getting out of that question!”
He shifted and scooted forward, as if to go. “I should go back to sleep. Keep your celebrating down, B.”
She pulled on his arm. “No fair.”
He stood and turned back to her. “If I recall, once upon a time, you weren’t quite so forthcoming about a certain vampire and your feelings, so leave it be.”
“Carwyn, what—”
“Leave it be.” His voice was rough, and a light flared in his eyes.
She sat, looking up at him. He didn’t look angry, or even irritated. He looked... peaceful. And maybe a little resigned. “You’ll tell me someday?”
A smile crept across his face. “I’ll tell you when there’s something to tell.”
Beatrice couldn’t help meeting his smile with one of her own. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” She rose from the couch and gave him a quick hug. “Do you really need to sleep?”
He shook his head. “I can stay awake for you, if you’ve a need for company.”
“‘Night of the Living Dead?’”
“Romero?” He slowly walked toward the doorway.
“Of course.”
“Well”—Carwyn raised his arms and stumbled down the hall—“Zombies do seem strangely appropriate at the moment.”
“You try to eat my brain, and I’ll get the swords out.”
“Oooh, scary.”
Fontana del Pantheon, Rome
“I can’t believe how much gelato I’m eating.”
Ben eyed Dez as she scooped up another spoonful. “It is pretty amazing. But then, I think we just need to accept that we are no longer eating lunch while we’re in Rome.”
“Yep, gelato is its own food group here.”
Dez leaned back against the cool pillar as they sat in the shade in front of the Pantheon. They had woken that morning as they did most mornings since they had come to Rome. Late. Angela fed them breakfast before Dez and Ben struck out to explore the Temple of Hadrian, which was fairly close to the house. Every day, they would take in some site that the guidebooks recommended before they found a suitable gelateria and a shady place to people-watch.
Even though Ben made a game of flirting with Dez, she and Matt were two of his favorite people, and the three were having a great time exploring the city. If he was free, Matt came along, but most times, he was running an errand for Beatrice or Giovanni. That morning, he happened to be meeting with some of his “friends” to procure a suitable weapon for Ben to carry when he was in Rome. Ben slipped a hand into his pocket and felt the cool grip of the knife his uncle had given him the night before.
“Carry it whenever you go out. Particularly if you’re with Dez. Get to know the neighborhood. Learn the streets. We’re relying on you. Be smart, Benjamin.”
His eyes darted around the square, watching the bustling crowd. Tourist season had already started, but Ben knew enough about cities to be able to spot the locals. He may have spent the previous few years taking it easy in Houston and L.A., but he had been born in New York and raised himself on the streets. And big cities, he knew, were remarkably similar in a lot of ways.
He could still spot the tourists with the fattest wallets. He could spot the savvy local girls. And he could definitely spot the guy with the shiny forehead wearing the unseasonably warm jacket who was trying a little too hard to be inconspicuous.
“Okay, I’m stuffed.” Dez stood and stretched, shoving her sunglasses up her nose and looking around. Ben could hear the trickle of the fountain in the background, and the murmur of the crowd, but he kept an eye on the suspicious man out of the corner of his eye. The guy was definitely eyeing Dez, and Ben didn’t think it was because of her California-girl looks.
“Ben?”
“Huh?”
“Let’s head back to the house. I’m getting sleepy. Do you mind?”
Ben stood and casually slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Nah, that’s cool.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and started toward the street that would lead them to Giovanni’s house. Very subtly, he noticed the man shift in their direction before he looked down at the newspaper he was reading. As Dez and Ben left the shade of the temple, they turned right and Ben caught the man following them at a distance.
“Hey, Dez?”
“Yeah?”
Ben grabbed her hand and hustled down a side street he had mapped out the week before. It looked like an alleyway, but led to a triangular-shaped piazza surrounded by office buildings. Also headed in that direction was a blond girl who was similar to Dez in height.
Perfect. “Let’s go this way, okay?”
“What?” She followed Ben, her pace matching his as they turned left into the cobblestone piazza. Ben hurried to catch up with the blonde, glancing over his shoulder. The man was definitely following them.
The triangle-shaped piazza opened up before narrowing down into a driveway leading out to a larger thoroughfare. Though that was the direction most of the pedestrian traffic was flowing; there was also a twisting walkway past a parking lot leading through the houses and to the primary school behind the Pantheon. Ben had found it when he was scoping out the neighborhood. It was roundabout, but the best way he could think of to lose whomever it was that seemed to be tailing them. The blond girl went straight; Ben tugged Dez’s hand and turned left.
“Ben? Where are we going?”
“I think I saw a bookshop that had English books in the window.”
Dez perked up immediately. Though Giovanni had a full library at the house, his selection of books in English was somewhat limited, so Ben and Dez had been on a hunt to expand it. He glanced over his shoulder as they turned the corner. He could see the man following the blond girl to the main road. Ben pulled Dez into a small shop that sold postcards and cigarettes. The man behind the counter, with the universal wisdom of all convenience store owners, eyed Ben with suspicion, only relaxing when he saw Dez walk in behind him.
“Signore, uno... uno cappelo, per favore?” Ben motioned to Dez. “Per la signora?”
The older man shrugged and pointed to the back of the shop where a few rows of tacky caps with pictures of the Colosseum were lined up. Ben grabbed a navy blue cap and tugged it on Dez’s head.
“Ben, I don’t see any books here. I think you—hey!” She was looking around and jerked back when Ben pushed the hat on her head. “Ew! I’m not wearing this.”
“You should.” He kept hold of her hand and pulled a few euros from his pocket, handing them to the shopkeeper on the way out of the store. “It’s getting warm and you don’t want to overheat.” He peeked his head out, but couldn’t see the man anywhere. “I think I was remembering a shop on the other side of the Pantheon. Where we were this morning.”
“Oh.” Dez looked around. “Yeah, that was a big triangle like this one. Ben, I’m not wearing this hat. It’s ugly. Why did you waste the money?”
He pulled her out into the parking lot and to the left toward the alley that led to the school.
“Oh, just humor me until we get home, will you?” His eyes never stopped glancing around, looking for the shiny forehead of the man who had been watching them before. He was nowhere in Ben’s sight, and he allowed himself to relax a little.
“Ben?” He finally turned and looked at Dez. She was no longer smiling. “Who was following us?”
Ben was moments away from denying it, not wanting to seem paranoid or worry her, but he stopped himself. Dez was too smart to buy the quick lie.
“I’m not sure. I remember his face. I’ll try to draw it when I get home.”
She just nodded and squeezed his hand. “Okay. Which way should we go back?”
Ben let out the breath he was holding. He knew he wasn’t overreacting, but he’d been afraid that Dez would think so. He let her hand go, reaching back into his pocket to grasp the knife. “Down here. I checked it out last week.”
She smirked and tugged the cap lower on her head. “
Lead the way.”
Residenza di Spada
“And he hadn’t seen him before?” Beatrice questioned Dez as they stood in the enormous walk-in closet in the guest room where Beatrice kept her wardrobe. She had acquired more clothes in the past month than she had in the previous three years, thanks to Dez’s shopping habits, her suddenly active social calendar, and Giovanni’s habit of losing his patience with buttons and zippers when the mood struck.
“No, he drew a pretty good sketch, though. He gave it to Matt as soon as he got home. Matt, Gio, and Ben are talking in the library right now.”
Beatrice sighed and glanced longingly toward the door.
“Nope, not on your life. You have to figure something out to wear to this party next week, and if you’re serious about not wearing that... grand occasion of a dress that Livia sent, then you better stay here.” Dez pointed toward the magnificent Renaissance era gown that Livia had sent by uniformed courier the day before. It was a sixteenth century style, rich with priceless fabric and stunning detail. The wine-colored brocade would set off Beatrice’s pale, luminous complexion. The gold cording around the collar would make her brown eyes and hair glow. It was stunning.
“It has a hoop skirt. Are you kidding me?”
“Technically, it’s called a...” Dez looked over to the laptop on the desk. “Farthingale.”
“Well, farthingale or hoop skirt, I’m not wearing this thing. It’s ridiculous.”
Dez grinned. “The corset’s kind of hot, though.”
Beatrice gave her most ladylike snort. “Okay, I’ll wear the corset with a nice pair of black jeans and some kick-ass boots.”
“Have you seen what Gio’s wearing? Is it tights? Please tell me it’s tights.”
“Should it weird me out that you want to ogle my husband’s ass in a pair of tights?”
Dez just shook her head. “Not appreciating that ass would be like walking through the Sistine Chapel and not looking up. No, really, what’s he wearing?”
Beatrice laughed. “It’s pretty simple. She probably knew she couldn’t get away with anything too elaborate. And no tights. There are these kind of fitted leggings, but they go just above his knee. The jacket looks similar to mine, but plainer. Mostly, he was grumbling because she’s doing this whole party in his honor. She has this party every year, but usually people just dress up in whatever costumes they want. Livia made it a Renaissance theme for Gio.”