A glass of water she’d been watching on the coffee table shattered. Water scattered over the table, but the pieces of glass were swept up in a gust and immediately tossed into the fire. She looked up to see Ziri smirking at her with his terrifying black gaze.
“Who are you?” she asked.
His dark head bowed, and he swept back the striped robes he wore. “I am Ziri.”
“I know that. Who are you?”
Ziri said, “You are very much like your father, do you know?”
She felt Tenzin’s tension from across the room. Beatrice’s eyes darted to her father’s mate, who was watching her fellow wind vampire with suspicion. Tenzin remained silent and let Beatrice question him.
“I am. How did you know my father?”
The ancient vampire looked thoughtful for a moment, tilting his head while Beatrice examined him. He was definitely the ancient immortal she’d seen at Livia’s garden party. His skin was pockmarked and looked dusky from the sun. His features were a curious blend of Middle Eastern and African. Beatrice was reminded of a library exhibit she had helped curate about the Berber people of Morocco. But Ziri looked old, far older than the Berber people. He was ancient and curiously regal. Not a Berber, but then, North Africa had not always had the same names. She remembered Geber’s journals.
“Are you the Numidian?”
Ziri smiled again. The swirling amnis that surrounded him reached out to her hand, but she did not flinch when she felt the press of his ghostly greeting.
“I am Ziri. I am the Numidian of Jabir’s journals, and I was your father’s guardian... for as long as I was able.”
A few hours later, Matt stumbled into the library and looked around in confusion.
“Who’s the vampire sleeping in the second floor guest room? Hi, Tenzin. Who are you?” He looked at Ziri, then around the room with sharper eyes. “And where the hell is Gio?”
Beatrice sighed. “Sit down, Matt. I’ll explain.”
Tenzin spoke, “The vampire isn’t awake, is he?”
“No.”
“Good, he needs to rest.”
Carwyn and Beatrice both looked at her in confusion.
“What’s that?” the priest said.
Beatrice asked, “What are you talking about?”
Even though most vampires rested during the day, they didn’t ‘need’ to. Beatrice had never grown tired in a bodily sense, even though she rarely slept. She would weary, exhausted by her own thoughts, but that was why she meditated. Tenzin, she knew, was the same way.
“I’ll let him explain, but Lucien... He is…” Tenzin stammered, looking disturbed. “It’s difficult to say exactly. He is not... well.”
“Lucien Thrax?” Carwyn asked. He looked confused. Tenzin looked strangely nervous. Beatrice looked to Ziri. The old wind vampire looked like... nothing. She had never seen a face so carefully blank.
“Who’s Lucien?” Beatrice asked.
“Lucien Thrax—an old friend of mine. A very old friend. And he was a friend of—”
“Ioan’s.” Carwyn interrupted. “Lucien and Ioan were close correspondents. Lucien is a doctor, B. The son of the greatest healer the immortal world has ever known.”
“She’s also the oldest,” Tenzin said.
Carwyn nodded. “Lucien and Ioan were friends for many years. He’s one of the contacts that I was going to look for while I was here. He’s often in Eastern Europe.”
“He was in Bulgaria when I found him. I’d heard rumors.” Tenzin frowned. “He hadn’t heard about Ioan.”
Matt spoke up. “Bulgaria?”
Tenzin nodded.
Beatrice said, “Why do you ask, Matt?”
“Dez was doing research into Livia’s businesses. One of her companies owns a very small plant in Bulgaria. From what she could find out, it was pretty busy until about three years ago; then it was shut down. But not exactly. It was kept in operation, but with a skeleton staff and no product being shipped out, then a little over a year ago, they put out a hiring notice again. Nothing’s been shipped out yet, but the plant is in operation.”
Tenzin nodded. “That fits the timeline I’ve been thinking of. If Livia is using this plant to produce the elixir, that means they started just few months after Stephen was killed and Lorenzo took the manuscript.”
Beatrice asked Matt, “What was the cosmetics company making? Before it was shut down, what did they produce?”
Matt scowled. “High-end cosmetics for the European market. Using traditional, botanical ingredients.”
“That’s it.” Beatrice sighed. “It has to be.”
“B, I need to talk to Gio, there was something else—”
“Gio’s not here, Matt,” Beatrice said quietly.
She had never seen the man look more shocked. “What? It’s past dawn. He stayed at Livia’s? What the—”
“He stayed at Livia’s, but it wasn’t his choice,” Carwyn said. “She accused him of murdering Andros in front of the Roman vampires. She’s taken him prisoner.”
Matt’s mouth gaped. He looked at Beatrice. “B, is it—”
“Shut up!” Tenzin walked over and stood in front of Matt. The small woman looked up into the human’s shocked face. “Whatever you were about to ask, don’t.”
“But—”
“Does it matter to you? If Giovanni killed his sire? If he didn’t? Does it matter to you? Does it change your opinion of him or your loyalty to him?”
Matt just blinked. “No, of course not. I know what a good man he is.”
“Then don’t even ask. If you ask B, you’re forcing her to reveal information she holds in confidence or lie to you. Do you understand?”
Matt paused before he spoke. “Yes, Tenzin.”
“Good. Now, go get your wife. I want to know more about this company.”
Matt looked abashed when he was dismissed, and Beatrice tried to catch his eye, but she could tell the man was already focused on the task at hand. The thought of Matt and Dez working with them almost brought tears to her eyes. Part of her wanted to force them to return to Los Angeles with Ben, but the other part knew that she needed them more than ever.
“Hey.” She heard Ben’s voice at the door and turned. “What’s going on?” Ben yawned and rubbed his eyes. “And who’s the weird guy?”
Ziri smiled. “My name is Ziri, boy. And I am a friend of your aunt’s.”
“What’s going on? Matt looked really upset. Is everything alright?”
Beatrice waved him over, and Ben came to sit next to her. She blurted it out, knowing that nothing she said would soften the loss of his uncle. “Gio’s been taken prisoner, but he’s going to be fine.”
All the bravado fell from Ben’s face, and he looked like the insecure child she’d first laid eyes on in the bushes outside the Huntington Library years ago.
“What? He... he’s—”
Carwyn stepped in and put a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine. We’re going to get him out. It’ll just be—”
Ben shot out of his seat; anger spread across his face. He stalked over to Tenzin. “Where the hell have you been, Tenzin? If you were here, this wouldn’t have happened!”
Beatrice rose. “Ben, she was working on—”
“What does it matter if you find Lorenzo if Gio gets killed? Don’t you care about him?”
Tenzin said nothing, staring at the boy through her dark curtain of hair.
Ziri spoke quietly from the other side of the library. “Lorenzo is here, Benjamin. He’s working with Livia. He’s the reason your uncle was taken.”
Ben eyes darted between Ziri and Beatrice. He looked back at Tenzin. Beatrice could see his anger flee. “Is it true?”
Tenzin only nodded; she stiffened when Ben threw his arms around her. Tenzin waited for a moment, but finally lifted her small arms and hugged the young man back. Beatrice could hear Ben whisper, “Get him back, Tenzin. Please, get him back.” Then he spun on his heel and rushed out of the library. Beatrice could hear h
im climb the stairs to his room.
They spoke about details for a few more hours. Ziri asked for the use of a bedroom with a desk and some paper to write a few letters. Beatrice was still confused about what, exactly, his part in all this was. She got the impression that there was a lot that Ziri wasn’t telling them. She also got the impression he was waiting for the mysterious Lucien Thrax, who Tenzin thought would wake a few hours after dark. Beatrice was still confused why such an old vampire needed so much sleep.
Matt had already been on the phone with Emil Conti’s people, arranging a meeting with Carwyn and their boss for the following night. Dez and Tenzin were talking about the details of the Bulgarian cosmetics company.
And Beatrice felt lost.
Finally, she realized she would be useless for anything until she could spend some time alone. She climbed the stairs to their room, only to find Ben sitting outside on the floor by the door. He looked up with red eyes.
“I know you usually don’t let anyone in your room, but—”
“Come in.”
Beatrice unlocked the door and she and Ben entered. She fought back the tears when she saw the rumpled bed Giovanni hadn’t made because they were rushing to get ready for the party the night before. A damp towel was tossed on the floor by the couch. She picked it up and inhaled the distinctive smoky smell of her mate’s skin a moment before she crumpled to the floor.
She felt Ben’s hands lifting her and pulling her to the couch. He grabbed a linen handkerchief from his pocket. He had taken to always carrying them, just like his uncle. He joked that it impressed the girls.
“I need to calm down,” she whispered, patting the bloody tears from her eyes. “He needs me to be thinking straight. To be calm and smart and—”
“It’s okay, B. It’s just us, okay?” She could hear the hitch in his voice. “For right now, it’s okay. It’s just me.”
She sniffed and tried to remember when Ben had grown up. It had happened without her even realizing it. The young man threw an arm around her shoulders, and Beatrice allowed herself to lean into him. Ben rocked back and forth, comforting his aunt and sniffing back his own tears.
Beatrice looked over to their bed and knew that she would not lay in it again until her husband returned to her. Ben was murmuring comforting words in her ear, his arms tight around her shoulders. Beatrice finally let herself close her eyes and let go of the sorrow that she’d held back for hours.
Ben was right. It was just them.
Chapter Ten
Crotone
1504
He heard Andros’s heavy step in the hall. Jacopo looked up for a moment, but quickly returned to the translation of the Arabic manuscript he was working on. It was one that his father had rescued from the destruction of the Mongols in Baghdad.
The door swept open and Andros walked over and patted his shoulder. Jacopo heard Paulo follow, carrying a heavy trunk.
“Son, it is good to be home.”
“How was Rome?”
“As expected,” Andros said. “She grows more pompous every century. I can’t imagine why Livia thinks so much of herself when this detestable country is run by thieves, mad priests, and inbreeds.”
Jacopo glanced at Paulo, but the young man only rolled his eyes. Jacopo had been with Andros for almost ten years, Paulo even longer, and both the men were used to the unpredictable moods of the vampire.
A visit to Rome, however, only ever raised Andros’s ire.
“But the trip to Florence was a pleasure. The ugly sculptor finished his statue of David, and it was installed in front of the civic house while we were there. A true masterwork. A pity the human is so detestable in his form. Otherwise, he might be worth turning for his talent.”
Jacopo’s ears perked up. “You went to Florence?”
Andros only glanced at him. “We did.”
Jacopo waited. He had known for years that his uncle’s friend, Poliziano, had died only a few months after Giovanni Pico. Savaranola had met a gruesome end, along with most of his uncle’s collection of books and papers, during Florence’s descent into madness six years before. The only survivor of the four men who had raised him was the poet, Benivieni. But Andros was always careful to dole out only the information he wanted Jacopo to have.
“Benivieni is in good health, from what I heard.”
Jacopo kept his face carefully blank. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
Andros began to unpack books and papers from the trunk Paulo had carried in.
“I have more translations for you to do if your current work is up to standard.”
“It is.”
He heard Andros chuckle. “Your confidence pleases me. And your Arabic is quite good. After you have turned, you will start your study of Sanskrit.”
Jacopo’s head jerked up. “After I have turned?”
Though Jacopo had known of his father’s intentions for years, he rarely mentioned it and never referred to it directly. It was implied—an eternal sentence that hung over Jacopo’s shoulders.
“Yes, you have been with me for ten years now. I have started to note some mild deterioration of your physical form. It is time.”
Jacopo’s heart raced, and he cursed internally, knowing that Andros could hear it. The old vampire looked up.
“Have you changed your mind? Would you prefer that I kill you, instead?”
Jacopo looked over Andros’s shoulder and saw the pathetic hope flair on Paulo’s face. He knew the young man wanted immortality in a desperate and hungry way. He also knew that Andros would never turn the young man, whom he considered “defective.” Jacopo forced himself to smile.
“And waste the fine education you have given me, Father? That would be a mistake, would it not?”
Andros watched him with careful eyes. “It would. But, I suppose, I could always find another student.”
Jacopo rose to his feet. In his late twenties, he was taller than his uncle had been, taller than Andros, and far taller than was common for most men of fifteenth century Italy. His shoulders had filled out, and the strict exercise regimen that Andros had forced on him had molded his body into perfect form. Jacopo looked at the ancient statues of demigods that Andros used to decorate the stone fortress where he resided, and he saw a mirror image of himself.
He gave his father an arrogant smile. “You could find another student, Father?” A cold smirk flicked across Andros’s lips as Jacopo continued, “You would never find another like me.”
Castello Furio
Rome, 2012
Giovanni’s eyes opened. For a moment, he was in his father’s fortress in Crotone, the cold, stone walls echoing the damp room he had woken in his last days as a human. He sat up into a crouch and eyed his surroundings.
The room where Livia’s guards had thrown him was surrounded by a thin fall of water, an effective counter to any of his elemental power, which also filled the underground chamber with a pervasive chill. He could heat his skin, but could do nothing to create a spark. The door had no handle, and the walls mimicked the diameter and shape of the tower where he had slept in apparent safety so many years before. In the back of his mind, he wondered if his current prison was built under the very tower that had sheltered him in Livia’s castle. He did not find it hard to imagine.
Though he could not use fire to escape the chamber, he had immediately tested the walls when he had been thrown in the night before. He sensed no weakness and no nearby energy signatures. Giovanni was completely isolated in the cold room. He could hear the rushing of an underground river somewhere close. No doubt, it fed the waterfall that trickled down the walls.
He wished he had fed the night before. He and Beatrice had planned to feed once they returned to Rome after the party, not trusting any of the blood that Livia would provide. Thinking about his wife made his blood rush, and he was more grateful than ever that Carwyn had accompanied them the night before. His friend would protect Beatrice. His mate would be safe.
He
detected a familiar signature approaching, so he stood and braced himself against a stone pillar.
The door opened, and Livia strode in, tailed by two guards dressed in the same clothing that he remembered the vampires at the monastery wearing on the night they had slaughtered the monks and ransacked the library with Lorenzo. At least Giovanni finally knew who was backing his son.
She stood in front of him. Gone was any pleasant facade; her disgust lay plain on her face.
“I suppose you think you are quite safe because I was forced to take you in front of witnesses.”
He said nothing, but a small smile touched his lips.
“Your son changed my plans, but did not ruin them, you know. I will still kill you.”
Giovanni still said nothing. Livia smiled back at him and approached.
“You see, Giovanni, I will be very, very fair.” She reached up and ran a finger along his jaw. “I have spent two thousand years manipulating this city into thinking of me as its queen. I know exactly the words to use.” Her hand ran back and tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck.
“There may be some objections, at first. You have plenty of your own allies and a very honorable reputation. But by the time I cut your head off and throw it in the river that flows under this castle, all will think of you as a murderer and a liar. A thief of one of the greatest collections of knowledge our world has ever seen. A greedy vampire who would keep the best interest of our kind for his own profit.”
He opened his mouth to speak and saw her pause, waiting for the words of protest to leave his lips. She was waiting for him to object or defend himself.
Giovanni asked, “How is my wife?”
The flash of fury confirmed that Beatrice was, as he suspected, quite safe from the she-demon in front of him. Giovanni’s smile grew.