A Hidden Fire
An Elemental Mystery
By Elizabeth Hunter
A Hidden Fire
Copyright © 2011
by Elizabeth Hunter
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Flash in the Can Productions
Formatted by: Amy Eye
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For more information about Elizabeth Hunter, please visit:
ElizabethHunterWrites.com
For information about the Elemental Mysteries series, please visit:
ElementalMysteries.wordpress.com
For Lacey
for teaching me not to wait
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To the many friends and family who have helped me to write this book, I would like to express my sincerest thanks.
This book has been a labor of love for so many. Please forgive me if I forget someone. Thanks to my beta readers: Kristy, Kelli, Sarah, Lindsay, Molly, and Sandra. To my editing team: Caroline and Amy, and to the authors and friends that read and gave generous feedback. Thank you all so much.
To all my readers online, who offered so much encouragement and enthusiasm. Thank you for the gift of your time and attention.
To my family, for their encouragement and faith. To my husband and son, in particular, thank you for enduring all the long nights and sleepy mornings. Thanks for the hugs and encouragement when I needed it most.
Any success I have is the result of God’s gracious gifts to me, including the gifts of your love and support.
Thank you all most sincerely.
But the queen cherished the wound in her veins…
and was consumed by the hidden fire.
—Virgil, Aeneid, Book IV
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Epilogue
About the Author
Prologue
The man stole down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the dimly lit basement of the library. He made his way quietly, brushing aside the dark hair that fell into his eyes as he looked down. The security guard turned the corner and approached, his eyes drawn to the tall figure that glided toward him.
“Sir?”
The guard cocked his head, trying to see past the hair covering the man’s eyes as he neared him in the flickering service lights.
“Sir, are you looking for the lobby? You’re really not supposed to be down here.”
He did not speak but continued walking directly toward the portly security guard. As he passed the guard, he held out his hand, silently brushing his finger tips along the guard’s forearm before he continued down the hall, around the corner, and up the nearest staircase, never halting in his steady pace.
The guard stilled for a moment before shaking his head. He looked around the passage and wondered why he was in the hallway leading toward the old storage rooms. Checking his watch to see if his break was over, he noticed the second hand seemed to have stopped. He shook his wrist slightly before taking it off and putting it in his pocket.
“Stupid, cheap thing…” he muttered as he turned and headed back toward the break room. In the distance, he thought he heard a door in the stairwell click close.
Waiting in the deserted stacks near the bank of computer terminals on Friday evening, the man read a periodical while he observed the student-study area. His eyes scanned to the left, suddenly alert to the plain, blond girl who took a seat on the edge of the bank of computers. He observed her pull out an economics textbook and sneak a quick sip of her diet soda before she put it back in her bag. The corner of his mouth lifted, pleased by how little attention the girl had drawn from the librarian at the desk and the surrounding students.
He approached, shifting his leather messenger bag so he could sit down at the computer next to her. Taking out his own drink, he smiled politely when the girl glanced at him. He saw her cheeks fill with color as she took in his pale skin, startling green eyes, and dark curls.
“Hello,” he whispered, angling his shoulders toward the student.
“Hi,” she whispered back.
“Are the librarians here strict about having a drink out? I’m new at the university.” He leaned toward her and noticed the scent of her fruity shampoo. He twitched his nose but remained angled toward the young woman as she responded.
“Um…not really near the stacks, but they’re kind of strict by the computers,” she said, her hands twisting in her lap.
When he smiled, she blushed and looked back to her economics textbook which still lay closed on the desk in front of her. She fumbled it open and glanced at his bag, which lay near his feet.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Are you a student here?”
He smiled and whispered back, “I just started some research work at the university.”
“Oh, that’s cool. I’m Hannah. I’m a sophomore…economics.”
“That’s a fascinating subject, Hannah.” He tried to meet her eyes, but she was still looking down at her textbook as she leafed through it.
“Oh,” she laughed. “You don’t have to be nice. I know most people aren’t really that interested in economics.”
“I’m interested in everything,” he said, willing her to look up. When she did, he set his elbow next to her economics textbook and reached over with his right hand, lightly touching her forearm as he spoke. “Are you a good student, Hannah?”
She gazed into his eyes, rapt with attention and unaware of the small hairs all over her body as they lifted, drawn toward the man sitting next to her.
“Yes, I get excellent grades.”
“Why are you here on a Friday night?”
“I don’t have a lot of friends, and boys never ask me out,” she said. “I like to come here so I’m not alone in my dorm room.”
“Do you have time to help me?”
“Yes. I don’t really have any school work I need to finish.”
“Excellent.” The man leaned toward her and murmured in the young woman’s ear. She turned on the computer as he spoke, opening a search engine and typing in the phrases he murmured. He hooked his ankle with hers under the table, letting his pale skin maintain contact as
he took notes in a small brown book he drew from his messenger bag. Every now and then he would lean over and whisper further instructions in the girl’s ear.
A little over two hours later, he leaned back in his chair, frowning as he surveyed his notes. He looked at the large clock on the wall opposite him and at his unwitting assistant before he closed his notebook, put it back in his leather bag, and scooted away from Hannah. Keeping one hand on her shoulder and letting his fingers stroke her neck, he whispered in her ear one more time before he straightened and walked swiftly away from the computer terminals.
He kept his head down, striding toward the darkened glass of the lobby and the pressing heat of the September evening. Once he reached the doors, he looked up, and his gaze briefly met a black-haired girl’s before he pushed out into the humid night and left behind the harsh fluorescent lights of Houston University’s main campus library.
He walked down the concrete steps and through the alley of darkened oak trees, taking out his keys as he neared a charcoal grey, vintage Mustang. He unlocked the car, got in, and started the engine, listening with pleasure to the rhythm of the perfectly tuned engine.
Backing out, he flicked the radio knob to the local campus station and rolled the window down as he enjoyed the lick of warm, humid air along his skin.
He sped toward the lights of downtown, bypassing the tall buildings and speeding along Buffalo Bayou as he drove toward the gates of his secluded home. He turned into the short drive before the gate and tapped in the entry code with the end of a stainless steel pen he drew from the chain around his neck.
The Mustang drove forward, winding its way through the dimly lit property. He pulled his car into the brick garage behind his home and walked through the small courtyard between the outbuilding and the main house. He stopped, listening to the burbling fountain and admiring the honeysuckle vine that trailed up the garage wall and suffused the small courtyard with fragrance.
All the lights were on in the kitchen when he entered the house, and he immediately grabbed a pencil on the counter to dim them. He walked up the back stairs to his dark bedroom, disrobing and hanging his clothes in the large closet before he walked down the main stairwell, wrapped only in a large, finely spun towel. As he passed the second floor landing, he was stopped by an accented voice coming from the library.
“Back so soon?”
He turned to look at the older gentleman who was reading in front of the lit fireplace.
“A fire, Caspar?”
The older man shrugged. “I turned the air-conditioning down so it at least felt like fall.”
He chuckled. “Whatever you prefer. And the library was a bit disappointing.”
“Trouble finding an assistant?”
“No, I found a rather good one, in fact. I might meet her again. No, the Lincoln documents were not what I’d hoped.”
“Unfortunate.”
The man shrugged his shoulders. “The client isn’t going anywhere.”
“Off for your swim then?”
He nodded and started to move down the stairs again.
“Will you be needing anything tonight?”
He walked up the stairs and back toward the library. “Nothing, thank you.”
“Enjoy the pool. It’s a beautiful night.”
“Enjoy your air-conditioning… and your fire,” he said with a minute smile ghosting his lips.
He heard Caspar chuckle as he continued down the stairs. The man walked through the sitting room and past the breakfast area where Caspar ate in the morning to the French doors leading onto the brick patio.
He folded his towel on the back of a pool chaise and quickly dove into the water, cutting through the green-lit pool with effortless efficiency.
He swam up and down the mirrored rectangle for hours, enjoying the stretch of his lean muscles and the calming buoyancy of the salt water that filled the pool.
When the lights of the secluded yard switched off automatically at two in the morning, he floated on the surface. He hung there for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of the warm, humid air on his face as his body was supported by the water at his back. Then he dove down, sitting on the bottom of the pool for another hour, looking up as he watched the moon track across the night sky.
Chapter One
Houston, Texas
September 2003
Giovanni Vecchio woke, the infrequent dream seeming to echo off the narrow walls of the small room where he rested. He sat up and stared at the photograph of Florence which hung on the opposite wall, and the sun-seared shops of the old bridge mocked him.
“Where is your home?”
“Ubi bene ibi patria. Where I prosper is my home.”
“Do not forget: nothing endures, save us and the elements.”
Rising, he unlocked his reinforced door and stepped into the large walk-in closet where he dressed in a white oxford shirt and a pair of slim, black slacks. He spied the grey cat from the corner of his eye.
“Good evening, Doyle.”
The cat turned his copper-eyed stare toward the tall man who spoke to him.
“What did Caspar bribe you with tonight, hmm? Salmon? Fresh anchovies? Caviar?”
The cat gave a small chirp and walked out to the luxurious bedroom beyond the closet to settle on the king-sized bed there. Giovanni’s thoughts still brushed at the dark dream and a faint memory teased the back of his mind.
“Tell me about death.”
“The philosopher said death, which men fear as the greatest evil, may instead be the greatest good.”
“But we do not fear death, do we?”
Despite the hours he had rested, he felt weary. He reached for his favorite grey jacket and walked out of the room.
“Caspar,” he called as he entered the kitchen, still straightening his collar. “I want you to drive me to the library tonight.”
The older man raised a curious eyebrow but put down the newspaper he had been reading.
“Of course, I’ll get the car.”
Giovanni gathered his messenger bag and followed Caspar out the kitchen door. They walked through the small courtyard where the dim light of the early evening still illuminated the burbling fountain, and the air was rich with the fragrance of the honeysuckle vine.
“Balance! Temperance! Find it, my son, or you will die.”
He paused for a moment and watched the flow of water as it trickled over and around the rocks in the base of the fountain. Just then, a sharp breeze lifted the spray and it arched toward him, dusting his face with the cold drops. He let the heat rise to his skin and the vapor met the humid night air.
“Oh wow, Char wasn’t lying.”
Giovanni brushed the hair out of his eyes and glanced up from his notebook looking around for the quiet female voice as he paused in the entry to the Special Collections reading room at the Houston University library.
“Pardon me?” he asked in confusion to the girl in the corner.
The black-haired girl behind the counter smiled. He noticed a slight blush coloring her fair skin.
“Nothing,” she said with a quick smile. “Nothing at all. Welcome to the Special Collections reading room. You must be Dr. Vecchio.”
Giovanni frowned as he tucked his notebook into a leather messenger bag. “I am. Is Mrs. Martin unavailable this evening?” He scanned the young woman sitting behind the reference desk on the fifth floor of the library. Since the department had opened their once-weekly evening hours a year ago, the bookish Charlotte Martin had been the only employee he’d seen behind the desk of the small, windowless room that housed the rare books, manuscripts, and archives.
“She’s not able to do evening shifts anymore. Family reasons, I think. Something about her kids. I’m B, her assistant.” Her voice lacked the twang typical of most Texans, though the flat intonation with only a hint of accent was fairly common among native Houstonians, especially those of younger generations. “She left me notes about what you’ve been working on, so I’m perfectly ab
le to assist you in your research.”
Despite her rather common accent, the girl’s voice held a faint quality which told him at least one of her parents was a native Spanish speaker. Her thick, black hair was pulled into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck, and she was dressed in a black button-down shirt and slim skirt. He smiled when he saw the tops of her tall Doc Marten boots almost touching her knees.
“Are you a student?” he asked.
Her chin jutted out in a barely perceptible movement which matched the quick flash of intelligence in her eyes. “I’ve worked here for almost three years. I’m sure doing a quick computer search or fetching a document is well within my abilities, Dr. Vecchio.”
He could feel the smile crawl across his face. “I meant no disrespect…I’m sorry, what was your name?”
“Just call me B,” she said, glancing down at some handwritten notes.
From where he was standing, Giovanni could see the familiar scrawl of Mrs. Martin’s handwriting.
“B? As in the second letter of the Latin alphabet?” he asked, walking closer to the desk.
“No, the Etruscan. I’m wild like that,” she muttered and glanced up. “She also put a small note here at the bottom of her instructions regarding you.”
“Yes?” He waited, curious what the librarian thought bore mention to her replacement.
“Hmm, it just reads, ‘He comes in every week. You’re welcome.’” The girl’s eyes ran from his handmade shoes, up his tall figure, finally meeting his startling, blue-green eyes. “Thanks indeed, Char,” she said with a smile.
He smirked at her obvious look of approval, noting the small ruby piercing in her nose that caught the florescent lights of the reading room. Her eyes were lined in black, her skin was fair, and though she did not have classically beautiful features, he thought her dramatic looks would be eye-catching even from a distance.