He needed to call Carwyn and Tenzin. He would have to leave a message for the priest, as he would still be traveling. Hopefully, Tenzin was talking again, but he had no idea whether her airy visions would allow her to travel.
Then there was Livia in Rome. She had been brushing him off, and he needed to know what exactly had happened to Stephen De Novo. There was no longer time to put up with her dawdling attempts to draw him into a visit, which was no doubt her aim in putting him off in the first place.
He needed to talk to Gavin Wallace. For the right price, the Scot could tell him everyone who was new in town and who they belonged to. The man could probably tell him what their favorite drink was as well, but Giovanni didn’t know if he really wanted to spend that much.
He needed to get Caspar out of Houston and up to the house in the hill country, along with Isadora. The last thing he needed to worry about was their well-being in this mess. Lorenzo had a passionate disgust for the elderly, so hopefully they hadn’t even registered his attention.
Giovanni heard the sink running and knew Beatrice would be out in a minute. She had surprised him with her tears, but he sensed more anger than fear from her. He had dealt with this kind of danger for so many hundreds of years, he’d forgotten how shocking it was for someone so young.
She opened the door, and he saw her without the mask of her make-up for the first time. She must have washed it off, and a faint smudge of black mascara still marred the bottom of her right eyelid.
He had thought of her first. He crossed his arms and pushed down the urge to embrace her.
“Better?”
She nodded silently and walked back to the reading room. He sped by her, and quickly checked it to make sure no one had entered while his mind had been elsewhere.
“Let me shut down the computers and I’ll lock up.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
“Put the documents away. The combination to the stacks is the last four numbers of my social security number.” She didn’t ask if he knew it, and he would have laughed at her correct presumption if only she had not looked so shaken.
He quickly put everything back in its place, keeping an ear open to listen for anyone entering the reading room while he was out of sight. He noted the meticulous organization of the document shelves and the empty spaces where the boxes needed to be placed and the faint honeysuckle scent of her that lingered in the small room. For a brief moment, he considered simply taking the letters that were his, but he brushed the temptation aside and focused on the present danger. By the time he slipped out of the stacks, Beatrice had shut down the computers, grabbed her bag, and turned off the lights.
They walked down the hall together and silently made their way downstairs. She let him guide her toward his Mustang, and he unlocked the door for her, pausing before he opened it.
“Beatrice—”
“I know it’s not really your fault,” she murmured. “If anyone’s, it’s my dad’s, though I’m sure he didn’t plan on being attacked by a vampire when he went to Italy. You were just the closest one here, so it was easy to blame you.”
He was surprised by her apology, but felt an unfamiliar tension ease when he heard it.
“Are you really sorry you met me?” he asked in a low voice.
She paused and glanced up at him in the dim lights of the parking lot before she reached out to grab the door handle, opening it for herself.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
He took surface streets to her grandmother’s house, trying to give her time to collect herself before she saw Isadora.
“So he’s really your son?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Why on earth did you turn him? Was he always so awful?”
Giovanni frowned. “He wasn’t—no, he wasn’t always like this. As a child, he was almost timid. He hadn’t had an easy life. I thought I was doing the right thing when I did it. There was a time that I had a kind of affection for him. I had hoped with guidance, he would… Well, he had his own ideas about immortal life at a very young age. We only stayed together for around five years before we parted ways.”
“Has he done this before? Has he tried to, I don’t know, provoke you?”
“No. I know his reputation, of course, but we’ve spent hundreds of years avoiding each other. I’m starting to realize what a mistake that was.”
“And he has your books? Your own son stole your books and letters from you?”
Giovanni nodded. “Before I turned him, he told me they had been lost. He told me that my properties were intact, but that my library had been ransacked and destroyed. It was during the time of Savaranola in Florence. It wasn’t hard to believe. There was so much lost. I had to trust him. There was a time that I couldn’t be around people like I can now.”
“Why? The blood thing or the fire thing?”
He hesitated before he answered. “Either. Both. There were…many reasons. Can we talk about something other than my past, please?”
He saw her cross her arms from the corner of his eyes and angry tears came to her eyes. “Well, it seems like your past is affecting a lot of my future, Gio. So maybe I feel like it’s kind of my business at this point.”
Biting back a curse, he gripped the steering wheel a little harder too hard and heard the plastic crack. Damn.
“I’ll tell you what you need to know, just not right now. I’ll take care of this, Beatrice, but you’re staying with me for a while.”
She snorted. “I am not. I have finals and classes and all sorts of shit to do. You’re not locking me up in your house.”
He frowned, irritated that she had predicted him so accurately. She was probably correct, and he didn’t want to interfere with her completing her classes unless it was absolutely necessary. He had no doubt Lorenzo would linger in the city for some time, watching them and securing support before he made any sort of move.
In his mind, he recalled the small boy sitting in front of a basket, dangling a mouse by its tail. The rodent was intended to be a meal for the snake that was kept in the classroom, but the boy always asked to be the one to feed it. Not wanting to handle the task himself, Giovanni always let him, but soon became disturbed by how the angelic looking child taunted both the snake and the mouse before he finally offered the serpent its meal.
“Gio?”
“Hmm?” He broke out of his reverie to glance at Beatrice. “We’ll figure something out. It would be best if you stayed at my house after dark. There’s plenty of room. I’ll increase your security during the daytime, as well.”
“What about my grandmother?”
“There’s a house that Caspar loves, up in the hill country around Kerrville. It’s isolated and Caspar knows the area extremely well. He can take her there. I don’t think it’s in Lorenzo’s interest to follow them. They aren’t what he’s after.”
“He’s after me?” she asked in a small voice. “I guess I knew that, but it hadn’t really sunk in until today.”
She seemed to shrink into the seat next to him as they made their way through the winding streets of Houston. He scented the air, pleased that the adrenaline had ceased pumping through her bloodstream and satisfied she wouldn’t alarm Isadora.
“I really hate my dad right now,” she whispered.
He wasn’t shocked by her admission, but it saddened him. He felt the urge to hold her again, but he shoved it to the side.
“I understand why you feel that way, but you have to know I do not blame him for running from Lorenzo.”
“You can’t? Even though it’s now messing with your life, too?”
Giovanni shrugged. “I’m the one who created the monster, Beatrice. And trust me, Lorenzo is a monster. Life as his child would be horrendous.”
“Why? I don’t get it. Carwyn told me he can’t make his kids do anything they don’t want to, so why would it be so horrible?”
He frowned at her. “It’s not a mental compulsion, it’s sheer physical strength most of
the time. Strength for us is determined by age, mostly—though the age of your sire has some significance, as well. I’m old, but my sire was ancient. Combine that strength with my physical strength at the time of my change and my natural element—that makes me very strong.
“Lorenzo was never as strong as me when he was human, but my blood was very strong because of my sire and that was passed onto him. He has also trained himself particularly well in his elemental strength, though he’ll never be quite as strong as I am.
“Your father—though very strong now by human standards—would be no match for either of us. He would never beat Lorenzo in a fight, and I’m sure my son probably tortured him in all sorts of inventive ways when your father didn’t do exactly what he wanted.”
He saw her eyes widen in horror, but he didn’t want to soften the truth for her. “You have no idea how much power he would have over him, especially in those first few years when he was learning to control his bloodlust. Your father is almost five hundred years younger than his sire. And he could conceivably be under his control for eternity. You must not blame your father for running.”
She seemed to shrink in her seat. “How about your sire?” she almost whispered. “Does he—I mean, was he good like Carwyn?”
Giovanni frowned. “My father…was a complicated vampire. And he’s dead, so it doesn’t have any effect on me now.”
“Oh.”
“Is there a proper anger, my son?”
“Aristotle said ‘anyone can become angry, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree, and at the right time. For the right purpose and in the right way—is not within every man’s power. ’”
“Are you the ‘every man’ that the philosopher spoke of?”
“No, Father, I am better than other mortals, and will be better still.”
“Therefore, you must master your anger so you control it always.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Giovanni?”
“Hmm?” His eyes dropped their hollow stare as he glanced at Beatrice again.
“You missed the turn to my house.”
He quickly turned the car around and made the right onto the street he had missed. As he pulled up in front of Isadora’s small home, he noticed that all the lights lit up the first floor. He parked and walked around the car to help Beatrice out. Half way up the walk, the first scent of blood hit him, and he turned to Beatrice, pushing her back toward the Mustang.
“Go back to the car,” he said firmly.
“What? No! What the hell—” Her eyes widened when she saw his face. She ran up the front walk, but Giovanni beat her to the door, blocking her path.
“Grandma!”
Chapter Sixteen
Houston, Texas
April 2004
“Let me in!” Beatrice beat on his chest. “Let me in, you bastard. Isadora!”
“Be quiet and wait. The smell of blood is not strong,” he hissed. “Wait, so I can check the house, damn it!”
“Grandma?” She began to cry, continuing to try to shove past him, but his arms held her in a cold, iron grasp. She was beside herself, and could only imagine the worst.
“Beatrice, do you have your phone?”
She wanted to hit Giovanni, but she was too busy trying to get out of his arms so she could enter the house.
“Beatrice, calm down. You need to call this number.” He rattled off a number, but she still wasn’t listening.
“You stupid, asshole vampire!” She tried to jerk out of his arms. “Let me in my house. Make your own telephone—” She froze, suddenly realizing it was possible there were people or vampires still inside. She immediately fell silent and stopped struggling.
“What do you hear?” she whispered.
“Nothing suspicious, and I don’t feel anyone. I do smell blood, but your grandmother’s pulse sounds fine; her breathing is slow and regular. Are you going to be calm now?”
She took a deep breath and nodded, blinking the tears from her eyes.
He gave a quick nod and released her, turning the door knob to walk into the house. Beatrice couldn’t see anything in the living room but the television playing a game show her grandmother hated.
“This way,” he said, pointing down the hallway to the kitchen. Beatrice followed behind him.
“Grandma?”
She gave a strangled cry when she saw Isadora lying on the floor in a crumbled heap, but Giovanni pushed her back and went to examine the old woman.
There were vicious bite marks on her neck and others on her wrist. A small pool of blood appeared to have dripped from a wound on her forehead, but the bleeding had stopped.
“Please, please no,” she cried and knelt down across from Giovanni, holding her grandmother’s limp hand. “Not you too, no…”
Giovanni did a quick physical examination of the old woman, finally looking up to meet her eyes.
“She’s going to be fine, it’s not as serious as it looks.”
Beatrice was still sniffing and holding Isadora’s hand, rocking herself back and forth on the kitchen floor smeared with her grandmother’s blood.
“Beatrice,” his commanding voice broke through her growing panic, “you need to calm down now so you can help me.”
Though her eyes welled with tears, she nodded and tried to get herself under control.
“What do I need to do? Should I call 911?”
He shook his head. “They drank from her, and made no effort to heal the bite marks. I could heal her outer wounds, but we’d still have to explain the blood loss to the paramedics. Do you have your phone?”
She nodded and pulled the mobile phone from her pocket.
“Good, dial this number.” He slowly dictated the number and waited as it dialed. “Put it on speaker for me.”
After a few rings, a male voice picked up.
“Hello?”
“Lucas, it’s Giovanni Vecchio. I need you to come to my house now.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Caspar, is there?”
“No, I have a human suffering from blood loss.” He looked at Beatrice. “Do you know her blood type?”
Beatrice shook her head. “No, she’s always been really healthy.”
“I’ll bring universal,” the voice on the phone replied brusquely. “Do you need transport?”
“No, I’ll take her to my home. If you get there before me, do not tell Caspar anything, do you understand? He’ll be angry, but just ignore him and tell him I sent you.”
Beatrice could only imagine how Caspar was going to take the news that his boss’s enemies made a meal out of his girlfriend.
“I’ll see you in fifteen minutes. Goodbye.” The phone went silent, and she looked down at her grandmother’s pale face again.
“I’m going to lift her. I don’t think anything is broken, so we’ll put her in the back of my car. I’ll hold her in the back so I can monitor her breathing and heart rate. Can you drive a manual transmission?”
She nodded. “Yeah, no problem. Just take care of her, okay?”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “She’s going to be fine, Beatrice. And as soon as she’s able, we’ll get her out of town.”
“And I won’t argue. I’ll stay with you until you kill Lorenzo.”
“Beatrice—”
“Because you are going to kill him, right?”
Giovanni bent to lift Isadora, cradling her tiny body as if she was a child. Nodding toward the door, he finally said, “Let’s focus on taking care of your grandmother before we start plotting murder, shall we?”
When Beatrice pulled up to the house, she could see an unfamiliar blue sedan parked by the garage and Caspar pacing in the courtyard. As she stopped the car, he pulled the back door open.
“Oh no, please no—”
“She’s going to be fine,” Giovanni interrupted. “Calm down and help me.”
Beatrice parked the car and got out, watching the two men fuss over her grandmother, who was still unconscious
. She would have been insane with worry if Giovanni hadn’t have been monitoring Isadora’s heart rate aloud in the car the whole way over. She had seen him bite his finger and rub a bit of the oozing blood over her grandmother’s neck and wrists in the backseat. The wounds, though red and angry, were already closed.
“Here,” Caspar held out his arms, “let me take her. I thought—Lucas showed up and asked for a downstairs bedroom for a patient. I thought something had happened to Beatrice.” Caspar glanced at her before he took Isadora’s small body in his arms and walked toward the house. Giovanni raced over and opened the door for him before rushing back to her.
“You’re doing very well,” he whispered when he pulled her into his arms. “You drove her here safely and now Lucas will take care of her. He’s Caspar’s personal physician, and he’s the best in the city. I trust him.”
She nodded and relaxed, letting his arms hold her up. “I was afraid I was going to crash on the way over here.”
“Nerves of steel, tesoro.” He brushed a kiss across her temple as he walked her into the house with an arm around her shoulders. “You’ve handled yourself extremely well.”
“Does this happen a lot?”
“No.”
“You really need to kill Lorenzo.”
She heard him give a small snort. “You’re quite bloodthirsty for a little girl.”
“I’m serious,” she said, pausing in the door between the kitchen and living room to look up at him. “I want him dead. If I could do it myself, I would.”
He stared at her for a moment before nudging her toward the hallway. “Let’s take care of Isadora first, then we’ll talk.”
When they entered the bedroom, the doctor had an IV set up and, within an hour, Isadora’s coloring had improved. A half an hour later, her eyes fluttered open and she looked around in confusion.
“What am I…where am I?”
Beatrice rushed to her side. “You’re going to be fine, Grandma. They just—I mean, you had an accident. But we’re at Gio’s house, and Caspar’s here, and there’s a doctor…”