He was alone on the broad deck of the cargo ship.
Alone. On the deck. Of a cargo ship.
Shanghai miles away.
“Tenzin!”
He looked around. He looked up. But she was nowhere to be found.
“Dammit, Tenzin, this better be a joke!”
Jonathan came to stand beside him, holding out the key to the container. “I can assume this particular part of the arrangement was not properly explained to you?”
He clenched his jaw. “That would be a safe assumption.”
“Oh dear. Well, Cheng was quite reluctant to take complete responsibility for it while in transit.” Jonathan clapped him on the shoulder, then walked to the edge of the deck. “No worries. I understand there are very comfortable quarters for passengers. Quite… cozy.”
“I’m gonna kill her.”
The tall vampire turned, a smile on his face. “That’s certainly not the first time I’ve heard that. Nor will it be the last, I imagine. Best of luck, Benjamin. I’ll look forward to our next meeting.”
Then the water vampire stepped backward off the deck, falling into the ocean and leaving Ben staring at the distant lights of the Chinese coast.
EPILOGUE
Beatrice’s head shot up from Giovanni’s shoulder. They were watching a movie on the giant television in the den and Tenzin was profoundly grateful their faces were not attached to each other as they often were.
“Ben’s home!” she said.
Giovanni glared at Tenzin. “I was wondering. His classes start in two weeks.”
“He’ll be fine.” She shrugged. “Sea travel can be unpredictable.”
Tenzin was tempted to feel guilty about the storm that had thrown Cheng’s freighter off course and delayed it for six days, but after all, she didn’t control the weather. She heard the car door slam. Then the kitchen door slam. It was almost five in the morning, so the only people awake were the vampires.
And Ben.
Beatrice yelled, “We’re watching a movie, Ben!”
She heard him on the stairs. He must have already been heading their direction.
“You!” Ben stormed into the den wearing ugly blue coveralls and a full beard. “You miserable little troll!”
Giovanni and Beatrice’s words of greeting died on their lips.
“How was the trip?” she asked.
“How was the trip?” He raked a hand through hair that really needed a trim. “You mean the two and a half weeks I was trapped on a freighter? Unexpected! That might be the right word for it. Long. Cramped. Nausea-inducing, maybe?”
“I heard there was a little storm.”
“You mean the typhoon off the coast of Japan? That little storm?”
Tenzin smiled. “Yes, that’s the one I was thinking of.”
“Do you have any idea how uncomfortable those beds are? I’ve spent the last two weeks in a room the size of a closet, sleeping with my knees bent every night, puking in a bathroom the size of a smaller closet—”
“Don’t they call it a ‘head’ if it’s on a boat?” She looked at Beatrice, whose mouth seemed to be sealed shut. “I thought they called it a head.”
“Not a single person on board spoke English. No Wi-Fi. No books. No music. I’ve eaten nothing but rice and noodles for two weeks. When I could even keep anything down.”
“You like noodles.”
“Not anymore! And I don’t like tea, either.”
She cocked her head. “Or razors, apparently.”
“I was supposed to take Jackie to her parents’ horrible garden party last week. She begged me to go with her. I promised. She’s never going to speak to me again. Because it’s not like I could call her.” He leaned down, hands braced on the arms of Tenzin’s chair. “There’s no mobile service in the middle of the Pacific!”
She reached up and tugged on the beard he’d grown. “This is nice. I’ve never seen you with a beard before. It’s quite handsome.”
“Know what else they didn’t have on the ship? Ice packs. Which sucks when you have a broken nose and are trapped on a ship against your will.”
“I suspect they had them, they just didn’t want to give you any of their first aid supplies.” She pushed his face from side to side. “Still, it appears the nose has healed rather well.”
“I am never traveling with you again.”
“Of course you will.”
“I’m never helping you. Never assisting you. Not even an Internet search. But feel free to ask, because I’d love to laugh in your face while I say ‘no way in hell!’”
“Laughter will not be necessary. Is the gold safe?”
He stood and lifted the battered canvas bag that had miraculously survived their trek across China. “Mine is! The rest of it is your problem. But don’t worry, I took an extra couple of bars in exchange for escorting the container. And the necklace. So we’re square, Tiny. Which is good, because I am never going to tag along on one of your stupid trips again.”
“One hundred fifty thousand seems excessive for two extra weeks of work.”
“Don’t care! Never again. Never ever again.”
“You keep saying that, but you know you will.”
He spun and stalked to the door.
“I’m taking a shower. And sleeping. Probably for a week. If anyone in this house loves me, they can make me a chicken burrito.”
Giovanni said, “You do remember your classes start in two weeks.”
“I’ll be ready for classes. If I can put up with her shit, classes will be no problem.” He spun around at the door. “Never again, Tenzin!”
“So you said.” She couldn’t help but smile. His anger was too amusing.
Ben stormed out and stomped up the stairs.
Giovanni said, “Do you think Ben knows he delivered that entire rant in perfect Mandarin?”
Beatrice shook her head. “Probably not thinking about it at the moment.”
“He sounds so much better,” Tenzin said.
“You’re right. He sounds like a native.”
“Two weeks with no company but Chinese sailors will do that for you.”
Beatrice added, “I imagine he’s picked up some rather interesting vocabulary, too.”
“True.”
Tenzin turned back to the television, where several buildings were blowing up in a completely unrealistic manner.
Ben just needed a little time to calm down. He became so cranky when he didn’t get enough sleep.
He could thank her later.
THE END
November 28, 2014
Dear Readers,
A few years ago, I wrote these words at the back of A Fall of Water:
“Tenzin?”
“Yes?”
“I’m bored.”
“Me, too.”
And then I promptly frustrated many of you by writing about everyone except Ben and Tenzin.
You’ve just read the beginning of something I’ve been planning for a while. I hope you noticed the title of this novella, because underneath, there’s a very important little phrase: An Elemental Legacy Novella.
That’s right, far from having one book, Benjamin Vecchio will be the main character in his very own series, the Elemental Legacy series.
It wasn’t something I’d planned when I first wrote that skinny twelve-year-old boy in This Same Earth, but Ben has grown into a character I love just as much (and probably more) as any other featured in the Elemental World. I’ve watched him grow up in my mind and in my books, and I can’t wait to feature him in a brand-new series. Lots of your favorite past characters will be featured, just as they were in this story, along with many new ones. The Elemental universe is a big place, and I can’t wait to show you some of its other secrets.
And for those of you who might be wondering, please don’t fear that this series is going to be Elemental Mysteries 2.0. I loved Giovanni and Beatrice’s story, but Ben is his own character, and he has his own path to take. I think you can tell by this
story that—no matter what he may claim—Ben has a big appetite for adventure. And you know your favorite wind vampire will be along to add levity, wisdom, and more than a little mayhem into any scheme Ben might plan.
I’ll still be continuing to write in the Elemental World, so don’t fear that any story lines have been dropped. The Elemental Legacy series is still in the planning stages, but I wanted to give you a preview of what the future holds.
I hope you enjoyed Shadows and Gold.
Thanks for reading,
Elizabeth
ELIZABETH HUNTER is a contemporary fantasy, paranormal romance, and contemporary romance writer. She is a graduate of the University of Houston Honors College and a former English teacher. She once substitute taught a kindergarten class, but decided that middle school was far less frightening. Thankfully, people now pay her to write books and eighth-graders everywhere rejoice.
She currently lives in Central California with her son, two dogs, many plants, and a sadly dwindling fish tank. She is the author of the Elemental Mysteries and Elemental World series, the Cambio Springs series, the Irin Chronicles, and other works of fiction.
Website: ElizabethHunterWrites.com
E-mail:
[email protected] ALSO BY ELIZABETH HUNTER
The Elemental Mysteries Series
A Hidden Fire
This Same Earth
The Force of Wind
A Fall of Water
Lost Letters and Christmas Lights
(novella, All the Stars Look Down)
The Elemental World Series
Building From Ashes
Waterlocked (novella)
Blood and Sand
The Bronze Blade (novella)
The Cambio Springs Series
Long Ride Home (short story)
Shifting Dreams
Five Mornings (short story)
Desert Bound
The Irin Chronicles
The Scribe
The Singer
The Secret (Winter 2015)
Contemporary Romance
The Genius and the Muse
A preview of
LOST LETTERS AND CHRISTMAS LIGHTS:
A Christmas Romance for All the Stars Look Down
PROLOGUE
Los Angeles, California
“Beatrice?” Giovanni raised his voice only slightly when he entered the house, knowing that despite the massive square footage of the house in San Marino, his mate would be able to hear him.
There was no response.
He pulled off the scarf he’d wrapped around his neck when he’d left the house earlier that evening. The weather in Southern California was mildly cool that December, which meant every native Californian had broken out their warmest wraps. It was so hard following winter fashion when there simply was no winter. Nevertheless, the humans tried.
“Beatrice?” he called again, wondering if she’d left the house. He reached out with his senses.
A hint of chicken mole in the air. Caspar had cooked it yesterday.
Doyle, his grey cat, purred near a fire someone had lit in the downstairs sitting room.
No sign of Ben, but that was hardly remarkable this time of night.
He inhaled again.
Vanilla. Acid. Almonds. And a very faint waft of mold.
Giovanni smiled. Beatrice was in the library.
The unmistakable trace of her amnis permeated the air. She’d been in the kitchen recently. Other immortals wouldn’t sense it, but Beatrice De Novo wasn’t only his wife by human law, she was his vampire mate by tradition. The blood they shared bound them on an elemental level. He always knew when she was near.
Her preternatural senses would have picked up the smallest sound, which meant she was ignoring him. Ignoring him meant one of two things. He calmly walked up the stairs to the second floor, stroking a finger along the side of the Vietnamese vase she’d found for him in Hong Kong the Christmas before.
Beatrice ignoring his call meant she was feeling playful or…
He nudged open the door to the library, leaning against it as he watched her muttering over a table piled with file boxes.
She was in the middle of a project.
“Ciao bella, Tesoro.”
She waved one hand, which was covered in a silk glove because she was handling documents. She didn’t lift her head. “Hey. Why are you…” Her mind drifted off before she could finish the question.
“Back so soon?” Giovanni finished for her. “The client wanted the impossible. I refuse to break something out of the National Archives.”
“You have before.”
“There were multiple copies of that particular item.” He stepped closer, careful not to touch any of the materials spread over the table. “This item is unique. I’m not interested in depriving a nation of its history—meager though it may be—to satisfy a vampire’s whim.”
“So kind of you,” she muttered, not even rising to the American history taunt. She’d continued her personal research project of documenting daily life in the Mission period of California history that she’d started in graduate school. Giovanni had continued to acquire difficult-to-obtain books and documents for immortal clientele and discreet human collectors. Beatrice helped him when she wanted to, and both kept as busy as they wanted.
It was a good life. Others might think Giovanni longed for the excitement of his nights as an assassin or was jealous of the power others wielded in vampire politics. Power he had handed to them before he stepped away.
But Giovanni Vecchio had no longing for violence. No desire for power. He had spent hundreds of years with both thrust upon him. Now he had found his peace.
He and his mate flew around the world as they liked, visiting their homes and perusing their books. Working when they wanted. Keeping in touch with friends and occasionally assisting with a problem when help was requested.
But for the most part, they lived a quiet life.
“How’s the new pub?” She had put down the letter she’d been examining, sliding the acid-free envelope into the file before she pulled out another. “Ben says Gavin’s happy as a clam in New York. He’s considering making the move permanent. Keeps making noises about the O’Briens, but nothing serious.”
“Gavin would gripe about Mother Theresa if he’d spent any time with her. The O’Briens aren’t causing him any trouble. And I don’t like the manager of Gavin’s pub. I miss the one in Houston.”
“That’s too bad.”
“We should go back for a visit.”
“To the pub?”
He laughed a little. “To Houston. We could make a visit of it. See Gavin. Charlotte. Maybe Claire and Andor.”
“Uh-huh.”
He sat down and leaned his head in his hand. “We could break into the Rothko Chapel. Finally steal the black canvases you like.”
“Yeah… sounds good,” she responded, clearly not paying attention. Beatrice was occupied with the letter she held.
It looked like part of the Mission correspondence she’d been collecting.
“What is it?” he asked, giving up on discussing anything other than work.
“Remember the Hungarian you shoved in my direction?”
“The wine collector?”
“Winemaker,” she corrected. “Rabidly private. Old. I think I may have a lead on that project.”
“I thought you’d given up on it.”
“No. Put it on the back burner for a bit, but he was getting rude.”
Giovanni’s head came up. “Explain rude.”
Beatrice smiled as he stood and walked to the table. “Nothing I can’t handle, handsome. I told him to back off, but then I ran across something when I was helping one of Katya’s archivists. There was a mention in a letter from Father Ignacio…”
She trailed off again, but Giovanni started paging through the box of letters, each one a carefully preserved missive from one of the Franciscan priests or secular clergy at California’s twenty-one ori
ginal missions. Over the years, Beatrice had come to know many of the more prolific letter writers by name. Father Ignacio was a favorite.
“He mentions a young priest around San Jose who was an expert in wine-making and had begun sending out ‘un informe.’ I think I have some letters that priest exchanged with another in Rome. Odd, I thought at the time, because why Rome? Why not Spain?”
“If he was a member of the clergy, it’s possible he—”
“Had connections with someone in the in the church there. I figure that’s why. Anyway, I’d misread ‘informe’ as a verb, not a noun. But un informe would be a… report. An account of some kind. Something written down. At least that’s what the context would imply from what I remember.”
He paid half a mind to what she was saying and the other half to the excitement in her voice. The animated way her eyes lit up as she tugged the thread of history hidden within the papers before her.
It was almost ridiculous how he loved her.
“So if this priest was writing down his practices and sending them to his contemporaries in the other missions, it might not be just a report, but maybe a journal? A book? Which is exactly what the Hungarian wants and I thought didn’t exist. But I think it does! Now I just need to find out how many copies he made of this thing and pray one survived. If I can figure out where he sent them… I’m hoping there’s something in the letters to Rome that will give me some more to go on.”
Giovanni pursed his lips when he realized what letters she was referring to. “The letters? The… Roman ones? Written from the Vatican?”