A Hidden Fire: Elemental Mysteries Book 1 (10 page)

“So, if I take this job, where would you want to work?  At the university?”

“No, here.  I have top of the line equipment upstairs and extensive firewalls to keep my research private, along with numerous electronic editions of reference texts and a large library.  I just can’t use any of the computers.”

“That has
got
to be frustrating.”

“Very.  Because of my nature and affinity toward fire, I’m even less able to use modern technology than most vampires.  It has become more and more complicated as the years go by.”

“Good thing you have Caspar.”

“Yes, it is.  He’s very useful, despite the fact that he’s a horrible eavesdropper.”

“I heard that!”  Caspar called from the kitchen.  Giovanni cocked his eyebrow at Beatrice, who stifled a laugh. 

“So, if I take this job—
if
I take it—what kind of hours are we talking about?  And what do you actually do?  Can I ask?”

He nodded and took another sip of whiskey as Caspar came into the living room to refill Beatrice’s drink and set a small plate of cheese and olives on the coffee table. 

“Of course.  I only work when I want to, so it would be part-time.  Evenings, of course, but I’m flexible as to which ones.  Fridays are not usually available.  I don’t have to work, but immortality is dreadfully boring for the idle rich, so I try to keep myself occupied.  I’m a hunter by nature, so I hunt rare documents and books for private clients, along with some antiquities.  Collectibles, art, that sort of thing, though antiquities are not particularly interesting to me.”

“So, do you work mostly for other—other vampires?”

“Mostly yes, though not exclusively.  I don’t advertise, and since clients find me through referral, I tend to take work from those who have worked with me in the past.  Most of those people are immortal.”

She sat quietly, staring into her drink before she spoke again.  “Wow.”

He frowned.  “What?  Why?  Why ‘wow?’”

“You’re like a—a book detective.  That’s really cool.”

He couldn’t suppress his smile.  “I think so, yes.”

“And you want to pay me to help you find books and antiques?”

“That’s the idea.”

She paused for a moment, biting her lip before she asked, “Will you help me find my father?”

The blood began to rush in his veins and he smothered a low growl of satisfaction when he heard her.  It was perfect.  She wanted exactly the same thing he did, though probably for very different reasons. 

“Yes,” he said with a smile he hoped didn’t show his extended fangs.  “I’ll find him.”

Beatrice smiled.  “Then I’ll take it, I don’t even care if you’re an asshole when you’re working.  Besides, what you do is a book lover’s dream job.”

He shrugged.  “Well, if you’re going to be pursuing a career for eternity, it might as well be something you enjoy.”

“I’ll say so.”

He tried to suppress the smile that wanted to take over his face.  “So you agree to work for me?  I confess, I’ve never had an assistant other than Caspar.  I might very well be an asshole when I’m working.”

“You are!” Caspar shouted from the kitchen. 

Beatrice laughed outright when she heard him, and Giovanni couldn’t help but join her.  His mind began to race with thoughts of finding his books, and he couldn’t deny that the girl’s amusing presence was an added bonus. 

He saw a grey streak dart down the stairs from the corner of his eye then Doyle was there, curling himself around Beatrice’s combat boots and looking longingly at Giovanni with copper colored eyes. 

“Oh, hi.  Hi, Cat.”  Beatrice seemed more than a bit taken aback by the large feline investigating her.  Doyle sniffed her boots for a few moments before he jumped on the couch next to Giovanni. 

“You’re not getting any cheese from me, Doyle.  I’m told it’s not good for you.”

“That is a very large cat.”

“He is.”  Doyle chirped and shoved his head under Giovanni’s hand.  Beatrice grinned at them both.  “He’s very smart.  But spoiled.  That is Caspar’s doing, I’m afraid.  He keeps trying to buy his love through extravagant meals.”

“It’s going to work one of these days,” Caspar muttered as he came in to lift Doyle from Giovanni’s lap.  “Come now, Doyle.  I have some lovely tuna for you in the kitchen.”

Caspar tucked the cat under his arm and walked back to the kitchen, winking at Beatrice as he left the room. 

“So when can I see your library?”  She was practically bouncing in her seat. 

He smirked.  “So forward, Beatrice.  Just jump right in and ask to see a vampire’s library, why don’t you?  Not even dinner first?”

Her mouth dropped open and she flushed bright red.  “What?  That’s not part of the job, is it?”

He could stop the laughter that burst out.  “No!  I was teasing you.  I don’t expect—no, definitely not.  That’s not part of—no.  No.”

She curled her lip.  “Well, now I’m almost offended.  I can’t smell
that
bad.”

His gaze suddenly focused on her neck and the slight flush that lingered there.  He felt the raw hunger in his throat, and he knew he had waited too long.  He needed to feed.  And soon. 

“No,” he said hoarsely.  The tender skin on her neck began to pulse slightly as her heart rate picked up.  “You smell…”

She must have felt the energy that suddenly charged the room, because she stiffened in her chair, staring at him.  He heard her heart race, and the scent of adrenaline began to perfume the air. 

“Gio,” Caspar called as he walked briskly into the living room.  “Do you and B need a refreshment on your drinks?”  The older man came to stand between Giovanni and the girl, breaking his concentration and snapping him out of the sudden bloodlust that had taken him by surprise. 

“No.”  Giovanni cleared his throat.  “Beatrice was just leaving.”  He stood and went to offer Beatrice a hand as she rose from her chair.  She eyed him cautiously, glancing between him and Caspar as she stood. 

“I apologize.  I do need to go out this evening.  We’ll have to see the library another time,” he spoke quietly, hoping she couldn’t detect the fangs lengthening in his mouth as he approached. 

From the way she stared at his lips, he suspected they were not as hidden as he hoped. 

“Sure,” she said.  “I need to get home, anyway.  My grandmother is probably waiting up.”

“Of course.”

Caspar took Beatrice by the arm and walked her toward the kitchen door.  She glanced over her shoulder, and Giovanni tried to temper his hungry stare as she walked away.  From the sound of her heart, and the scent of her blood, he wasn’t very successful. 

Still, she did not look away. 

He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring at the deliciously rich scent of her blood slowly dissipated in the air around him.  He walked over to the chair where she sat, bending down to run his face along the back much as the cat had scented her legs earlier. 

His eyes narrowed and his throat burned.  He quickly walked upstairs to grab his coat before the hunger overtook him.  Taking a deep breath as he stepped outside, feeling his skin burn as he wrestled down the instincts he had battled for five hundred years. 

“Why is she here?”

“For you.  My blood is gone from your system and you need sustenance.”

“I don’t want—”

“You will not drain her.  That only exhibits a lack of control.  Though you are young, you must never be without self-control, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Now feed.”

After he was sure his control was intact, he headed for the nightclubs which would already be packed on Friday night. 

Brushing against the bouncer at the door to one of his favorite clubs, he quickly found a table only occupied by a few college boys.  He held out his hand to introduce himself and, with a quick use of amnis, convinced them he was an acquaintance they had invited out for the evening.  As the night progressed, college girls passed by drawn to his looks, but put off by his manner when he brushed them aside.  Finally, he spotted a pair of women who appeared to be in their late twenties eyeing him from across the club. 

He observed them for a few minutes, noting their provocative clothing and the body language indicating they were looking for sex.  Abandoning his oblivious companions at the table, he approached the women, leaning down and trying to ignore the stale scent of fruit body wash and forget the smell of honeysuckle. 

“Hi, I’m John,” he said with a flat American accent, holding out his hand to shake first one, then the other’s hand.  Their minds were weak and would be easy to manipulate.  And though the prospect of sex with the two women surprisingly distasteful to him that evening, he sensed both of them were in good health and would not suffer any ill effects when he took their blood.  He could easily manipulate them into thinking they’d had a very enjoyable time. 

The blonde batted her lashes.  “You’re hot.”

He smiled and held out a hand to her before he leaned over and let his lips feather across the neck of the slightly less crass brunette.  He inhaled her scent, ignoring the smell of cheap alcohol that tainted her blood. 

He would drink deeply that night. 

Chapter Seven

Houston, Texas

November 2003

“
O
h, wow.”

“What do you think?”

“I tried to imagine, but—I mean…it’s so much more—”

“Think it’s large enough to keep you satisfied for a while?”

“It’s so much bigger than I expected.”

He backed away, leaving Beatrice to gaze in wonder at the library that took up half of the second floor. 

“I think I’ll just leave you two alone for a bit,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Okay,” she said. 

“Would you like a fire?”

“Okay.”  She wandered toward the map case, peering into it with awe. 

“How about something to drink?  Should I have Caspar bring something up?”

“Sure.”

“Mind if I just take a quick sip from your carotid before I go?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she murmured as she stared at a sixteenth century map of South America. 

“Right then,” he cleared his throat and ignored the low, hungry burn.  “I’ll be back later.  Enjoy.”

“Okay.  Gio?”

“Hmm?”

A small smile quirked her lips.  “I heard the carotid thing.  No.”

He smirked.  “No harm in asking.”

“But yes to the fire.  It’s cold in here.”

He chuckled, walking over to the small fireplace with the grouping of chairs surrounding it.  Leaning down, he turned on the gas valve and snapped his fingers, quickly tossing a blue flame toward the vents which filled the grate with a warm glow.  He saw Beatrice watching him.  He looked at her as he stood, and she grinned. 

“Still very cool, Batman.”

He winked.  “Well, I have a library to compete with now.”

She sighed and looked at him sympathetically.  “Cool flame tricks aside, there’s no competition.”

He lifted his eyebrow.  “Library wins?”

“Every single time.”

He chuckled and walked toward the doorway.  “Feel free to wander around.  There’s only one locked case, which is of no importance to your work.  Everything else is made to be read.  Familiarize yourself with the computers tonight.  Caspar has created an account for you with your first name as the login identification and last name as the password.  Keep it that way.”

“You got it.  Your computers, your rules.”

He gave a curt nod.  “I’ll be downstairs in my study making some phone calls.”

She was already engrossed in a first edition Austen he had purchased in London in the late 1800s.  He smiled and left her with his books. 

Giovanni walked downstairs, and asked Caspar to bring Beatrice a drink in the library.  Since they were working from his home, he could start soon after he rose and had no need to wait for sunset to leave the house.  He was surprised how much the idea of having a competent assistant invigorated him.  He’d spent the previous fifteen years watching the slow transfer of information from paper to electronic medium with dread, knowing that eventually, much of the information vital to his work would be out of his grasp.  Her agreement to work with him, knowing who and what he was, lifted an unanticipated weight off his shoulders.

Beatrice had agreed to work from five-thirty to nine o’clock, Mondays and Thursdays, leaving Tuesday free for some activity she did with her grandmother, and Wednesday for her regular library hours. 

He was satisfied with the arrangement and found himself pleased with the prospect of seeing her three nights a week.  He knew he could hardly ask for more and was confident his research would go much faster than it had in the past. 

He picked up the phone and dialed Carwyn’s number. 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” the priest said.  “Why are you calling me again?  You’re like a child waiting for Father Christmas.  This girl can’t be that interesting.”

Giovanni chuckled and ignored his friend’s question.  “I thought you liked hearing my voice.”

“And you said she was interesting, not irresistible.”

“Stop making assumptions.”

“Oh?  So you’re not ‘interested’ in her
that
way?”

He frowned, and his mind flashed to the image of Beatrice in his library, browsing the books with a small smile and laughing eyes.  Then he remembered the feel of her soft body pressed against his as they jumped out of the broken elevator.

“She’s a student, an assistant.  A contact, in a manner of speaking.”

“Because you always take this kind of interest in students and assistants and contacts,” his friend said sarcastically.  “Just remember that I’m available for confession should the need arise.”

“Amusing.  I’ll keep that in mind,” he muttered, eager to change the subject.  “I was calling to let you know we’re having an unexpected cold spell, so you might need a sweater.”

“Your ‘cold spells’ are balmy spring weather compared to my mountains.  I’m packing my loudest Hawaiian shirts.”

He winced.  “Please no.”

“I just ordered a new one.  Had it shipped to your place.  Lots of pink flowers on it.  Should clash nicely with my hair.”

“Do you know what looks good with your demon hair?  Ecclesiastical black.”

“Boring.  I’m only wearing the uniform now when I celebrate mass.”

“Hmm, and how is your congregation?”

Carwyn chuckled.  “Small, but faithful as always.”

He sipped his drink.  “I’m glad you’re staying longer, Carwyn.  Something’s going to happen.  I don’t know what, but too many pieces are moving at once for this to be ignored.  This girl.  Her father.  I’m not sure whether to smile or shore up my defenses.”

The silence stretched over the line before the Welshman spoke again in his tripping accent,  “Have you talked to Tenzin?”

He shook his head though there was no one to see.  “Caspar talked to Nima…well, e-mailed her anyway.  Apparently they’re both being silent lately.”

“She usually only does that when she’s meditating.”

“Yes, I know.”

The silence stretched again.  “Well, if there’s something to know—”

“She’ll send word.”

“Yes.”

Both were silent on the line again as they gathered their thoughts. 

“I’m glad I’m coming, too, if for no other reason than to eat Caspar’s food.  He’s a much better cook than Sister Maggie.”

“Be careful how loud you say that, Father.  Gruel for a month if she hears you.”

Carwyn chuckled.  “She’s happy to get rid of me for a while.  She’s going to visit her sister’s family in Kerry while I’m gone.”

“We’re looking forward to seeing you.  Doyle especially.”

“And on that note, I’m hanging up.  Don’t call me again unless there’s an emergency.  I’ll be there in two weeks, for heaven’s sake.  Oh, have you ordered the match already?”

“Of course.  It’s on the night after you get here.”

“Excellent.  Goodbye.”

“I’ll see you next week.”

Giovanni hung up the phone and picked up the printouts Caspar had made of his e-mails from the previous day.  Looking through them, he noticed they were still being put off by Livia’s people in Rome, and his client for the Lincoln documents was making a fuss again.  He was bored by the whole matter and wondered whether he should just return the rude human’s retainer and move on to something more interesting. 

Then again, he realized, the case might be a good one to give to Beatrice.  It was sure to keep her busy.  The client was human, so the consequences of missing something or failing to find the requested document were negligible.  Yes, he thought, it might be a good first project for the persistent Miss De Novo. 

He almost overlooked the last email in the stack.  It was short, cryptic, and had clearly come from an immortal, as it was sent to the e-mail address he gave only to vampire clients.  The message was brief, and the sender used an obviously false address. 

They’ll be there soon, and there’s more where they came from. 

You’re welcome. 

L

He looked at the date and time the e-mail was received and stared at the final initial.  Giovanni opened the locked drawer on the top right-hand side of his desk and slid the paper inside.  Then he leaned back, sipped his whiskey, and let his thoughts wander to the past. 

“It’s there somewhere.”

“I’ve looked, Gio.  It’s not.”

“Yes, Beatrice, it is.  The client has been waiting for this document for months now.  It is your job to find it.  We know it was sold at auction in 1993.  We know it’s in a private collection somewhere on the Eastern seaboard,” he lectured her as he pored over one of his journals he had taken from his locked cabinet.  “Put the pieces together.  There are only so many auction houses that deal with that kind of document on the East coast, and most of them keep old catalogues online now.”

“From ten years ago?”

He shrugged as he sat at the dark oak table in the middle of the room.  “Well, that’s what I hired you for.  I tracked it to the auction.  The rest is the easy part.  Look at the list I gave you.”

He had put her on the trail of the boring Lincoln document earlier that night while he looked over some of his past clients, trying to ascertain who, exactly, the mysterious ‘L’ might be who had sent the cryptic e-mail.  He wasn’t wasting energy on speculating what he or she might have sent, as there was wasn’t enough information yet.  Whoever it was, he was certain it was related to Stephen De Novo and his lost books.

“This is going to take forever.”

“Forever is a very relative term when you’re talking to me.  It’s going to take more time than you’ve spent on previous projects your insipid professors at the university have assigned you.  Not forever.”

“Old man,” she muttered under her breath. 

“Warned you, B,” Caspar called from the doorway. 

“I should have listened; his looks are deceiving,” she grumbled as she turned her eyes away from him to blink at the glowing monitor. 

He ignored them both and took out one of his journals from the period before he was turned, when Savaranola’s bonfires tore through the city of his birth.

Caspar walked over and set a mug of hot tea in front of Beatrice before taking a whiskey to Giovanni.  The butler set the tray down on the coffee table and picked up his own book to read in his favorite chair by the fire.  It was Beatrice’s third week working at the house, and the three of them had already fallen into a comfortable rhythm. 

Giovanni darted around the library, often moving so quickly he startled Beatrice as she sat behind the computer, clicking the keys as she stared at the monitor, searching the vast digital territory he could not access.  Giovanni would call out search terms as he worked, and she shooed him away if he got too close to the electronic equipment. 

Caspar joined them to read halfway through the evening, often bantering about favorite horror films with Beatrice or needling Giovanni in various languages. 

Doyle moved almost as quickly as the vampire, jumping from lap to lap and looking for any imminent treats to be dropped or sneaked behind Giovanni’s back. 

“Seriously, Gio.  I see
one
of these houses you list with catalogues online, the rest—”

The kitchen door slammed, and they all started at the sound.  Giovanni held up a hand for silence, but didn’t hear any additional noise.  Caspar walked swiftly to Beatrice’s desk and stood next to her, looking far more dangerous than one might expect from a sixty-seven-year-old butler. 

Giovanni, on the other hand, let out a low growl and slipped out the door in the blink of an eye. 

He paused on the stairs, sniffed the air, and relaxed. 

“You can hide, Carwyn, but your wet wolfhound cannot.  I have company.  Stop scaring the guest.”

All of a sudden, something pounced on his back, and Giovanni and the silent intruder tumbled down the stairs in a blur.  They rolled toward the entry way, knocking over a green vase that stood in the exquisitely appointed room.  A pale white hand shot out, catching the vase before it hit the ground and tossing it toward the plush sofa. 

“That is turn of the century Bien Hoa.  If you break
it
, I will break
you
,” Giovanni gasped out as his friend put him in a choke hold. 

“Oh, it’s fine, Gio!  You’re such a prissy bastard sometimes.”  Carwyn twisted around, trying to capture his friend’s leg in a lock, but failed.  Carwyn had never been faster than him.  His only advantage lay in his broad shoulders, heavily muscled arms, and the element of surprise, which he had lost. 

Giovanni twisted around, finally getting out of the choke-hold and flipping backward over Carwyn’s head to leap on his back.  In no time, the Welshman was flat on his face with one arm twisted behind him, and a long leg bent his knees at angles that would have broken a mortal man.