The Elemental Mysteries: Complete Series (136 page)

She was happily lost in a novel and curled up in the living room when the sound of the Mercedes broke through. She smiled at Caspar when he walked through the door. The clock on the wall pointed toward one and the old man bent down to kiss her cheek.

“Good night, my dear. I’ll see you in the morning. This old man is exhausted.”

“Night, Cas.”

“What time did she turn in?”

“A few hours ago.”

“I’ll be joining her. Have fun with him.”

“Oh?” She said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Caspar shrugged. “Don’t ask me. He’s being terribly silent tonight.”

“Huh, weird. He was fine earlier. Did everything go all right with Ernesto?”

“I believe so. He didn’t seem upset. Just... quiet.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning. Night.”

He gave her a small salute and walked down the hall just as Giovanni walked through the door. He wore a strange expression and sat beside her. She stared at him as he looked off into the distance. Finally, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick, cream envelope with a broken wax seal. The interior was filigreed in gold leaf, and she could see a swirl of calligraphy peeking out from the letter inside.

“Hi. What’s this? Caspar said you were doing the moody, silent thing. What’s up?”

Giovanni tossed the envelope on her lap and leaned back, throwing an arm around her on the couch.

“Beatrice, how do you feel about Rome in the springtime?”

Chapter Two

Crotone, Italy

1494

“Where am I?”

“Your new home.”

Jacopo looked around the room, blinking. It looked nothing like the warm chambers of his uncle’s villa in Ferrara or the bustling of Benevieni’s house in Florence. The dim room where he woke was dark and damp. Though there were clean rushes that littered the floor, the chill of the air seemed to seep in through his bare feet and the smell of the ocean was everywhere. He sat on the edge of a small bed that smelled of sweet straw and herbs.

“This is not my home.”

Signor Andros only smiled at him indulgently. The strange man had always bothered Jacopo, though never the same way as the teasing courtiers of Florence or Rome. He had learned at a young age to escape their stealthy hands and avoid their attention, but from the beginning, Niccolo Andros had seemed to be a different sort. Jacopo had never understood his uncle’s fascination with the Greek, despite his wealth, knowledge, and connections.

“This
is
your home. And will be until I decide you are ready to move on.”

“And when will that be?”

Andros only shrugged. “There is no rush. We must complete your education first. You are very young, even for a human. You have not yet reached your prime. That is why I have chosen you to be my student.”

Jacopo may have been young, but he watched Andros with canny eyes. The boy had managed his uncle’s servants for many years and had been an observer of human nature for far longer. Jacopo had never mingled with the other young men at court or even the servants his own age. He had always felt most comfortable among his uncle’s books or in the company of Giovanni’s friends.

He sat up a little straighter. “I am already well-educated. My uncle saw to my education. You know this, Signore.”

“I do. That is why I chose you. You are extremely bright for a human.” Andros stepped back, examining Jacopo as if he was an animal for sale. “Of fine form. Healthy. Yes, I’m very satisfied with my choice.”

Jacopo cocked his head, and his mind began to spin. Andros had called him a “human,” as if there was some other option, and there remained a faint, dull ache at the base of his skull. He felt as if he had woken from a strange fever, but his body did not ache, only his mind. His memory flashed to the strange preachers on the streets of Paris, raving about demons and spirits. His uncle had dismissed them as lunatics.

“You are young,” Andros continued with a nod. “You will adapt nicely.”

“What do you want from me?”

The odd man smiled. “It is not what I want
from
you. It is what I want to give to you.

Instinct caused Jacopo’s stomach to churn, and his eyes darted around the room, searching for escape.

“Don’t panic.” Andros laughed. “I mean you no harm. Your uncle is dead. Florence continues its descent into madness.” He came and sat next to Jacopo on the small bed, but kept a comfortable distance. “You will be safe with me. Cared for.”

“Cared for?” The reality of his isolation hit him at last. Jacopo wondered what the servants thought had happened to him. His uncle had only been dead a few hours when the footman had announced that Signor Niccolo Andros had come to the villa. He remembered meeting the man in the study, but nothing else. “What has happened to my uncle?” Jacopo asked in a soft voice.

“Your uncle is dead,” Andros said. “His family will bury him. The servants have sent for them already.”

A slow ache twisted in his chest. “I am his family.”

“No, you aren’t.”

Jacopo’s eyes closed in pain. He was weary. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep. If he woke, perhaps this would be revealed to be a strange nightmare. If he woke, his uncle might be alive. His warm feather bed would be beneath him. He would hear the maid singing a lilting song in the courtyard.

Andros’s voice brought him back to reality. “As much as your uncle may have loved you, he was never
really
your family. Did he ever name you as his heir? Of course not. You were his brother’s bastard. He would have married eventually and, if you were very fortunate, he would have made you steward of some house or property. You, my dear boy, were never his family.”

Jacopo’s eyes furrowed in pain. He knew in his heart that his uncle had cared for him, but the twisted words of his captor needled his insecurities. “I
was
his family. I was.”

Andros rose, and Jacopo’s eyes followed him. At first glance, Niccolo Andros did not look exceptionally strong or powerful. He was black-haired and bore the even, Mediterranean features shared by most men of Jacopo’s acquaintance. He had a medium build, though his arms were thickly muscled, more like those of a laborer than a successful merchant. The only startling things about the man were his pale complexion and vivid blue gaze, which sparked with intelligence and calculation. When Jacopo looked into Andros’s eyes, they radiated a quiet menace.

“No, my boy, you
weren’t
his family, but you will be mine.” Andros stepped closer in the small room, towering over the tall, young man as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Do what I say, and I promise you I shall call you my son. In front of a far more powerful court than the piddling salons of the Medici, I will stand up and call you my child.”

Jacopo frowned. “What do you speak of? What court is more powerful than the Medici? Are you a priest? Do you claim the Holy Father’s favor?”

The older man chuckled. “Oh, my dear boy, how your eyes will be opened! Your world has been so small, even with all your uncle’s travels. That which I speak of is beyond your comprehension. But you will understand. I promise, very soon, you will understand.” Andros’s voice grew gentle. “You have never truly had a home, a family. I will be your family. I will call you my son, and someday, all that I have will be yours, do you understand?”

Despite his fear, a strange kind of desire began to fill Jacopo. He had watched many men lie, and was more than proficient at the art himself, but Andros’s eyes held none of the telltale signs of a deceiver. In fact, despite the ridiculous promise of the words he spoke, Jacopo almost believed him.

“You would call me your son?”

Andros smiled and stepped forward, placing a cool hand on Jacopo’s cheek. “Trust me, my child. I am your family now.”

Los Angeles, California

March 2012

He woke suddenly, twitching his nose at the memory of the salt air. Giovanni blinked the sleep from his eyes and immediately searched the bedroom. As was her habit, Beatrice sat in the large chair by the fireplace, reading a journal and taking notes in a small book. Her forehead crinkled in thought as she puzzled over some mystery. He took a silent moment to examine her.

She was stronger than he was now, though she lacked his experience, discipline, and control. For whatever reason, the cocktail of blood that had flooded her mortal body during her change had effected a truly spectacular transformation. In the year and a half since she had turned, Beatrice had grown in power and confidence. She rarely acted impulsively, and her grace was that of someone ten times her age.

Happily, she was still the same woman he had fallen in love with.

“Tesoro.”

She looked up and a slow smile spread across her face.

“Hey, handsome.”

He cocked a finger at her, squinting his eyes as he caught the teasing light in her own. She rose and sauntered toward him as he continued to beckon her. Once she was within arm’s reach, he pounced. Beatrice laughed and rolled across the floor with him as they played.

“You’re in a mood for just waking up.” She laughed as they came to a stop halfway to the fireplace. Giovanni braced himself over her and looked down. “Do I dare ask what you were dreaming about?”

Sadly, not what you’re thinking of.
He kissed along her collar and nuzzled into her neck. “Have I told you tonight that I love you?”

“No.”

“I do. I love you.” His lips explored the nape of her neck, where her soft, honeysuckle scent was strongest.

“I love you, too.”

He rolled to the side and let his hand trail along her shoulder. “And I love our home.”

She laughed. “Okay.”

“And our family.”

She caught his chin and forced his eyes to hers. Giovanni met her gaze, bathing in the comfort of her energy as it wrapped them both. “Where are you tonight?”

He still marveled that she could read him so well. “Just... thinking about the past.”

Beatrice’s eyes held nothing but the soft light of understanding. “Anything you want to share?”

He shook his head. She paused for a minute, examining him before she leaned in for a gentle kiss. Giovanni kissed her back, letting his amnis spread over her skin to tease her senses. He could feel her desire twine with his, and he sat up, pulling her with him and pressing her mouth to his neck.

“Bite,” he growled. “Feed from me.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

“Since when have you ever waited for permission?”

Giovanni heard a low purr before her fangs pierced his skin.

“What is on your agenda tonight?” he asked as he dressed in his uniform of black slacks and a dress shirt. Beatrice lounged in the bath, enjoying the calm of the water before she left their room.

“I’ve got some translation to do on the journals. I already helped Ben with his homework today, but I’ll drive him to Tenzin’s later tonight and practice for a while.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that. I asked Ernesto to call Baojia back from San Diego.”

Beatrice raised her eyebrow. “Oh, really? Did Grandpa decide to let him out of time-out?”

Giovanni grimaced. “I asked Ernesto to bring him back so he could continue your training. I spoke to Baojia last week and he wanted to know how your weapons were progressing. He says Tenzin is not a good enough teacher.”

She smiled. “It’s going fine. I’m always grateful for help though. I was talking about it with Tenzin the other night. She says I’m more than proficient with the
dao,
and I’m fine with the
jian
. I never really liked using a
jian
much, to be honest, so I’m not too concerned—”

“Baojia says you’re ready for the
shuang gou.
”

Her eyes lit up. “The hook-swords?”

“Yes.”

“Wicked.”

He smirked and walked over for a quick kiss. “Glad you agree. I’ll probably be in the library most of the night. I want to go over some of my uncle’s correspondence before we leave for Rome.”

“This trip is going to be safe, right? I know you want to bring Ben, but it’s not worth it if you think there’s any danger of—”

“Nothing we can’t handle, Tesoro.” He leaned against the edge of the counter. “We’ll see Livia, and I’ll introduce you to her people. We’ll play nice for a week or so, and then she’ll lose interest. That’s what she always does. She’s always after the shiny new toy. Right now, she’s curious, that’s all. Honestly, I should have taken you to see her right after we got married, but we had a bit on the schedule.”

“So no reason to worry?”

“No.” He frowned. “Are you worried?”

Beatrice shrugged. “Well, she’s the closest thing I have to a mother-in-law. From all reports, she’s also an incredibly beautiful, two-thousand-year-old, Roman noblewoman. And she is, according to you, one of the most powerful vampires in Europe. Nope, nothing intimidating about her at all.”

Giovanni bent down, ignoring the water soaking his knees. “Nothing to worry about. She’ll love you.”

“Yeah?” She couldn’t hide the skepticism in her voice.