The Elemental Mysteries: Complete Series (28 page)

“Huh, that’s interesting.
 
So it’s kind of genetic, I guess.”
 

“Except for
fire
.”
 
Her eyes darted up to find Carwyn watching her.
 

“Oh really?”

“Yes, they tend to just pop up like the bastard redhead every now and then.
 
Anyone can sire them.
 
Water, Air, Earth.
 
Very unpredictable.
 
Bit of a shame, of course.”
 

She leaned back, curious to see where the clever priest was going with his train of thought.
 
“And why is it a shame?”

“Let’s just say I’m glad I’m not a fire vamp.”
 
His voice dropped.
 
“Glad to never have sired one, either.”
 

She swallowed the lump in her throat, almost afraid to ask her next question.
 

“And why is that?”

He put his feet down and rested his arms on the desk.
 
She watched him, transfixed by his vivid blue eyes as the air around her became charged.
 
When he finally spoke, his voice had a low, hypnotic quality to it.

“You see, Beatrice, it’s a dangerous thing to wield fire.
 
Dangerous for yourself, and dangerous for those around you.
 
More than one sire—even a good one—will
kill
a son or daughter that shows the affinity toward fire almost immediately.”

“Why—”

“And if the sire doesn’t kill them, the young vampire will often kill himself—purely by accident—and they’ll likely take a few others with them.
 
Very,
very
volatile, those fire vamps.”
 

“But,” she stuttered, “Gio—”

“Those that do live are usually very gifted, and
very
strong,” he continued.
 
“And their sires will take advantage of that.
 
Because if you control a fire vampire , Beatrice, you control a very,
very
powerful weapon.”
 

Her chest was constricted as she absorbed the implication of what Carwyn was saying.
 
“Did Gio’s sire—”

“Now,
I
would never want that life for a child of mine.
 
I’d never abuse my influence like
some
would; but even without my interference, to live in peace, my son or daughter would have to develop almost inhuman self-control.”

Like him,
she thought, suddenly gaining new perspective on Giovanni’s dispassionate demeanor.

 
“And you’d have to be very careful how you used your power.
 
Ironically…you’d probably seem a little cold to most people.”
 

She flashed back to the heat that poured off Giovanni when he held her.
 
What would have happened if he’d lost control?
 
What had Carwyn written to her?
 

‘Opposite. Of. Frosty.’

“No, I wouldn’t want to be a fire vampire, because if I managed to live—and wasn’t manipulated as a powerful weapon by the one who made me—I’d most likely live a very lonely life,” Carwyn said quietly.
 
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She nodded and cleared her throat a little.
 
“I understand.”
 

The now solemn vampire leaned back to relax in his chair.
 
“I knew you were a clever girl.”
 

“So,” she swallowed the lump in her throat.
 
“If you ever had a fire vampire for a child, do you think…they’d always be alone?”

He shrugged and smiled a little.
 
“I think that all things are possible for him who believes.”

She smiled. “Oh yeah?”

“And I also believe that love can work miracles.”
 

“Love?”
 
She cocked an eyebrow at him.
 
“What about friendship?
 
Can that work miracles, too?”

Carwyn rolled his eyes.
 
“Silly B, love
is
friendship…just with less clothes, which makes it far more brilliant.”
 

She burst into laughter, glad he had finally broken the tension that hovered between them.
 
“You are the most ridiculous man I have ever met.
 
And maybe the worst priest.”
 

“Or the
best
,” he said with a wink, as he reached for the romance novel in the bottom drawer.
 
“Think carefully about that one.”
 

She snorted.
 
“I’ll take it into consideration.”
 
She turned back to her computer and opened a paper she was supposed to be working on.
 
Carwyn opened the book and began to read, still sneaking glances at her until she finally sighed in frustration.
 

“What now?
 
I really should get some work done.”
 

“Come back to work.
 
He’s far more of a pain in the ass since you’ve been gone.
 
He pretends nothing’s wrong, but he’s all mopey and has no sense of humor.
 
I think he might hurt my dog if you don’t.”

“Nice blackmail, Father.”

He shrugged and only looked at her with hopeful eyes.

She finally smiled.
 
“I wasn’t going to stay away forever, you know.”
 

“Will you tell me why you left?”

She shook her head firmly. “No.”
 

“I tell you all sorts of things,” he muttered.
 

“You have got to be the most immature thousand year old I’ve ever met.”
 

He folded his arms and scowled.
 
“I’m not even going to offer the most obvious retort to that.”
 

She smiled as she watched him but realized, if there was one person she instinctively trusted in this whole messy world she had found herself in, it was Carwyn.
 
As far as she could tell, he had no ulterior motive to tell her anything, and he always answered her questions.

“Bad choices about men, remember?” she finally said, referring to their last conversation in the reading room.
 
“Trying to make better choices in life, Carwyn.
 
When it comes to… you know.”
 

He stared at her for a moment before he nodded.
 
“Understood.”
 

“And don’t say a word to—”

“Count Prissypants tells me nothing.
 
Therefore, I tell him nothing.”
 

She sighed.
 
“I was actually going to say Caspar.
 
I think he and my grandma are thick as thieves now.”
 

His eyes lit up.
 
“Oooh, let’s gossip about them, shall we?”

Beatrice smiled, gave up, and shut down her computer.

Chapter Thirteen

Houston, Texas

February 2004

The first thing Giovanni smelled when he walked into the house at three in the morning early Friday was the
coq au vin
Caspar must have cooked for dinner the night before.
 
The second thing he smelled was Beatrice.
 

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
 
He had hoped she would come back to work before he needed to leave for New York.
 
In the back of his mind, he entertained a fanciful notion of taking her with him and showing her the lights of Manhattan, taking her to a play, or walking through the Met.
 

“You’re back.”
 

He turned when he heard Caspar at the kitchen door.
 

“I am.
 
Why are you still awake?
 
And is there anything I need to know?”
 
Giovanni busied himself emptying his pockets on the counter and looking through the mail Caspar had set out.
 

“I’m awake because I wanted to talk to you.
 
I’m sure you’ve realized B is back at work.
 
She and her grandmother had dinner here earlier in the evening.
 
Also, I am completely smitten with Isadora.”
 

“I don’t blame you one bit.
 
She’s a charming woman,” he mumbled as he looked through the file of e-mails Caspar had printed out.
 

“I find myself irritated that I’ve been living in this city for years and had no idea she existed.”
 

He looked up at Caspar, disarmed by the sincerity in the man’s voice.
 
He cocked his head.
 
“I’m glad for you, Caspar.
 
You deserve to find someone like that.
 
You’ve been alone too long.”
 

“So have you.”
 

Considering Caspar’s sentimental nature, he knew where his old friend was going, but it still gave Giovanni pause.
 
“Caspar—”

“I want to talk to you about B.”
 

Giovanni shrugged.
 
“There’s nothing to talk about.
 
The girl—”

“Don’t be so damn dismissive.”
 
His eyes shot up, surprised by Caspar’s angry tone.
 

“I’m not dismissing you.”
 
He frowned and set the papers down on the counter.
 

“
Her
, Gio, you’re dismissive of her.”
 

He sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets, examining the older man.
 
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Caspar.
 
How am I—”

“You talk about her like she’s a child.
 
Maybe a bright and entertaining child, but a child nonetheless.”
 

Giovanni rolled his eyes and walked toward the living room, but Caspar only followed him.
 
He stopped to pour himself a drink at the sideboard.
 
When he turned, Caspar was still looking at him with an impatient expression.
 

“She
is
a child.”
 

“She’s not.”
 

He shook his head.
 
“She’s only twenty-two—”

“She’s not as naive as you think, old man.”
 

Giovanni’s glass crashed down to the table and he looked up, suddenly angry at his friend.
 

“I am an old man,” he quietly bit out.
 
“A very old man, Caspar.
 
I was an old man 450 years ago.
 
Do you forget that?
 
Do you forget that I was already an old man when I took you in as a child?
 
Do you forget that I will remain an old man long after you leave this world?
 
Do you have any concept of how many human friends I have seen grow old and die?”

“I know she’s young, and I know you want her to help search for your books, but I also realize—”

“You realize?
 
Do you?
 
She’s twenty-two.
 
Do you remember what that is?”
 
He shook his head.
 
“I confess, I don’t remember being twenty-two.
 
It’s been too long.
 
But I remember you at twenty-two.”
 

“Do you?”

He swallowed his emotions and tried to smile.
 
“Of course I do.
 
I remember…everything.”
 
He looked at the old man he had watched over for sixty-four years, and the memories flooded over him.
 
“I remember the first time you played a piano when you were six, and how your eyes lit up.
 
The first time you drove a car, which terrified me, but you were so excited.
 
The first time you ran away from home, and how sorry you were when you came back four hours later.
 
The first time you were drunk, and how bloody arrogant you were at eighteen.”
 

Caspar only frowned and shook his head.
 
“What—”

“I remember you at twenty-two, Caspar.
 
And you were so damn bold.
 
You were fearless.
 
Do you remember?
 
The first time you fell in love was when you were twenty-two.”
 

Caspar smiled wistfully.
 
“Claire.”
 

“Beautiful Claire Lipton!
 
The darling of your young heart.
 
Do you remember?
 
The only woman you would ever love.
 
Wasn’t that what you said?
 
She was incandescent in your eyes.”