This Same Earth: Elemental Mysteries Book 2 (39 page)

She looked through the section in front of her. “I’m also seeing stuff on Newton and Boyle. I know Newton, who’s Boyle?”

“Early modern chemistry.” He walked slowly, his head cocked to the side as he moved down the wall.

“So, chemistry, languages, philosophy, religion…what
wasn’t
he studying?”

He snorted. “Alchemy is a
very
twisted subject. It blurs lines between science and superstition. Chemistry and magic.” He heaved a sigh, and she could see the air stir in the light of her small flashlight.

“Gio?”

“
Sì, tesoro?
” he asked, absently bending down to the far corner where something appeared to have caught his eye.

“Why don’t we—”

“Beatrice, look at this.”

She walked over and knelt down next to him.

“What?”

Giovanni pulled out a small book. It was a black and white composition book, like the ones she remembered using in high school. It had no label, only the number “1” written on the front cover in black marker. She pulled it from his hands with trembling fingers, knowing somehow that this book was different from the others.

Beatrice sat on the floor, cross-legged in the corner as Giovanni knelt next to her. She opened it to the first page.

“‘August 20, 1996,’” she read in a shaky voice. “‘Dear Mariposa, I had to say goodbye to you tonight—’” She choked on the sob that tore from her throat and before she could blink, Giovanni had picked her up and was rocking her in his arms on the floor of the lonely cottage.

Beatrice wept, deep, gut-wrenching sobs that tore at her heart and shook her small frame. Giovanni held her as she emptied her sorrow, fear, and frustration into his chest. He didn’t try to calm her, only stroked her back as she let six years of anger and grief pour out into the still night air.

“Why isn’t he here?” she finally choked out. “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is he dead? Is he hiding again?” She shook her head and clutched at his neck. “I want my father! I want all this to be worth it, somehow. Carl and the other bodyguards, and—and the blond girl in Greece. And all the people he killed. And Ioan and Jean’s granddaughter and who knows how many other people who had nothing to do with this,” she practically yelled. “Why is this happening to me? To
us
?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why?” She raised her tear-stricken face to him, but he could do nothing but cup her cheek and wipe at the tears that fell fast and hot. “I’m past sad. I’m just pissed-off now! I want this to end so I can get on with my life—with
our
life. Is this ever going to end?”

“Yes,” he pressed his cheek to hers. “This is going to end. I told you six years ago that I would find your father, and I will, Beatrice.
We
will find him.”

She sniffed, and he reached down to hand her a handkerchief from his pocket.

“Why do you always carry handkerchiefs? You never need them.”

He didn’t say anything, but she could feel him press the cloth to her cheeks as she lay her head on his shoulder and allowed him to hold her up.

“Beatrice, don’t read the notebooks here,” he murmured. “There are too many of them. Take them back to Houston. I know your grandmother would want to see them, too.”

She clutched the notebook to her chest and nodded. “Okay.”

“We should go. I don’t think there’s anything more.”

“Will you remember all the books? Should we make a list?”

“I’ll remember.”

“Okay,” she said before she paused. “Let’s go then. There’s nothing here.”

She sat with her back against a chair as Giovanni pulled out the stacks of composition books. She didn’t stop to count them as she dried the last of her tears and piled them by the door along with the few personal items she’d found in the bedroom and small bath.

“
Tesoro
, look at this.”

She glanced over to see Giovanni standing over the same blue atlas that they’d used to play the string game sitting out on the small cafe table near the kitchen.

“Where was that?”

“Behind the notebooks. Tucked against the wall.”

She looked at his raised eyebrow and then back to the book.

“There’s something in there.”

“I believe you’re right.”

Beatrice walked over to the table and started paging through the atlas in front of her. She grew progressively more frustrated with each map she turned, only to find it devoid of any clue to Stephen’s whereabouts. Finally, she felt Giovanni’s hand still her own.

“Let me. I have an idea.”

“Fine,” she muttered, ready to leave the small, empty cottage and go home. He opened to the large map at the center and pointed to Greece.

“He has already studied the roots of alchemy.” His finger slid east. “And he told Tywyll the manuscript he took from Lorenzo was Persian.”

He looked at her, locking eyes for a moment before she heard his finger move across the page again. This time, it slid farther east, through the heart of the Middle East, past northern India, and over to the far edge of China.

“He had books about Asian alchemic traditions and study, and another that related to Bön. I know of one vampire who is revered for his knowledge of both.”

“One vampire? You think my father would have looked for him? Who? Where?”

He frowned and flipped to the page showing a larger map of the Northern Chinese coast and pointed to a small gulf east of Beijing. She leaned down to look closer and her mouth fell open when she saw a lone pinprick in the center of the Bohai Sea.

“What is that?” she whispered.

He stared at her for a moment before he looked back to the atlas Stephen had left for them to find.

“That,
tesoro
, is Mount Penglai. That is the residence of the Eight Immortals.”

“Who?”

He sighed and closed the atlas.

“Tenzin is going to kill me.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Houston, Texas

May 2010

“Caspar, do you take Isadora to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

Giovanni felt his heart give a quiet thump as Caspar and Isadora exchanged the vows they had chosen for their ceremony. As it turned out, it was Stephen’s presence the two had been waiting for, but when Beatrice and he had returned from Brasilia and given them the news that Stephen remained out of reach, Isadora had nodded in understanding and called her friend Marta’s husband to perform the simple ceremony.

Judge Voorhies stood in the beautifully lit gardens of the house in River Oaks, standing under the gazebo with the bride and groom as a few of their closest friends watched the early evening ceremony.

Caspar wore his best charcoal grey suit, and Isadora looked stunning in a deep green dress that set off her beautiful eyes and silver-white hair. He glanced to his side to see Beatrice watching them both with a smile. She squeezed his hand, and he smiled before drawing her closer and kissing her temple. His eyes returned to the bride and groom in the garden. To say he was pleased for his old friend would be an understatement.

After a few more heartfelt words, Isadora and Caspar turned to the group with a smile.

“Caspar and Isadora chose a short reading from the Song of Songs, chapter four. ‘You have stolen my heart, my darling, my bride; you have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes, with one jewel of your necklace ...”

Giovanni leaned down, whispering the same sweet words into Beatrice’s ear in soft Italian.

“I still don’t speak Italian,” she whispered.

He only smirked. “You will.”

“‘How delightful is your love, my darling, my bride, how much more pleasing is your love than wine,’” the judge continued. “And I think we all know, as much as Caspar loves wine, what a truly bold statement that is.”

Giovanni smiled as their friends laughed around them and Isadora and Caspar met each other with a sweet kiss. The judge pronounced them husband and wife. Giovanni and Beatrice smiled, Ben gave a little whoop, and the group clapped before going inside to share a meal.

Ben raced in circles, almost knocking Beatrice over in his enthusiasm. The boy had been ecstatic to see them both when they returned from South America, though he’d tried to play it off nonchalantly. He was bouncing with excitement and chattering nonstop about getting back home. Giovanni realized it was going to be a rather complicated discussion.

He was almost sure that Stephen had gone to China. The more he and Beatrice studied the journals the vampire had left behind, the more he became convinced that Stephen had sought the help of one far more ancient. The knowledge was both a comfort and a concern.

He was also growing more certain that Lorenzo had somehow discovered Stephen’s plan. All indications from Jean Desmarais and his contacts seemed to indicate that the vampire was heading to the Far East. He was brought back to the present by Beatrice’s arm around his waist.

“Hold on to those deep thoughts, love. Not for tonight, okay?”

He looked down at the woman beside him. Beatrice had pulled herself up from the disappointment that ambushed her in Brazil and dove into research, trying to recreate her father’s library in the hopes that the books Stephen had chosen to study would give her insight into the manuscript Lorenzo was so keen to recover.

“What?” she asked with a frown.

“I love you very much, Beatrice. I’m very fortunate to have you.”

She blushed and bumped his arm with her shoulder.

“Yeah, you are. I love you, too.” She paused for a moment, then pulled him down for a quick kiss. “You’re getting sentimental in your old age, Gio.”

He chuckled and bent down to kiss the top of her head.

“Must be the weddings.”

“So—” She grinned as they walked toward the house. “—how are you feeling? Your oldest is finally married off. Soon Ben will be dating...”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “I shudder to think.”

“You’re going to be an empty-nester soon.”

He snorted. “They grow up so fast.”

“They do,” she said with solemn nod.

He could feel her laughing at him for a moment before they both started chuckling.

“Is Carwyn going to be pissed off they didn’t wait for him?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think so. He’s fairly busy at the moment.”

“Back in Ireland?”

He nodded. “Deirdre is…coping. But he needs to be there right now.”

They walked in silence, strolling hand in hand through the gardens lit with tiny lights. Giovanni could see the gathering of friends through the French doors, spilling out across the patio. The scent of honeysuckle and roses hung in the air.

His eyes found Ben as the boy gave Isadora a hug and a sweet smile. Caspar leaned over them both to place a kiss on his new wife’s cheek. More than ever, Giovanni felt the weight of responsibility to keep them all safe. He wouldn’t be able to remain in Houston for long. He felt Beatrice squeeze his waist, and his heart thumped again. At least, he would no longer travel alone.

“‘You have stolen my heart, my darling, my bride,’” he whispered again as he pulled her closer.

Beatrice was also watching the group inside. Ben darted through the adults, who were all laughing and enjoying the plentiful wine that Caspar poured for the well-wishers.

“How are we going to keep them all safe?” she asked in a small voice.

“We’ll figure something out.”

She looked up at him, steely determination in her eyes. “We have to.”

He found her reading later that night, half asleep in the library as she studied one of Stephen’s journals in front of the cold fireplace. Their company had left hours before, but the house still hummed with quiet activity. Caspar and Isadora were in the kitchen, finishing the wine and enjoying their time together after a busy day. Ben had finally collapsed on the couch in the den, and Giovanni had carried him to his room before making a call to Carwyn on the phone in the study.

“Beatrice,” he whispered, picking her up and setting her on his lap. “Why don’t you go to bed?”

She looked at the clock over the mantle. “But it’s only one a.m.”

He smiled, amused by her convenient habit of keeping vampire hours. “It’s been a long day. You should get some rest.”

“Is Ben in bed?”

“Mmmhmm.” He ran his lips along her temple.

She paused, and he could feel her head nodding against his chest. “Maybe I will.”