A Hidden Fire

Chapter Ten

Houston, Texas

December 2003

He had gone to prison for love.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the translation of the second letter of Angelo Poliziano to Giovanni Pico as she huddled in the stacks, avoiding the packed reading room on Wednesday afternoon. Pico had been imprisoned for his affair with a married woman and only escaped because of his connection to Lorenzo de Medici.

“I hope this letter finds you well, and free from the imprisonment which shocked us all. By this time, Signore Andros should have arrived in Arezzo with the letter from Lorenzo. Do not feel the need to thank me for my intervention, for the Medici was eager to take your part in the matter and needed little convincing, from either myself or the odd Greek.”

He had gone to stay with Signore Niccolo Andros in Perugia, presumably to study Andros’s library of mystic texts and recover from his imprisonment.

What happened to the little boy? Beatrice wondered as she skimmed over the notes from the second letter. The letter mentioned their mutual friends, even Savaranola himself, but Beatrice was more enthralled by the hints of scandal than she was about the more historical significance of the translation.

She read it twice, adding to her notes on the first which she then tucked carefully in her bag. Though both letters had been under the intense scrutiny Dr. Christiansen had predicted throughout the day, she had managed early in her shift to get her hands on them for a few minutes to make a copy of the notes. There was little doubt in her mind that Giovanni and Carwyn knew exactly who the letters had come from. She scratched down a reminder to herself to tell them that Dr. Christiansen mentioned more letters would be arriving.

“B?” Charlotte called. She shoved her copy of the translation and her notes into her messenger bag and stood up, pretending to examine a stack of photographs that needed to be catalogued.

“Hey, I know you’re as sick of the philosophers as I am,” Charlotte sighed, “but could you come take care of the reading room for a bit?”

“Sure.”

“I know you’re going to be here all night, but if I don’t get a break from the chatter, I’m going to end up throwing old reference books at them.”

Beatrice smiled and held in a laugh. The reading room was unusually packed that afternoon, as the philosophy department took a look at the documents. The history department had already come and gone for the day, and the Italian studies department was due that evening. Apparently they had all worked out some tentative custody agreement for the Pico letters.

“Are they scheduled to stay through the evening hours?” she asked, conscious of the two guests she had no doubt would be showing up when it was dark enough.

Charlotte nodded. “Yeah, I guess philosophy’s leaving at five, and then the Italian chair is showing up to take a look at them. Have you met Dr. Scalia?”

She shook her head.

“He’s a hoot. He’s got these enormous glasses and looks like an owl, but he’s sweet man and not too chatty. He’ll be here most of the evening, so between him and Dr. Handsome, you should have a pretty quiet room.”

Beatrice sighed, wondering whether poor Dr. Scalia was going to shake hands with Dr. Vecchio and forget about the letters he was supposed to be examining. She had a feeling Giovanni would be more than happy if the Italian professor suddenly remembered he needed to pick up his dry-cleaning. She might have to lay some ground rules about playing with cerebral cortexes while in the library.

Reminding herself that Carwyn would also be in attendance, she decided there would definitely need to be ground rules.

Every now and then, she had wondered why she had so easily accepted her strange new reality. The more she thought about it, the more Beatrice decided that the idea of vampires just didn’t seem that far-fetched.

She could accept there were things in the world that science didn’t understand yet, and who was to say that some of those things didn’t have fangs and need to survive by drinking human blood?

As she sat at the reference desk, listening to philosophers quietly argue the meaning of this, or the implication of that, she thought about how much had changed since Giovanni had lived as a human. If Dr. Giovanni Vecchio was, indeed, the Italian count the letters were addressed to, that meant that he was 540 years old, and even at age twenty-three had been considered one of the most progressive humanist philosophers of the Renaissance.

He hadn’t answered her questions, but it was too coincidental that the two mysterious letters had been donated by a vampire to the very library where Giovanni had chosen to do his research and she worked. They had to be connected.

Not long after six o’clock, a small man with a shock of silver-grey hair walked through the double doors.

“Dr. Scalia?” she asked of the man, who did remind her of an owl with his large round glasses and tiny nose.

He smiled eagerly. “Yes, yes! And you are?”

“I’m Beatrice De Novo. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You have an appointment for the Pico letters, is that correct?”

“Yes, thank you.”

As she listened to another academic wax eloquent on the importance of the two Italian letters, Giovanni and Carwyn silently entered the reading room. She quickly settled Dr. Scalia at the table with the Pico letters and walked over to the two vampires.

“Okay,” she whispered in her sternest librarian voice, “he’s a sweet, old man, and I don’t want you two to mess with his brain. He’s a professor. He needs it.”

Giovanni frowned. “Really, Beatrice, how clumsy do you think we are? He would never realize-”

“Don’t care. It’s his brain. Stay out and wait your turn.”

She saw Giovanni’s nostrils flair a little in annoyance, or maybe he had simply caught the scent of the old parchment at the other table. Carwyn, she thought, looked like he might break into laughter at any minute and kept glancing between his friend and Beatrice.

“Fine. If I could have the Tibetan manuscript then, Miss De Novo.”

She rolled her eyes at his tone, but turned and walked back to the stacks to get the manuscript for him as he chose a table near the small professor who was already busy taking notes.

By the time she got back, she noticed that Giovanni had assumed his usual position at the table, though he was watching Dr. Scalia with an almost predatory stare. She set the book down in front of him and grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper from the stack he had sitting on the table. With a quick scribble and a fold, she wrote a small note and propped it in front of the 500 year old vampire.

No biting. No altering cerebral cortexes. Have a nice day.

He couldn’t keep the smirk from sneaking across his face. He looked up at her, winked, and bent his head to his notes.

Wearing her own smile, she walked back to the reference desk to find Carwyn had pulled a chair over and was reading the paperback she had started that morning. As always, he was eye-catching in a loud Hawaiian shirt that clashed with his red hair and made his blue eyes seem to pop out.

He glanced up from the book. “Do you-”

“Shhh!” She glared and put her finger to her lips.

“Such a librarian. You need wee glasses sitting on the tip of your nose when you do that,” he whispered loudly. She heard Giovanni shift at his table and she looked over her shoulder to see him glaring at Carwyn. Snickering, the mischievous vampire reached into her book bag and pulled out the notebook that she’d been using to take notes on the mysterious Pico and his letters.

She could see when Carwyn discovered the notes, but he didn’t look angry. On the contrary, he looked inordinately pleased and immediately flipped to the back of the notebook and began to write.

You’re a curious thing, B.

Flipping the notebook to her, she read and took a moment to respond.

I’ve had some curious things happen to me this fall. Also, I feel like we’re passing notes in study hall.

We are, he wrote back. So, what do you want to know that Professor Chatty won’t tell you?

She couldn’t hold in the snort when she wrote, Everything.

Carwyn just smiled and took a few moments to write back.

I can’t tell you his story. One, I don’t know all of it. I don’t think anyone does. Two, what I do know is not mine to tell. But you’re welcome to ask me anything about my life that you’d like.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. Anything?

Other than what color pants I’m wearing (red, by the way) I’m an open book.

She held back the giggle. Always try to match your hair and your underwear. It’s just a good rule of thumb. How old are you?

He smiled and wrote back. I’m around thirty-five…plus a thousand years. Approximately.

Beatrice gaped for a moment, trying to reconcile a thousand years with the relatively young man before her. She tried to imagine the things Carwyn must have seen and how much the world had changed since he was human. She couldn’t begin to imagine.

Where were you born?

Gwynedd. Northern part of Wales.

And you’re still there?

For the most part, I always have been. I’m quite the homebody, unlike our Gio.

She narrowed her eyes and wrote, Are you really a priest?

He chuckled quietly. Yes, you don’t have to be an old man, you know. And my father was a priest. And my grandfather. And one of my sons became abbott of our community after I was gone.

She frowned. Kinda lax on that whole celibacy thing, huh?

Carwyn grinned. Not uncommon in the Welsh church. And it was before Gregory. (Look it up.) Many Welsh priests married. Rome had a hard time conquering Wales. Militarily and ecclesiastically. He winked as he finished the sentence.

So you were married?

He just nodded and smiled. “Efa,” he whispered.

She paused for a moment. What happened to your wife? Your children?

Carwyn offered a wistful smile. My wife went to our God before I was turned. She died quite young from a fever. Our children were taken in by our community when I disappeared. I went back years later. Those that survived had good lives.

She looked at him, and for a moment, she could see the hundreds of years in his eyes, but they quickly lit again in joy.

There is a time for sorrow and a time for joy, he wrote. I have a new family now.

Beatrice raised her eyebrows in question and he continued writing with a smile.

You’ll come to Wales someday and meet them. I have eleven children. Most of them have stayed fairly close to home. We keep the British deer population under control.

She mouthed ‘wow,’ but only wrote, So none of you bite people?

He grinned. Not usually. Just if they smell really good, like you. Joking.

She rolled her eyes. Never married again? Do vampires even get married? That seems kind of normal for the mystical undead creatures of the night.

Some do. He smiled. It’s not uncommon. One of my sons has been married for four hundred years now. I haven’t ever wanted to again.

Her eyes bugged out. How do you stay married to someone for 400 years?

He frowned seriously before he wrote back. Separate vacations.

She couldn’t contain the small snort that escaped her. She glanced up, and Dr. Scalia was still raptly studying the Pico letters, but Giovanni was glaring at her and Carwyn in annoyance. She rolled her eyes and mouthed, ‘Get back to work.’

Giovanni smiled and shook his head a little.

She caught Carwyn watching them out of the corner of his eye. He began to scribble on the notebook again.

He’s never married.

She paused for a moment and Carwyn continued writing. He handed the notebook to her.

Don’t pretend you weren’t curious.

She glared at him. I can’t even imagine Professor Frosty dating, she wrote quickly and tossed the notebook at him.

Then it was Carwyn who couldn’t hold in the snort. He wrote something in bold letters and underlined it twice.

Opposite. Of. Frosty.

She shook her head but couldn’t think of anything to write back, so she busied herself checking her e-mail as Carwyn scribbled. After a while, she leaned back in her chair and he handed her the book again, a mischievous grin on his face.

Do you like Gio? Check yes or no. He had sketched two small boxes underneath the question with a large arrow pointing to the “yes” box.

She rolled her eyes and wrote back. How can you be this childish after a thousand years?

He raised his eyebrows and jotted down. That’s not a yes or no.

Screwing her mouth up in annoyance, she wrote back. Once upon a time, B made some very bad choices about boys. Then she went to college and continued making bad choices about men. Then B got smart and decided to take a break. The End.

Carwyn smiled and winked at her before writing on the notebook. Well, obviously, you need to be dating a vampire.

At that statement, Beatrice grabbed the notebook and snapped it closed, handed Carwyn a romance novel Charlotte had stashed in the bottom drawer of the desk, and opened her own book to read.

“Don’t be a coward, B,” he said in a sing-song voice as he opened the book that looked like it had a shirtless pirate on the front. “Ooh,” he whispered. “The thrilling tale of Don Fernando and the beautiful Sophie. Been meaning to read this one.”

And with that, Carwyn wiggled his eyebrows and began reading. Beatrice tried to pay attention to her book, but her gaze continued to drift up to the dark-haired man seated at the table in front of her. All of a sudden, she had a memory of him rising out of the water the night before-the most perfect man she had ever seen-without a stitch of clothing on, and she couldn’t help the flush that rose to her cheeks. She had gotten more than an eyeful before she forced herself to look away.

“Hmm, I’ve never had that reaction to Cormac McCarthy, myself, but then, everyone’s different,” Carwyn whispered as a smirk teased the corner of his mouth.

She saw Giovanni raise his head, no doubt hearing his friend’s comment and possibly wondering why Beatrice’s heartbeat had picked up so suddenly.

“Stupid vampires with their stupid preternatural senses,” she muttered, but she knew Carwyn could hear her because he his shoulders began shaking with silent laughter.

It was almost nine o’clock when Dr. Scalia finally started packing up his things and made his way over to the reference desk.

“Miss De Novo, please give Dr. Christiansen my regards. Such a wonderful acquisition. I’m informed that we will probably be receiving more in the next months, is that correct? Do you know if they are from the same correspondents?”

She could feel the charge as two sets of eye narrowed in on her as she answered the small professor.

“I don’t know the details of all that. I’ve heard rumors from Dr. Christiansen, but you’d really have to ask him,” she said in a small voice, well aware that both Carwyn and Giovanni could hear the rapid beating of her heart.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.”

“Have a good night,” she answered as he left the room. The door was scarcely closed before Giovanni rushed over to her with no attempt to hide his speed.

“More? When? When did you hear this? Are they from the same donor? When are they coming? Have they already been authenticated?”

“Holy unanswered questions, Batman! Back off, okay?” Beatrice huffed a little and saw Carwyn smother another smile. “Dr. Christiansen mentioned that there might be more letters to me and Char, but as far as I know it’s just a rumor. Nothing official.”

“Oh, there’ll be more,” Carwyn muttered.

Giovanni shot him a glance. “Shut up.”

“Hey, don’t tell him to shut up, Gio. At least he doesn’t treat me like an idiot who doesn’t understand anything.”

He frowned. “I don’t-I mean…I don’t think you’re an idiot in any way, Beatrice.” She thought he almost looked offended.

“Yeah? Well, it sure feels that way sometimes.” He was looking at her with that blank expression he wore when he didn’t want to tell her something. It made her want to throw something at him.

“Listen,” she said. “I’m not an idiot. I know you guys know who the letters are from and I suspect you know why he’s sending them.” She swallowed hard and expressed the fear she’d had last night. “I’m also guessing that this has something to do with my father, because otherwise all this just seems way too coincidental. And I don’t really believe in coincidences.”

Carwyn was smiling at her with a proud gleam in his eye. “Clever girl, B. Such a clever girl.”

“Carwyn,” Giovanni said sharply. “Don’t-”

“She figured out a good portion on her own without all the background we have. You may as well tell her the rest.” Then Carwyn spit out something in Latin that Beatrice couldn’t understand, but it made Giovanni seem to growl. He looked at Carwyn with a glare that almost reminded her of the mood that had overtaken him the previous night.

“What’s going on?” she asked tentatively.

Carwyn shook his head and Giovanni seemed to gather himself again.

“Carwyn and I have a disagreement on some things, Beatrice. But he is correct. There’s a large part of this that does relate to your father, and we should inform you of that.”

“These letters,” Giovanni walked over to the table and sat in front of the two yellowed pieces of parchment before he continued quietly. “These are my letters. And by that, I mean they are part of a collection I had at one time. It was taken from me and I’ve been searching for it.”

He looked at Beatrice, and she again had the feeling of seeing each long year of his existence stretch out in the depth of his gaze.

“I’ve been searching for almost four hundred years. I was told it had been destroyed. Many years later, I discovered parts of it had been saved, but scattered. Now, however,” he leaned back and crossed his arms as he gazed at the two letters, “I think it is intact. And I know who took it, who the donor is.”

He turned to look at her. “I’m not going to tell you how I know, so don’t ask. He’s dangerous, that’s all you need to know and if you ever see another immortal that I don’t introduce you to, I want you to tell me or Carwyn immediately.”

“Bossy,” she muttered.

“Mortal,” he threw back, and Carwyn chuckled. “I’m not joking about this, Beatrice. Our world isn’t ruled by laws, or even convention. The strongest, smartest, and wealthiest have the most power. And power is the only law. This vampire has brains, strength, and wealth in abundance. I manage to live the way I do because I stay off the radar-”

“That, and he likes his enemies toasted extra crispy!” Carwyn spouted.

“-but this one,” he glared at the priest, “has sought me out. I don’t know for certain why now, but,” he paused, letting his eyes rake over her, “I have my suspicions.”

He fell silent and continued examining the documents, taking special note of the left side of the parchment where it appeared a cut had been carefully made. Beatrice watched him, going over all the cryptic pieces of information she had gleaned in the weeks since she had learned the truth about Giovanni and her father.

“Is it because of me? Because we met? What does this have to do with my father?”

Giovanni halted his perusal to stare at her, and the flicker she saw for a brief moment spurred her on.

“I mean…you’ve been looking for these books. My dad was looking for something in Italy.” Suddenly, all the pieces fell together in her mind. “It was this, wasn’t it? What my dad was looking for? It was your books. Your letters. Or something related to it, right? That’s why you agreed to help me find my father.” She stepped closer to him, challenging the powerful immortal who watched her silently. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

She saw Carwyn and Giovanni exchange loaded looks.

“Told you,” Carwyn muttered.

Giovanni said something to him in Latin that sounded like a curse, but then he turned back to Beatrice. She could see the war in his eyes, but he finally gave a slight nod. “Yes, you’re partially correct.”

She was speechless for a moment, amazed he had actually told her anything. “So…okay, this guy that stole your books or letters or whatever he has-what does he want now?”

She saw Carwyn and Giovanni exchange another glance.

“We think he might be looking for your father,” Carwyn said quietly. “We’re not sure why, but that’s probably why he sent the letters here.”

“Okay, so my dad knows something…all right. And this guy’s dangerous, right? Does he make fire like Gio?”

Carwyn said, “No, he-”

“You don’t need to know-”

She glared at Giovanni. “I want to know who he is!”

“How very unfortunate for you.” He continued to examine the letters, looking over the second one and handling it as if it was made of finely spun glass.

“You arrogant ass-”

“Lorenzo,” he said. “He goes by Lorenzo now.”

Beatrice’s mouth fell open, “He’s not-”

“No,” Carwyn said. “No, not the one you’re thinking of.”

Giovanni brought the letters up to his face to finally examine them more closely. “He likes to give people the impression that he’s one of the Medici’s bastards,” he murmured as he searched the old parchment. “He’s not, but some think he is, and it adds to the mystique, I suppose. He likes notoriety.” He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, and Beatrice could see them dart behind his closed lids as if he was searching his memory for some piece that had escaped.

“You see, B,” Carwyn spoke in an even tone, “some in our world choose to seek power. Power over land, humans, riches. And he wants something from Giovanni, otherwise, he wouldn’t be doing this. There is something he thinks he can gain.”

“Or someone,” Giovanni mused quietly, and the already quiet room fell completely silent.

“Someone?” Beatrice finally asked, her eyes nervous and looking toward the door as if a threat could walk through at any time. “Not-not me, right?”

Neither of them spoke, only looked at her with those infuriatingly blank expressions. Even Carwyn was wearing one, and it made her want to scream.

“Not me! I don’t know anything. I wouldn’t know anything about anything if Giovanni hadn’t clued me in. I mean-” she suddenly turned to Giovanni. “Why did you tell me this shit?” she practically yelled, her fear palpable.

“You asked, and you figured most of it out on your own,” Carwyn said softly. “Could we have kept it from you? Even if we tried? Would you rather have us make you forget? It wouldn’t matter now.”

Beatrice watched Giovanni stand and walk toward her; it was almost as if each step in her direction forced her farther and farther away from the safe, unremarkable life she had known. She had the simultaneous urge to run away from the approaching menace and run toward him and hold on for dear life. The problem, she realized, was that she had no idea whether he would catch her either way.

“I don’t know anything,” she said hoarsely, “He can’t want me. I don’t-why does he want me?”

For a fleeting moment, she saw pity touch his eyes. “Because your father does.”