A Hidden Fire

Chapter Seventeen

Houston, Texas

May 2004

“Only one more final left, right?” Charlotte grinned when Beatrice entered the reading room. “And then that’s it for the graduate!”

Beatrice shrugged and set down her bag by the reference desk. “Until next semester. Then I can freak out about finals at the graduate level. Yay.”

Charlotte chuckled and shook her head. “What is with you lately? Are you getting nervous about moving? I think I’m more excited than you are.” The librarian continued sorting through the photographs on the counter.

“I guess I’m just missing my grandma.” That much was true. Beatrice was starting to feel like graduate school in California, even if there was no fear of strange vampires, wasn’t the best idea, after all. She had never imagined she could miss Isadora so much, though she was happy her grandmother seemed content and safe.

“How is she feeling? Have you talked to her lately?”

“Yeah, I just talked to her last night. She’s feeling great.”

“You know, I had no idea she had breathing problems like that.”

Beatrice nodded. “It’s…fairly recent. Her doctor suggested a few months in the desert. It’s just lucky she has that cousin in New Mexico.”

In reality, it was her grandfather who had cousins in New Mexico, but since Beatrice had to figure out some reason to explain her grandmother’s disappearance, dry air seemed like a good one.

That excuse, along with a phone call from her grandmother, had been enough to assuage Isadora’s friends from storming over to her currently empty house to investigate when she didn’t show up for Tuesday dinner.

“It’s such a shame she won’t be here to see you graduate, you know? But, you always hear how bad the air quality is in Houston, especially in the summer, so I guess her doctor made the right call.”

“It’s not a big deal. The college graduations are a madhouse. She’s not missing anything. I’ll make sure she flies out for my master’s, you know? The air in California has got to be better than here.”

Charlotte giggled and winked at Beatrice. “And the scenery. You better date a surfer, at least once. I want pictures.”

Soon the two women were laughing at all of Beatrice’s imaginary romantic prospects in sunny Southern California. It felt good to joke around with Charlotte and listen to her tease about boys and suntans and rollerblading. It felt good to feel just a little bit normal after the overwhelming tension of the previous month.

Beatrice had done little beside school work, classes, and finals since moving to Giovanni’s. The house was enormous and they both took care of their own cleaning and cooking, so other than the occasional meeting in the kitchen or the laundry room, she didn’t even see him. She spent more time with Carl, her friendly neighborhood security guard, who always had a friendly smile and plenty of firepower.

Other than the research time they continued in the library, Beatrice didn’t see her new roommate all that much, but she was definitely learning more about his habits by proximity.

Giovanni swam almost every night. She had woken once at three in the morning to hear a splash in the pool outside her window. She peeked outside and watched him swim laps for over an hour without taking a breath. She didn’t stare the whole time, but his focus was impressive…as was his naked body. He really was the most perfect man she had ever seen. He looked like a Greek sculpture molded from a single block of pale marble.

He played several different instruments, but the piano and the cello seemed to be his favorites, and he often played through the night. It was always something quiet that soothed her and seemed to help her sleep through the nightmares that had begun to plague her sleep.

Other than whiskey, he did eat a little, rich foods like olives and avocados and cheese; ironically, she had never seen him eat any kind of meat. He liked sweet smells and spent a lot of time in the garden. He was fond of the gazebo where honeysuckle grew up and over, almost enclosing the small structure in vines. She had found him there a number of times, reading a book in the dark.

He also loved water, even the sound of it seemed to relax him, and if he was irritated or stressed, Giovanni would immediately go and jump in the pool. She remembered the way that the humid air Lorenzo manipulated had doused the flames that ran along his skin when he was angry, and she wondered if he was drawn to water for the same reason.

She was interrupted from her tangled thoughts by Dr. Christiansen’s voice as he entered the reading room.

“Hello, ladies, I have another Pico letter.”

“What? Really?” Beatrice was shocked. She had imagined, for some reason, that since Lorenzo was in town-even though he seemed to be laying low after their first meeting and her grandmother’s attack-they wouldn’t see any more of the fascinating letters. She had jotted down several other names in her notebook after filtering through what she remembered Lorenzo saying at the library.

Nic. Niccolo. He had called Giovanni “Niccolo’s perfect boy” when he was taunting him. She needed to look at one of the early letters again. She was almost sure that one of them mentioned a Niccolo, but she couldn’t remember which or what the context was.

“Yes, one more from the University of Ferrara. Apparently this one took a bit longer than the others for some reason. It’s been delayed.”

“Oh, so we were supposed to get it last month or something?”

Dr. Christiansen smiled. “No need to worry, B. We have it now, and there’s plenty of time for you to look at it before you leave us next month. Would you like to make a few copies of the notes so we could put them out for the descending hordes?”

“Sure, I’d be happy to.”

She walked over and grabbed the notes while the Dr. Christiansen and Charlotte chatted about the seventh letter. Beatrice walked down the hall to the copy and imaging room and quickly found a chair so she could sit down and read. Flipping through the notes to the translation, she immediately got out her notebook and started jotting down details.

Skimming over the mentions of Savaranola’s return to Florence and other news of his friends, her eyes stopped with she heard mention of the mysterious woman named G.

I received a letter from G. She seems greatly dismayed that you have cut off correspondence and mentioned your request to send the copies of your sonnets. I beg of you, Giovanni, whatever your intentions are toward the lady, do not take steps to destroy your work.

He was going to destroy his poems? For some reason, even the thought of it made her want to cry. Just then, she caught a name that sparked her memory.

I spoke with Signore Andros when he returned from his visit with you in Fiesole.

Signore Andros…she searched her memory and flipped through her notes until she spotted it. Signore Niccolo Andros, who had the fascinating library in Perugia where Giovanni had recovered with the young boy after his time in jail.

Could that be the connection to Giovanni’s books? Were they really the property of this Niccolo Andros? Did Giovanni steal them? And what did all this have to do with her father? She flipped through her notes again to see what kind of books Signore Andros had and frowned. Why would her father be researching books about Eastern mysticism?

Beatrice took notes on the seventh letter, convinced that there was some piece of the puzzle that was just out of her grasp. She needed to study them together, but she could not waste any more time at work. She quickly made the copies, and walked back out to the reading room to see Dr. Scalia already poring over the newest letter with Dr. Christiansen.

“-and the progression of Savaranola’s extreme ideas coinciding with Pico’s apparent depression seems to be one of the most fascinating aspects. Along with the mention of his poetry. I believe the sonnets mentioned would be those Pico wrote to the wife of one of the Medici cousins. It was quite a scandal at the time, and caused his first imprisonment, but these letters certainly indicated they continued their relationship, at least through correspondence.”

“What’s so special about the sonnets?” she heard Charlotte ask.

“We knew Pico had written poetry, but we thought it was destroyed by Savaranola in the bonfires, or that Pico had destroyed it of his own volition as an act of penance. This seems to indicate that Poliziano-who was a poet himself-was trying to get them for safekeeping. It’s all quite fascinating.”

“What about the rest of Pico’s library?”

All eyes swung to Beatrice as she entered the room and spoke.

Dr. Scalia frowned. “What library?”

“Well, the letters mention books and stuff, right? Didn’t he have all sorts of mystical texts, too? Along with his own papers? All these nobles and philosophers had personal libraries, right? What happened to Pico’s? Maybe the sonnets are there.”

Dr. Scalia nodded. “Yes, from all reports, Giovanni Pico did have a very extensive library, though we don’t know what happened to it. He had no heirs, you see. And when he died-”

“When did he die? How?”

The professor looked slightly shocked at her interruption, but only smiled a little and shook his head.

“We don’t know exactly. We know Giovanni Pico died in Ferrara in 1494, but there is no record of him leaving an extensive library at his home, and he died under rather mysterious circumstances. As he had no heirs, it’s probable that his library was taken by his family, the Mirandolas. It would have been theirs unless Pico had made other endowments.”

Beatrice nodded, even more confused. “Thanks…sorry, Dr. Scalia. I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just…”

“Quite all right, my dear. I do love students who show curiosity such as yours. It makes teaching so rewarding.”

She saw Charlotte watching her with narrowed eyes and was glad her shift would be over soon. As she walked back to check the dehumidifier, her mind whirled, more confused than ever by the pieces of a puzzle that seemed stubbornly jumbled in her mind.

She was heating a can of soup on the stove when Giovanni entered the kitchen that night. He was wearing a black shirt and jacket with a pair of pressed black slacks. As always, he looked amazing and Beatrice looked away, trying to ignore the instant reaction she always had to him.

“Good evening, Beatrice.”

She smirked. “Going for the real inconspicuous ‘no, I’m not a deadly creature of the night’ look, are we?”

“Pardon?”

She raised an eyebrow and glanced back, looking him up and down. “It’s Friday, right? Dinner time? Do chicks dig the whole man-in-black thing?”

He looked at her and cocked his head. “Do you really want to talk about this?”

She thought for a moment, and then shook her head. “No, probably not.”

“I have to go out.” A small smile teased the corner of his lips. “Unless you’re offering, of course, then I could just skip the clubs. Much more convenient.” He winked at her as he put his keys in his pocket.

She rolled her eyes and looked down at the stove, surprised and amused by his unusually flirtatious mood. “See this? It’s soup. Soup is food.” She looked back at him. “See me? I’m me, and I’m not food. Any questions?”

He smirked and looked her up and down. For a minute, she wanted to blush at his frank perusal. The appreciative look in his eye almost made her reconsider, but then she remembered the vicious bite marks on her grandmother’s neck, and decided to stick with her first answer.

“Oh, Beatrice, I have many questions, but I’m not going to find an answer tonight, am I?”

It was far more suggestive than she had come to expect from him, and she figured it must have something to do with his hunger. She really didn’t want to think about it all that much.

“You’re in some kind of mood, aren’t you?” she muttered, trying to ignore the flutters in her stomach as she stirred the pot on the stove.

She heard him take a deep breath, and she had a feeling he wasn’t smelling the soup. Cursing, she glanced over her shoulder and caught him watching her. He definitely looked hungry, she just wasn’t sure for what.

She cleared her throat and took a deep breath.

“Go, do your vampire thing. Don’t kill anyone, okay?”

“I never do.” He was still watching her, and she could see his fangs peeking out from behind his lips. She could feel her temperature rise when his eyes were on her.

“Gio!”

“Hmm?” He looked a bit startled, but stopped studying her ass like it contained the mysteries of the universe and met her eyes.

“Go, you need to…eat. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat and she caught him glancing at her neck. “Right. I’ll just…be back later.”

“Later.”

“Right.”

“Bye.”

And he finally slipped out the door.

Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the stove.

“You do not want the insanely attractive vampire to kiss you, B. Nope, you don’t. Just ignore that reaction and…” She trailed off as she remembered the sight of his long, muscular legs, defined waist, and broad shoulders as he cut through the pool the night before.

She let out a sigh and shook her head.

“Nope. You most definitely do not want him to bite you. And he’s just hungry, anyway. He’s not flirting with you, it’s just your blood. It’s a normal, natural-”

She gasped when she heard the door slam. Giovanni spun her around, pulling her into his arms before his mouth crashed down and his arm encircled her waist. He pushed her up against the cabinets and his other hand grasped the back of her neck. His hard body pushed against her own, and his arms lifted her against the counter. She gave in to her own desire and moaned into his mouth, tangling one hand in the dark curls at the nape of his neck as the soup spoon dangled uselessly from her other hand.

Giovanni kissed her for a few heated moments, stealing her breath and causing her head to swim. His fang nicked her lip and she felt his tongue swipe at the trickle of blood near the corner of her mouth before he gave a deep groan and pulled away.

He stared into her eyes, panting before he bent down to whisper in her ear.

“It’s not just your blood.”

She whimpered in the back of her throat, and his hands drifted down to her waist, squeezing once before he was out the door again.

This time, she stared at the kitchen door until she heard his Mustang roar down the drive. After a few moments, Carl and his partner began patrolling the grounds, and she saw the guard’s familiar face pass by the window in the kitchen.

She was still breathing heavily when she heard the soup hiss on the stove.

“Damn it!”

He returned to the house three hours later, looking flushed. His eyes had lost the hungry look from earlier in the night, but she still felt them as he walked into the living room. Beatrice had raided Caspar’s cache of old horror movies; she was pondering whether their earlier kiss was something they needed to talk about.

Or possibly repeat.

She saw him sit down in his chair, which she often stole during the day because it was, by far, the most comfortable in the room. He took a deep breath and glanced at her.

“It’s very odd.”

“What is?”

He frowned a little and stared at the television. “Your scent is all over my house. Everywhere I go, I can smell you.”

She cleared her throat, feeling suddenly self-conscious and wondering whether she needed to check her deodorant more often. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” He shrugged. “You smell lovely. It’s just different. Having you here. It’s…nice.”

They watched the rest of the movie in silence. Beatrice had turned the volume down so she could hear the comforting sounds of Carl and his partner as they patrolled the grounds.

“How was dinner?” she asked nonchalantly.

“Do you really want to know?”

She didn’t. She didn’t even know why she asked, and she shoved aside the irrational spurt of jealousy. “No, not really.”

“Stale. Boring.” He gave her a heated look. “Merely adequate.”

“I said I didn’t want to know, Gio.”

“Well, maybe I want to tell you, Beatrice.”

“Why?” She scowled. “Why do I need to know about that shit?”

“It’s not always done in anger,” he murmured, and she glanced back to the almost silent television screen. “Sometimes, it’s done purely for sustenance, because a vampire needs blood to survive. Sometimes it is done in anger, but sometimes, it can be highly pleas-”

“I’m going up to my room.” She shut off the movie and stood.

“You need to change your clothes. We’re going out.”

She spun around on her way to the stairs. “What? Why? Where are we going?”

He stood and walked toward her, his hands hanging casually in his pockets.

“We need to go to The Night Hawk.”

She immediately flushed when she thought of the pub, and she started walking upstairs. “I don’t want to go there again.”

“You’re going. We need to be seen there. I have information that Lorenzo is meeting with Gavin tonight, and we need to be there, too.”

“Why?” Her discomfort with his flirtatious behavior fled, as her heart raced in fear at the thought of seeing the vampire again.

“We need to go there, and I’m going to act as if I’m feeding from you. I’m going to act like your lover, and you’re going to play along if you know what’s good for you.”

Her pulse raced again, only it wasn’t from fear. “Why? Why do I have to-”

“We don’t have rules in my world. We don’t even have conventions, really, but there is a kind of courtesy among those who are mostly civilized.” He paused and watched her carefully. “Lorenzo is your father’s sire, and in my world, that means he has…a certain claim over you. If he wanted to take you, no one would bat an eyelash as long as he didn’t make it newsworthy. That’s why no one cares that his people bit your grandmother in a very messy attack. She belonged to his child, so she belonged to him.”

“So I’m just-”

“What you are, Beatrice, is mine, as far as anyone knows. My human, my ‘food,’ as you put it so eloquently earlier this evening. And I am Lorenzo’s sire and far more feared, so my ownership trumps his. But we need to make sure he is forced to acknowledge that in order for you to have some measure of safety in this city. So he needs to see us together, and he needs to see us where there are witnesses, do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes,” she whispered with a nod.

“I’m not doing this to torment either of us.” His eyes dropped to her flushed lips. “I’m doing this because I think it’s our best move at the moment.”

“Are you going to bite me?”

She saw him swallow visibly and eye her neck. She could see his fangs run down behind his lips, but he turned and walked back toward the living room. “No. Get dressed.”

“Fine.”

“Wear the burgundy skirt.”

“What? Why? Is there some dress code or something?”

He shrugged. “No, I just like how it looks on you.”

She rolled her eyes and stomped up the stairs.

Twenty minutes later they were driving Giovanni’s Mustang through the dark streets of Houston near Rice Village. He had been filling her in on the guidelines for acting like his regular meal. Beatrice thought they mostly consisted of her acting like a totally hypnotized doormat.

“And don’t ever contradict me in front of another vampire. Carwyn or Tenzin are fine. Anyone else would put you at risk.”

“So I basically have to act like I’m brainwashed and like it.”

“If you were an average human, you would be, and I can guarantee that you would like it.”

“I am an average human.”

“Not to me,” he murmured and she pretended to ignore him.

“Gio?”

“Hmm?”

“Is this going to end soon?”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. There was an odd, almost sad look on his face when he finally answered. “I will do everything in my power to make sure you can safely move to Los Angeles by the middle of August, Beatrice.”

“That’s not-”

“It’s all I can promise. I don’t want to start a war with Lorenzo if I can avoid it.”

Her jaw dropped. “So you’re not going to kill him?”

Giovanni just stared at the road. “Not if I can help it.”

She sat, gaping at him, knowing she looked like a guppy the way her mouth moved in silent protest.

“S-so you’re just going to let him get away with doing that to my grandmother? You’re just going to let him treat us like food? Like property? I thought-”

She broke off when he jerked the car over onto a side street and slammed on the brakes. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him as his eyes blazed.

“Listen to me. Lorenzo has many powerful, powerful friends. As do I. And his friends owe him favors, as do mine. If I go to war with this vampire, people will be hurt, mortal and immortal. Do you understand that, little girl? People will die, Beatrice. So you tell me how many people need to die because of an insult to your grandmother. Because of an attack she survived. How many? Would you like my estimate? I don’t think it would sit well with you.”

She sat with her teeth clenched and tried to hold back the angry tears that wanted to fall from her eyes. “Fine.”

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes,” she hissed, blinking. “I understand.”

He released her and carefully pulled the car back into traffic. Minutes later, they were parking in the small lot behind The Night Hawk, and she was still fuming.

Giovanni leaned over and released her seatbelt before he grabbed her chin again. This time, his fingers were soft, and his lips ghosted over hers in a delicate kiss. The anger drained out of her at his unexpectedly tender gesture.

“Why-”

“Everything in there is for show.” His accent was heavy and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “That was for me.”

He stepped out of the car and went to open her door. As she stepped out, she said, “Giova-” but he stopped her mouth with a kiss.

He kissed her, pushing her body into the side of the car as she pressed her lips to his and clutched his shoulders. His tongue delved into her mouth and his hands gripped her waist. She was light headed by the time he let her up for air.

“Oh…damn,” she breathed out.

His head bent and he whispered in her ear, “They’re watching.”

Giovanni placed his arm around her waist and walked her toward the back door of the pub. She had no problem leaning into him and acting like he needed to hold her up; her knees were still a weak from the kiss.

Before they even reached the door, a dark-haired guard opened it from the inside and nodded toward them as he held it open.

He leaned down and whispered after they had passed by.

“I told you they were watching. Assume that there are cameras everywhere.”

She nodded and tried to look casual. She slid her arm around his waist as they walked, and Beatrice thought she heard a low rumble of pleasure in his chest. He guided her toward the sofa near the fire, and Beatrice glanced up as he scanned the room.

“See anyone?” His hair, she noticed from that angle, had grown a little since they had met. His neck smelled like wood smoke and whiskey.

“Yes, he’s here, in the corner with Gavin. And they’ve seen us, as have a number of other vampires in the pub.”

Her breathing picked up at the thought of Lorenzo so close to them, but she forced herself to relax as his arm draped across her shoulders. She looked around the room, trying to seem brainless.

“Cool. They’ve seen us. Can we go now?”

He gave a grim chuckle and sat back in the couch. “We’ll have at least one drink, otherwise, Lorenzo might get suspicious, and…well, Gavin will just be insulted.”

“Who is Gavin anyw-”

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me, Beatrice, they’re watching you right now,” he murmured. “Kiss me like you belong to me.”

She bit her lip before she turned her face toward his neck and began placing soft kisses there, slowly working her way up toward Giovanni’s jaw. His skin was soft, with only a hint of roughness where stubble would normally grow on a man. He remained almost impassive, holding still as she slowly worked her lips along the line of his jaw and closer to his mouth, though she could feel his heart beat a few times under her hand.

At the last moment, his chin tilted down and his lips sought hers. She lost herself for a moment in the pure pleasure of it. Ever since their first kiss in January, she had dreamt of the feel of his kiss, wondering what his lips could do to other parts of her body, but memory could not do Giovanni’s mouth justice.

It was soft and drugging. He captured her bottom lip between his teeth and tugged gently as she felt the soft curls of his hair against her cheekbone. The vibrating energy she usually felt from his hands was far more potent on the sensitive skin of her lips and every touch only seemed to heighten the sensation. Just the feel of their skin brushing together was as arousing as any intimate touch, and she could tell he was as affected by the contact as she was because his skin was burning like he had a fever, and she felt the soft rumble in his chest.

She lost herself for a few more minutes before Giovanni jerked his head away. “That’s enough, tesoro,” he said clearly. “A glass of the eighteen year old Macallan for me, and a Laphroaig for the girl.”

“Yes, Dr. Vecchio,” she heard a waiter murmur behind her.

“You’ll like the Laphroaig,” he muttered quietly. “It has a smoky flavor I think you’ll enjoy. Also, where the hell did you learn how to kiss?”

“What?” she said with a smirk. “Not playing the part well enough?”

She felt his lips ghost over her temple. “Playing it to the hilt, tesoro.” His head bent down to murmur in her ear. “But back off a bit if you don’t want me to really bite you.” His mouth opened, and she shivered when she felt his fangs scrape along the edge of her jaw. “You’re testing my instincts, Beatrice.”

“Oh, okay.” She took a deep breath. “Backing off, just a bit. Got it.”

“Now relax.”

“Kind of hard to do right now.”

“Try, because they’re coming over here.”

His hand slipped down to curl around her waist, and he pulled her closer. She looked past the fireplace and saw Lorenzo and Gavin strolling across the pub.

“Giovanni,” Gavin called. “How lovely to see you. You really should come in more often.” She saw Gavin glance at Lorenzo behind the blond vampire’s back. She had a feeling that Gavin Wallace wasn’t terribly happy to see Giovanni’s son either, and it made her like him, just a little. “What brings you out this evening?”

“Just out for a drink after dinner. How is Houston, Lorenzo?”

“Oh,” Lorenzo replied, “it hasn’t given up all its treasures just yet. I’ll be around for a while. Don’t worry.”

“I don’t. Worry, that is.”

“Good to know.”

She glanced between the two vampires as they stared at each other. She was trying to observe them while still looking vapid. She wasn’t quite sure how well she did, but by the carefully controlled smirk on Gavin’s face, and the twinkle in his eyes when he caught her notice, she wasn’t very convincing as Giovanni’s brainless meal.

“Your drinks, Dr. Vecchio.” The server placed the two glasses of amber whisky on the coffee table in front of them.

“Well,” Gavin said, “we’ll let you enjoy your drinks. Excellent choices for both of you. You must have very discerning palates.” He winked at Beatrice behind Lorenzo’s back and mouthed ‘call me’ to Giovanni with a slight frown.

“Goodbye for now,” Lorenzo said. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Looking forward to catching up.”

They walked away, and Giovanni and Beatrice both lifted their drinks.

“Cheers,” she muttered and clinked the edge of her glass with his before she took a sip. “Here’s to fooling no one.”