A Hidden Fire: Elemental Mysteries Book 1 (17 page)

“What about your sire?  Is he—”

“She, actually.  And my sire is no longer living.”

She could sense from the look in his eyes that it wasn’t something the normally open vampire wanted to talk about, so she changed the subject.

“Did you ever, I mean, do vampires ever turn people that they love?  Like, if your wife had been living—”

“I wouldn’t have turned her myself,” he said quickly.  “Well, not if I knew the consequences of it.  It’s
not
a romantic connection, Beatrice.  The feelings really are more paternal, so it’s not an ideal situation if a vampire falls in love with a human and they're turned.”

“Why not?”

“If the human does choose to become immortal, they would have to be turned by a vampire other than their lover, and then that other vampire would have a very strong connection and influence over the one turned.  Your feelings toward your sire run very deep, positive or negative.  It could become quite complicated.”

She looked down at the desk.  “Right.  I guess that makes sense,” she said quietly.  She opened her e-mail and busied herself checking the news online.  Carwyn was silent, but she could still feel him watching her.

“You know,” he said suddenly.  “All my children are earth vampires.  It runs in families that way.”

“Oh really?” she said as she typed.

“Yes, it’s almost unheard of for a vampire to sire out of their element.  Water from water.  Earth from earth.  Wind from wind, and so forth.”

“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?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her.  “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 smirked 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

T
he 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.”

“Gio—”

“Where is she now?  Where is beautiful Claire?  When did you stop loving her?  When was the last time you even thought of her?”

Caspar paused, finally nodding in understanding before he went to pour himself a drink; then he sat down on the sofa and stared into the cold fireplace.  Giovanni picked up his scotch and settled into his chair.  He noticed that Beatrice’s scent lingered in it, and he wondered whether she had sat there that evening.

His eyes softened as he looked at the man he had watched grow up, mature, and eventually grow old.  He knew he would someday face Caspar’s death, and that day grew closer with every sunset.

“Caspar,” he said.  “Beloved son of my friend, David.  You have been my child, my friend, my confidante, my ally in this world.  And I will be here long after you have left me.  What are you asking of me?  Do you even realize?”

Caspar glared at him.  “Do you think I want you to be alone when I’m gone?  Do you think I don’t know?  Don’t pretend she is only part of your search.  I can tell you have feelings for her.  I know you want her.”

Giovanni set down his drink, gripping the arms of the chair as he followed Caspar’s eyes to the cold grate.

“If I had feelings for her…they are inappropriate.  I need her—”

“You need—”

“I
need her
,” he glared at Caspar, “to trust me.  I need to keep her safe from my own mistake, and I need her to find her father.”

“To find out what he knows.”

“Yes, and to find out why Lorenzo wants him so badly.”

“So you’ll keep her safe so you can use her to find her father.”

“Yes,” he said, his face carefully blank.

“And that’s the only reason you’re keeping her around?”

Giovanni sat stiffly in his chair.  “That’s the main reason, yes.”

Caspar’s eyes narrowed.  “You’re such a liar sometimes.”

“And you’re melodramatic.”

He stood and walked to the fireplace to light it.  The nights were starting to carry the soft warmth of springtime, but they were still cool enough that he knew a fire wouldn’t be unwelcome to the old man on the sofa.  He snapped his fingers to ignite the kindling in the grate and carefully added a few pieces of wood.

“You act like you’re so cold,” Caspar said.  “But you’re not, and don’t pretend that her father is the only reason you’re interested in her.”

He crouched down at the grate and willed the small fire to grow.  “I will find her father.  I will find my collection.  I will take care of Lorenzo, and then Beatrice De Novo can go on to live a relatively normal life.”

“Oh?  Is that so?  Do you plan to wipe her memory, too?”

He paused, the thought of wiping himself from the girl’s memory more painful than he wanted to admit.  But, he rationalized, there was no need for it.

“Of course not.  She’s obviously trustworthy, and after the Lorenzo problem is gone, there is no reason she couldn’t have a relationship with her father.  She deserves that.”

“She deserves a relationship with her father?”

Giovanni stared into the growing flames.  “Of course.  I wouldn’t deny her that.  Not if I could help it.”

“But you’d deny her yourself.”

He felt a flare of anger, but he tamped it down and stood up to turn back to Caspar, his posture deliberately casual.  “I’m not going to discuss this.”

“Why not?” Caspar asked.  “Don’t you think she has feelings for you?  Do you see the way she looks at you?  Carwyn and I both see it.  As surprising as it might be to you, the two of you fit together like—”

“Do you think I haven’t thought of it, Caspar?”  His temper snapped and he could feel the flames jump in the grate behind him.  “Do you think I haven’t thought about keeping her?”

“Then why don’t you—”

“The nights we’ve spent poring over this book or that map?  The way she makes everything lighter?  The way I find myself having to hold back from telling her everything—everything?  Like she would even want to know?” 

“How do you know she doesn’t want to know, you stubborn old fool?”

“You think I haven’t fantasized about taking her?” he bit out.  “About having her in my life?  Do you think I haven’t thought about it?”

Caspar stood stiffly to walk closer to the fire.  “So what’s stopping you?  She’ll still help you find her father.  She wants it as much as you do.  Do you think she’s not smart enough to understand the consequences?  You won’t even give her a chance, you idiot!  Or are you just afraid that she’ll say no?”

A sharp longing rose in his chest, but it was smothered by bitterness.  “She’s a child.  She doesn’t know what she wants at this age.  At twenty-two you wanted to marry Claire Lipton and run away together to join the theater.  Three years after that, you wanted to become an airline pilot.  And after that—”

“You know, I already know I have a short attention span, you obnoxious git.  You don’t have to rub it in.”

Giovanni took a deep breath, and laid a hand on Caspar’s shoulder.  “The point is, she’s at an impulsive age, and if she has feelings for me, they are…infatuation.  It wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of that.”

“But you’ll use her to find her father, won’t you?  No problem taking advantage of that.”

He stiffened and pulled away.  “You said yourself, she wants to find him, too.”

Tears pricked Caspar’s eyes when he looked at him.

“You’re a good man, Giovanni Vecchio.  Don’t forget that in this mad search.”

Caspar turned and walked back to the sofa, sitting and picking up his drink.  He stared into the fire and Giovanni watched the calm settle over him.

“You know, I don’t remember much from my life before you.  I was so young when you took me in.  I remember hiding in that attic in Rotterdam with my father.  I remember how hot it was, how stifling.  I remember the smell of dust and old paper from the books my father saved.”

“You were such a quiet child.”

“I remember seeing you for the first time,” he continued, “and my father holding me and telling me I could trust you because you were an old friend.  That you weren’t one of the bad men, even though you were a stranger.  That you would take care of me.”

Giovanni sat down in his chair and took a sip of scotch.

“Were you scared?  When I took you to England?  When you had to be locked up during the day in the house when you were little?  I tried to explain it the best way I could, but you were only four or five, you must have been confused.”

Caspar shrugged.  “Children are so adaptable.  I don’t remember being afraid.  I remember being a little older and realizing that most children didn’t sleep during the day and that most went to school, but by then I understood what you were.  And then, there were all our adventures.”

Giovanni had taken Caspar on many trips as the boy had grown older and more useful.  He had always been a wonderful companion.  At first, he had called him his son, then his nephew, then eventually his brother as their appearances became more similar and Caspar aged. 

In his long life, the boy he had rescued remained the human Giovanni had loved the most, and it had broken his heart when Caspar told him in his forties he had decided he didn’t want to be turned.  He was the first human the vampire had truly wanted to sire.

He looked at the old man.  “Has it been a good life with me, Caspar?  Do you regret never marrying or having children?  Did I keep you from that?”

Caspar shook his head.  “I never felt like, had I wanted a family, they would have been unwelcome to you.  And I know how fond you are of children.  No, I just never found the right woman, I suppose.”

“Isadora?” Giovanni asked with a smirk.

He shook his head, a smile creeping across his face.  “She’s one of a kind, Gio.  My lord, she’s so bloody adorable.  I want to steal her away and monopolize her every moment.”

“You are smitten, old friend.”

“Completely.  You’ve met her, can you blame me?”

Giovanni smiled thinking of Isadora and Beatrice.  He thought about the two women, grey hair against black, with their heads together, smiling on Dia de los Muertos.  He thought of the way they laughed and teased each other, and the ease and love between them.  In his mind, he saw Beatrice as she aged, her dramatic features slowly taking on the handsome dignity of her grandmother and her eyes exhibiting the unique wisdom that was only evident from a life well lived.