The Elemental Mysteries: Complete Series (19 page)

Beatrice laughed at the women’s curiosity.
 
She had a feeling that knowing her employer was a five hundred-year-old vampire would do nothing to put them off.
 
They would probably just ask to see his fangs.
 

“Hey, everyone.
 
Yeah, it’s pretty cool.
 
I’ll tell you all about it during dinner, okay?”

“If we don’t get in there, we aren’t going to be dining, girls!” Sally boomed.
 
“Let’s go inside, we’ll talk while we eat.”
 

“Yes,” Isadora added, “and you can try to persuade her to get a picture of him.”
 

“Grandma—”

“Oh, B, you must!”

“Is he really that handsome?”

“More importantly, is he single?”

“I’d like to hear more about his work; it sounds fascinating!”

Beatrice sighed deeply, enveloped in their familiar chatter and followed the four women inside.
 

Hours later, after she had tentatively agreed to take a picture of her boss and set her grandmother up on a blind date with Caspar at Sally’s insistence, she drove back to their small house.
 

“Beatrice, did you remember to pick up those art books for me from the library?” Isadora asked.
 
“I need them to teach my class tomorrow.”
 

“Oh shoot.
 
I got them, and then left them at Gio’s last night when I was working.
 
I’m sorry.”
 

“It’s no problem, dear.
 
I did want them soon so I could show the young man in my class about the brush technique I was trying to explain.
 
When do you go back?”

She frowned.
 
“You know, I’ll run by and get them.
 
Otherwise I won’t be back until Thursday night.”
 

“Oh, it’s too late.
 
I don’t want to wake anyone for some silly books.”
 

“Trust me, they’ll be awake.”
 

“Well, if you’re sure…”
 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
 
Beatrice reasoned that even if Giovanni was out with Carwyn, Caspar was likely to be home.
 
Plus, the vampire’s house in River Oaks wasn’t all that far from her grandmother’s place.
 

She dropped Isadora off and made the short drive to Giovanni’s home.
 
As she pulled up to the gate, she could just see Carwyn’s huge Irish wolfhound peek his head over the low wall.
 

She pushed the button to call the house.
 

“Yes?”

“It’s B, Caspar.
 
I forgot some books here last night.
 
Do you mind if I come in quick and grab them?”

She heard the gate buzz and the butler’s amused voice could be heard as she pulled forward.
 
“Of course not, and—may I add—what wonderful timing you have, my dear!”

Narrowing her eyes at the odd statement, she pulled through the gate, keeping her window down as Bran, Carwyn’s grey dog, trotted alongside her car.
 

“How’s it going tonight, Bran?”
 
The huge dog huffed as he escorted her up the driveway.
 

“Dig up any more roses?”
 
Beatrice grinned, remembering the amusing rant Giovanni had gone on last Thursday after a particularly muddy set of footprints found their way into the living room.
 
“Manage to find Doyle yet?”

At the mention of the cat’s name, the wolfhound abruptly halted, looked across the yard as if remembering something and let out a bellow before he shot across the lawn.
 

Laughing at the amusing and very friendly dog, Beatrice finally pulled behind the garage where she usually parked her small car.
 
She walked to the kitchen door and knocked, pleased to see Caspar’s smiling face through the glass panels.
 

“Ah!
 
B, I’m so glad you’re here.
 
No one ever believes me, but now you’ll know the truth.”
 

She frowned in confusion.
 
“Uh…Cas, what are you talking about, and does it involve bodily injury?
 
Because I kind of like this blouse, and I’m not wearing my boots.”
 

Caspar smiled.
 
“No, but he always comes across as so dignified, doesn’t he?
 
Now, my dear,” the grey-haired butler winked, “you’ll know the real Giovanni.”
 

And with that mysterious statement, he practically pulled her into the kitchen.
 
She looked around in confusion for a moment before she heard the loud yells coming from the living room.
 

“Bloody bastard, I did not see that coming!”

“Use the folding chair!
 
It’s sitting in the corner for a reason!”

Beatrice’s eyes widened when she heard the two men yelling.
 
The sound of applause filled the living room and the surround sound poured into the kitchen.
 

“That’s not—” Beatrice started.
 

“Oh yes.” Caspar nodded.
 
“It’s exactly what you think.”
 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she muttered.
 
“Cas, you have made my year.”
 

Beatrice walked silently into the living room, suddenly happy to be wearing her soft ballet flats.
 
She approached the two vampires watching the television, who had well over a thousand years of life between them, careful to keep her distance so they didn’t smell her.
 

Giovanni had donned his usual grey sweater and black slacks for the evening, but Carwyn appeared to be wearing a garish t-shirt with an ugly masked face on it.
 
They were totally absorbed with the spectacle on the television screen.
 
Just then, the crowd went wild and both vampires jumped up shouting.
 

“Tap out, you buggering idiot!”

“Use the damn folding chair!”

Beatrice couldn’t believe the ammunition she had just been given.
 

“Hey, guys.”
 

They both spun around when they heard her quiet voice from the back of the living room.
 
Carwyn grinned at her.
 

“Hello, B!
 
Grab a beer, you’re just in time.
 
The main event’s on right after this match.”
 

Giovanni, if possible, looked even paler than normal.
 
“Beatrice, this is—were you scheduled to work tonight?”
 
He scratched at the back of his neck in obvious discomfort.
 

“Nope.
 
Just came by to pick up a couple of books I forgot from the library.”
 
She smirked in satisfaction as he squirmed.
 
This mental picture was priceless.
 

He continued to stare at her, speechless and obviously embarrassed, until he heard the roar from the crowd and Carwyn shouted again.
 
Giovanni spun around to see what was happening on the television.
 

“Finally!
 
Damn it, Gio.
 
They always go for the folding chair.”
 

“Of course they do.
 
Folding chairs are always there for a reason.
 
They’re never just stage props.”
 

Shaking her head, she walked closer to the back of the couch.
 
Both men were staring at the television again, completely engrossed in the professional wrestling match on screen.
 

“Seriously, guys?
 
Professional wrestling?
 
I might have suspected archery or fencing.
 
Hell, even soccer—”

“Football!” they shouted simultaneously.
 

“—wouldn’t have been that big a surprise, but this?”

Barely clothed women walked around the ring, and flashing lights filled the screen.
 
The announcers shouted about the final match-up of the night, which was on just after the previously taped profiles of the two participants.
 

“This is the most bloody brilliant sport ever invented,” Carwyn almost whispered in awe as he stared at the screen.
 

“It’s not a sport!”

Both turned to look at her in disgust.
 

“That’s not the point!” Carwyn shouted.
 

“You see, Beatrice,” Giovanni started, while the priest turned the volume down just low enough so they could be heard.
 
“Professional wrestling is simply the most modern interpretation of an ancient tradition of stylized verbal battles between enemies.
 
From the time that Homer recorded the Iliad, the emergence of what Scottish scholars call ‘flyting’—”

“That would be a verbal battle preceding a physical one, but considered equally as important to the overall outcome,” Carwyn interjected.
 

“Exactly.
 
Throughout world myth, warriors have engaged in a verbal struggle that is as symbolically important as the battle itself.
 
You can see examples in early Anglo-Saxon literature—”

“You’ve read
Beowulf
, haven’t you, English major?”

Giovanni glanced at the priest, but continued in his most academic voice.
 
“Beowulf is only one example, of course.
 
The concept is also prevalent in various Nordic, Celtic, and Germanic epic traditions.
 
Even Japanese and Arabic literature are rife with examples.”
 

“Exactly.”
 
Carwyn nodded along.
 
“See, modern professional wrestling is following in a grand epic tradition.
 
Doesn’t matter if it’s staged, and it doesn’t matter who wins, really—”

“Well, I don’t know about—”

“What matters,” Carwyn shot his friend a look before he continued, “is that the warriors impress the audience as much with their verbal acuity as their physical prowess.”
 

Giovanni nodded.
 
“It’s really very fitting within classical Western tradition.”
 

Beatrice stared at them and began to snicker.
 

“Did you two just come up with some really academic, smart-sounding rationalization for why you’re watching professional wrestling on pay-per-view?”

Carwyn said,
 
“Are you kidding?
 
It took us years to come up with that.
 
Grab a beer and sit down.”
 

Still snickering, she walked into the kitchen, where Caspar was holding an open long-neck for her.
 
“Do you—”

He shook his head.
 
“Oh no, this is their own crass amusement.
 
I’ll have nothing to do with it, no matter how many times they cite
Beowulf.
”
 

Beatrice chuckled and took the beer.
 
“I guess I can hang out for a while.
 
After all,” she smiled, “the main event is just ahead!”

Caspar smiled and went back to his crossword puzzle on the counter.
 
She walked back into the living room and sat in the open spot between the two vampires.
 
Carwyn was already shouting at the screen on her left, but Giovanni sat back, slightly more subdued as he stretched his left arm across the back of the couch and looked at her.
 

Beatrice said, “It’s kind of cute, to be honest.”
 

“Really?”

“You’re usually so dignified,” she raised her beer to take a drink, and Giovanni leaned in slightly with a small smile on his lips.
 
“It’s kind of nice—”

Just then, he grabbed the beer out of her hand and jerked her arm toward his body.
 
His nostrils flared and his eyes glowed as he pulled her hand to his face and inhaled deeply.
 
Her heart rate shot up when she heard the growl rip from his throat, and his left arm coiled around her waist.
 

“Gio—”

“Where is he?” he hissed.

Chapter Nine

Houston, Texas

December 2003

“Giovanni, let her go.”
 

He was lost in instinct, trapped in the scent of the unexpected enemy on a human his nature had claimed, even if his mind had not.
 
His fangs descended, spurred by the sudden rush of blood in his veins and the unseen threat.
 
He wanted to sink his teeth into her, marking her as his own so no other would dare to touch her.

“Giovanni!”
 
He heard the priest’s voice as if he was calling from far away.