The Elemental Mysteries: Complete Series (2 page)

“Back so soon?”

He turned to look at the older gentleman who was reading in front of the lit fireplace.
 

“A fire, Caspar?”

The older man shrugged.
 
“I turned the air-conditioning down so it at least felt like fall.”
 

He chuckled.
 
“Whatever you prefer.
 
And the library was a bit disappointing.”
 

“Trouble finding an assistant?”

“No, I found a rather good one, in fact.
 
I might meet her again.
 
No, the Lincoln documents were not what I’d hoped.”
 

“Unfortunate.”
 

The man shrugged his shoulders.
 
“The client isn’t going anywhere.”
 

“Off for your swim then?”

He nodded and started to move down the stairs again.
 

“Will you be needing anything tonight?”

He walked up the stairs and back toward the library.
 
“Nothing, thank you.”
 

“Enjoy the pool.
 
It’s a beautiful night.”
 

“Enjoy your air-conditioning… and your fire,” he said with a minute smile ghosting his lips.
 

He heard Caspar laugh as he continued down the stairs.
 
The man walked through the sitting room and past the breakfast area where Caspar ate in the morning to the French doors leading onto the brick patio.
 

He folded his towel on the back of a pool chaise and quickly dove into the water, cutting through the green-lit pool with effortless efficiency.
 

He swam up and down the mirrored rectangle for hours, enjoying the stretch of his lean muscles and the calming buoyancy of the salt water that filled the pool.
 

When the lights of the secluded yard switched off automatically at two in the morning, he floated on the surface.
 
He hung there for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of the warm, humid air on his face as his body was supported by the water at his back.
 
Then he dove down, sitting on the bottom of the pool for another hour, looking up as he watched the moon track across the night sky.

Chapter One

Houston, Texas

September 2003

Giovanni Vecchio woke, the infrequent dream seeming to echo off the narrow walls of the small room where he rested.
 
He sat up and stared at the photograph of Florence which hung on the opposite wall, and the sun-seared shops of the old bridge mocked him.

“Where is your home?”

“
Ubi bene ibi patria
.
 
Where I prosper is my home.”

“Do not forget: nothing endures, save us and the elements.”

Rising, he unlocked his reinforced door and stepped into the large walk-in closet where he dressed in a white oxford shirt and a pair of slim, black slacks.
 
He spied the grey cat from the corner of his eye.

“Good evening, Doyle.”

The cat turned his copper-eyed stare toward the tall man who spoke to him.

“What did Caspar bribe you with tonight, hmm?
 
Salmon?
 
Fresh anchovies?
 
Caviar?”

The cat gave a small chirp and walked out to the luxurious bedroom beyond the closet to settle on the king-sized bed there.
 
Giovanni’s thoughts still brushed at the dark dream and a faint memory teased the back of his mind.

“Tell me about death.”

“The philosopher said death, which men fear as the greatest evil, may instead be the greatest good.”

“But we do not fear death, do we?”

Despite the hours he had rested, he felt weary.
 
He reached for his favorite grey jacket and walked out of the room.

“Caspar,” he called as he entered the kitchen, still straightening his collar.
 
“I want you to drive me to the library tonight.”

The older man raised a curious eyebrow but put down the newspaper he had been reading.

“Of course, I’ll get the car.”

Giovanni gathered his messenger bag and followed Caspar out the kitchen door.
 
They walked through the small courtyard where the dim light of the early evening still illuminated the burbling fountain, and the air was rich with the fragrance of the honeysuckle vine.

“Balance!
 
Temperance!
 
Find it, my son, or you will die.”

He paused for a moment and watched the flow of water as it trickled over and around the rocks in the base of the fountain.
 
Just then, a sharp breeze lifted the spray and it arched toward him, dusting his face with the cold drops.
 
He let the heat rise to his skin and the vapor met the humid night air.

“Oh wow, Char wasn’t lying.”

Giovanni brushed the hair out of his eyes and glanced up from his notebook looking around for the quiet female voice as he paused in the entry to the Special Collections reading room at the Houston University library.
 

“Pardon me?” he asked in confusion to the girl in the corner.
 

The black-haired girl behind the counter smiled.
 
He noticed a slight blush coloring her fair skin.

“Nothing,” she said with a quick smile.
 
“Nothing at all.
 
Welcome to the Special Collections reading room.
 
You must be Dr. Vecchio.”

Giovanni frowned as he tucked his notebook into a leather messenger bag.
 
“I am.
 
Is Mrs. Martin unavailable this evening?”
 
He scanned the young woman sitting behind the reference desk on the fifth floor of the library.
 
Since the department had opened their once-weekly evening hours a year ago, the bookish Charlotte Martin had been the only employee he’d seen behind the desk of the small, windowless room that housed the rare books, manuscripts, and archives.
 

“She’s not able to do evening shifts anymore.
 
Family reasons, I think.
 
Something about her kids.
 
I’m B, her assistant.”
 
Her voice lacked the twang typical of most Texans, though the flat intonation with only a hint of accent was fairly common among native Houstonians, especially those of younger generations.
 
“She left me notes about what you’ve been working on, so I’m perfectly able to assist you in your research.”
 

Despite her rather common accent, the girl’s voice held a faint quality which told him at least one of her parents was a native Spanish speaker.
 
Her thick, black hair was pulled into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck, and she was dressed in a black button-down shirt and slim skirt.
 
He smiled when he saw the tops of her tall Doc Marten boots almost touching her knees.

“Are you a student?” he asked.
 

Her chin jutted out in a barely perceptible movement which matched the quick flash of intelligence in her eyes.
 
“I’ve worked here for almost three years.
 
I’m sure doing a quick computer search or fetching a document is well within my abilities, Dr. Vecchio.”
 

He could feel the smile crawl across his face.
 
“I meant no disrespect…I’m sorry, what was your name?”

“Just call me B,” she said, glancing down at some handwritten notes.
 

From where he was standing, Giovanni could see the familiar scrawl of Mrs. Martin’s handwriting.
 

“
B?
 
As in the second letter of the Latin alphabet?” he asked, walking closer to the desk.
 

“No, the Etruscan.
 
I’m wild like that,” she muttered and glanced up.
 
“She also put a small note here at the bottom of her instructions regarding you.”
 

“Yes?”
 
He waited, curious what the librarian thought bore mention to her replacement.
 

“Hmm, it just reads, ‘He comes in every week.
 
You’re welcome.’”
 
The girl’s eyes ran from his handmade shoes, up his tall figure, finally meeting his startling, blue-green eyes.
 
“Thanks indeed, Char,” she said with a smile.
 

He smirked at her obvious look of approval, noting the small ruby piercing in her nose that caught the florescent lights of the reading room.
 
Her eyes were lined in black, her skin was fair, and though she did not have classically beautiful features, he thought her dramatic looks would be eye-catching even from a distance.
 

“I saw you Friday night!” she blurted.
 
“I was coming in to meet a friend after her shift.
 
I saw you heading out.”
 

Glancing away from her toward the door, he brushed at the dark curls that had fallen into his eyes again.
 
“That’s possible,” he noted.
 
“I like working in the evenings here.”
 

She shrugged.
 
“Well, obviously.”
 

“Why?” he asked.
 
“Why obviously?”

She raised her eyebrows.
 
“Because you’re here now?
 
Instead of the middle of the day?”

He blinked.
 
“Of course.”

“So what do you do?”

“Me?”

The girl snorted and looked around the otherwise empty room.
 
“Yeah.”

He opened his mouth and almost considered telling her the truth, just to see what the unusual girl might say.

“I do…research.”

She stood, as if waiting for him to continue.
 
When he didn’t, she smiled politely and held out a hand.
 
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you.”
 

He paused for a moment then held out his own hand to shake hers.
 

“Nice to meet you as well…” He frowned a little.
 
“What’s your
real
name?”

“Why?”

“I…” Giovanni had no idea why he wanted to know, except perhaps, because she didn’t seem to want to tell him.
 
So he flashed her his most charming smile and cheered internally when he heard her heart speed up.

She rolled her eyes.
 
“My ‘real’ name is Beatrice.
 
But I hate it, so please just call me B.
 
Everyone does, even Dr. Christiansen,” she added, referencing the very formal Director of Special Collections for the library.
 

“Of course,” he said with a small smile.
 
“I was simply curious.
 
For the record, however, I think Beatrice is a lovely name.”
 
He made sure to pronounce her name with the softer Italian accent it deserved.
 

She rolled her eyes again and tried to keep from smiling.
 
“Well, thanks.
 
What can I get for you this evening, Dr. Vecchio?”

“The Tibetan manuscript, please.”
 

“Of course.”
 
She handed over a small paper slip so he could fill out the formal request for the item.
 
Then she reached into the desk drawer to hand him a pair of silk gloves necessary for handing any of the ancient documents in the collection.
 

He took a seat at one of the tables in the windowless room, laying out his notebooks, a box of pencils, and a set of notes for Tenzin written in Mandarin.
 
After a few minutes, Beatrice walked through the door from the stacks.
 
Carefully placing the grey paper box containing the fifteenth century Tibetan book on the counter, she turned back to make sure the door to the air-controlled room was closed and locked before she walked around the desk and toward Giovanni.
 

“There is a book you need to copy for me,” Tenzin had asked.

“Why do you need it copied?
 
Isn’t there a translation available somewhere?”

“No, I want this one.
 
It’s in Houston.
 
Didn’t you just move there?”

He frowned.
 
“I didn’t move here so I could copy books for you, bird girl.”

“How do you know?
 
Maybe that’s exactly why you moved there.”

“Ten—”

“I have to fly.
 
Be a good scribe and copy it.
 
Use the…what do you call it when you send me things?”

“The fax machine.”