A Hidden Fire: Elemental Mysteries Book 1 (24 page)

He also thought about the people he had met, and the places he had been.  He thought about rescuing Caspar.  And of an unmarked grave in the Tuscan countryside where his life would have ended had he never met his sire.  He watched the curious girl who sat next to him, sharing a piece of cake and a glass of champagne.  He nodded.

“Yes, I’m happy with my life.”

“And I’m glad I met you.”

They both smiled as they sipped the sweet wine.  He reached across and touched the edge of his glass to hers.

“Congratulations, Beatrice.  Happy graduation.”

When Giovanni went to the library the following Wednesday, he had a smile on his face.  It was Beatrice’s final week of work, so she would no longer be dividing her time between the university library and his own.

Caspar and Isadora were doing well, and had so far garnered no attention in the mountains.  And when he spoke to Caspar that evening, his butler had finally heard back from one of Livia’s people in Rome.

According to her secretary, Giovanni could expect a letter from Livia sometime in the next three months.  While it may have seemed slow for some, for the two thousand-year-old Roman noblewoman, three months was as good as overnight mail.

He was so cheerful, he almost skipped up to the fifth floor, only to halt in the stairwell as he caught the whisper of unfamiliar voices coming from above.  He didn’t sense any danger, but there were far more voices than normal.  He tensed until he heard Beatrice; she sounded worried, but not panicked in any way.

Giovanni stepped into the hallway and listened, but the voices were too jumbled to sort through from a distance.  He pushed open the door to see the director of Special Collections standing in the reading room with Beatrice and the librarian, Charlotte Martin.  The president of the university was also present, along with the head of security, and two Houston Police detectives.

Charlotte spotted him immediately.  “Oh, Dr. Vecchio, what a mess!  Thank goodness your manuscript wasn’t damaged.”

“What is the problem?” He shot a look toward Beatrice, but she was giving a statement to one of the police detectives and only gave him a small shake of her head.

“The Pico letters, Dr. Vecchio.  They’re gone!”

Chapter Nineteen

Houston, Texas

June 2004

“
A
nd what time did you get here?”

Beatrice sighed.  “I already told the other officer, I was running late, so I probably got here around five fifteen, or so.  I didn’t look at the clock because Dr. Christiansen and Charlotte were running around and there was security everywhere.”

Detective Rose narrowed his gaze, and his tight smile failed to reach his eyes.  “How long have you worked at the library?”

“A couple of years.  I don’t remember exactly what month I started working.  It was my sophomore year.”

“You’re a senior now?”

“I just graduated.  This is supposed to me my last week working.”

“Isn’t that nice?  Congratulations.” 

Beatrice frowned.  “Am I under suspicion or something?  I would never steal anything from the library.”  She could see Giovanni lingering by the door, talking to Charlotte, but she could tell he was listening to her conversation with the detective.

“How many people have the combination to the document room, Miss De Novo?  Or should I call you B?”

Her chin jutted out.  “You can call me Miss De Novo.”  She saw Giovanni smirk over the detective’s shoulder.  “I do, as well as Charlotte Martin, and Dr. Christiansen, obviously.  Mrs. Ryan, on the first floor, would have it, as well as Karen Williams, who also works here sometimes.  She’s in Circulation, but she fills in when we’re busy.”

“That’s a small staff.”

“Well,” she shrugged, “our hours are limited.  It’s not a very busy department.”

“That makes a small suspect list.”

“I suppose, unless you’re counting anyone who knows anything about picking locks.  This library doesn’t exactly have cutting-edge technology.”

“Do you know anything about picking locks?”

Her jaw dropped.  “Are you joking?”  He didn’t look like he was joking.  “I know
nothing
about picking locks.  I know nothing about missing letters.  I wouldn’t even know what to do with them if I
did
steal them.”

Immediately after saying this, Beatrice realized it wasn’t exactly true.  She was a fast learner, and had a feeling from talking with some of Giovanni’s contacts over the past few months that more than one of them skirted the edges of legality.  If she wanted to sell some stolen letters, she could probably figure out how.

“Where were you last night?”

“I was—um, I was…” 

Having cake with a five hundred-year-old vampire that I think I might be falling in love with.  Oh, and drinking really expensive champagne.  And talking about my dead father…who isn’t actually dead.

“She was having dinner with me,” she heard from behind the police detective’s back.

The officer turned and looked at the tall man approaching him, no doubt taking in Giovanni’s professional appearance and friendly smile.  He was wearing a white oxford shirt that night, a pair of studious looking glasses, and some of his seemingly endless supply of black slacks.

“And who are you?”

Giovanni smiled and held out his hand.  “Dr. Giovanni Vecchio.  I deal in rare books and I’m doing research here at the library.  Beatrice and I are seeing each other.”

Really?
  she thought. 
Thanks for letting me know, Gio.  Is that what we’re doing?
 
Strictly speaking, she supposed it was true.  They saw each other every day.

The police officer looked at Giovanni’s extended hand for a moment before reaching his own out and shaking it.  Beatrice watched to see if there was any physical evidence of the influence she knew he was using that very second—some sort of shimmer or spark—but there wasn’t.

“I think you realize that Miss De Novo had nothing to do with this theft, don’t you, Detective Rose?”

“Of course she didn’t.  What a ridiculous thought,” the officer said in a warm voice, far more relaxed than he had been only a second before.

“And you were completely satisfied with her explanation.”

“I was.  She’s a lovely girl.”

Giovanni nodded and cocked his head, looking into the officer’s dazed eyes.  “She is.  No further investigation of her will be necessary.”

The detective shook his head and turned to Beatrice.  “Nope.  I think we’re done here.”  He folded up his notebook and saluted her with a small wave before he went to join his partner, who was talking to Dr. Christiansen.

She looked at Giovanni, whose face was grim as he watched the retreating officer. 

“Not going to lie, that was more than a little creepy, Batman.”

“Whatever keeps you out of this mess.”

“Was it Lorenzo?”

He pursed his lips.  “I imagine so.  I have no idea how he got in, but you’re right; this place has very little security.  Anyone with a bit of skill could break in.”

She hesitated, not wanting to voice the thought she’d had when she first learned of the theft, but feeling compelled, all the same time.  “It wasn’t you, was it?”

Giovanni frowned when he looked at her, but she forced herself to continue, “It’s just…I know they
are
your letters.  And I gave you my combination that time Lorenzo came here, and I would totally—”

“It wasn’t me.”

She felt horrible, as if she had betrayed him by even thinking it was a possibility.  “Okay.  I mean, I believe you.  I don’t know why…I just know how much you want them back.  And I’d understand if you took them.”

He cocked his head again, looking at her with a suddenly blank expression.

“I need to go feed.”

She looked around, worried that someone had overheard, but Dr. Christiansen was still talking to the police officers, and Charlotte was talking with Dr. Scalia, who had come into the reading room while she and Giovanni had been speaking with the detective.

“Okay.  Are you all right?” she whispered.  “I mean, it’s not Friday, and I know you—”

“It’s best if I feed more.”  He glanced at the door.  “If there is any sort of trouble, I’ll be at my most effective if I’ve fed recently.”

Beatrice swallowed, trying to ignore the tightness in her chest.  She didn’t know exactly what Giovanni did with the “donors” he fed from, but she had smelled perfume on him more than once when returned on Friday nights.

His eyes raked over her face.  “Unless you’re offering, of course,” he said in a low voice.  Giovanni stepped closer to her in the bright, florescent lights of the reading room, and she could feel herself react to him.

The small hairs on her body reached toward him as she fought their growing attraction.  She felt the flush start in her face and her heart picked up, he had probably already sensed the hint of arousal his suggestion had produced.

She cleared her throat and shook her head.  “That’s all right.  I need to…I’ll see you later.”

He paused, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say more, but then straightened and stepped back a little.  “I’ll make sure Carl is waiting with the car when your shift is over.”

She nodded and looked at her hands, twisting them together as he turned to go.

“See you,” she called, but he was already halfway out the door.

Charlotte wandered over to her and gave her a small hug.  “Can you believe this?  What a mess!  And poor Dr. Scalia, he’s so upset.”

Beatrice looked over Charlotte’s shoulder and glanced at the small professor.  He did look troubled, and Beatrice had the fleeting thought that sometimes academics put too high a price on old parchment.  Then she shook her head and reminded herself she was supposed to be a librarian.  Charlotte perched on the edge of the table next to her.

“I don’t think there’s any reason for you to stay.”

“Why not?”

Charlotte shrugged.  “We’re just going to be talking to these guys most of the night.  And Dr. Vecchio left.  Dr. Scalia is hanging around, but he’ll go in a few.”  She nodded toward the door.  “Go on.  Head home.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Beatrice thought for a moment, but then decided she didn’t really want to hang around the police detective who was questioning her earlier, even if Giovanni had worked his mind voodoo on him.  “Okay.  I might hang around downstairs for a while, but I’ll clock out.”

“Good, and don’t hang out too long.  Go do something fun.  See if you can track down Dr. Handsome,” she said with a wink.

“Right,” she laughed.  “Right.”

Beatrice gathered her bag and book from behind the reference desk and checked her phone.  As she waited by the elevator, she heard someone behind her.  She glanced over, but realized it was only Dr. Scalia, who gave her a sad smile.  She nodded at him before she dialed Carl’s number.  She was waiting for it to ring when the elevator doors opened.  She frowned, knowing she would lose reception if she stepped inside, but not wanting to wait for the next unpredictable car.  Beatrice hit the ‘end’ button on her phone and decided she could call Carl from the lobby and wait for him there.

They had just passed the fourth floor when Dr. Scalia reached forward and pushed the button for the third.  She turned to him, startled by the interruption, and saw him standing in the corner, pointing a small handgun at her.  His smile and his eyes were still sad.

“You are so perceptive, my dear.  So very much like your father.”

Her mouth gaped.  “Dr. Scalia?”

The elevator door opened on the next floor and he scooted over to peer out.

“Come now, my dear.  No need to linger in the elevator.”

“W—what’s going on?”  She peered into the darkened hallway on the third floor.  Beatrice knew that few students, if any, would be on the floor this time of night.  It contained an old section of the law library, and hardly anyone ever used it.

“You and I are going to meet some friends, Miss De Novo.  Off the elevator now.  I don’t want to force you.”

Her mind was reeling, and she kept looking between Dr. Scalia’s sad smile and the gun, unable to comprehend why he was pointing it at her.  “But Dr. Scalia—”

“No arguing,” he said in a sharp voice, motioning toward the empty hallway with the dull, black weapon.

She stumbled out, her eyes glued to his hand.  He propelled her forward, bypassing the main stairwell and heading into the stacks.  Dr. Scalia walked close to her, making sure the barrel of his gun brushed against her if she slowed her pace.

“Did you know your father and I knew each other?  We knew each other in school; we even worked together, for a time.  It made everything so much harder.  He never should have found those books in Ferrara.”

She looked around, her heart beginning to beat in panic.  The old law library was so seldom used, the staff didn’t even keep the lights on through most of the floor, so the tall bookcases seemed to twist into a dark maze as they walked through them.

“Books?  In Ferrara?  Dr. Scalia, I don’t know what you’re talking about.  What are you saying about my dad?”

“You look so much like him, too.  Something about your eyes, I think.”  Halting for a moment, he looked at her with pity.  “I hated to do it…but he had seen them, and he was asking so many questions.  He knew they didn’t belong there.  I had to tell Lorenzo he had found the books.  It was my responsibility to report him.  You understand about responsibility, don’t you?”

She nodded, trying to calm her racing heart as she clutched her phone.  “Sure.  Sure, I understand.”  She didn’t understand.  Beatrice didn’t understand a word he was saying.  She didn’t know what was in Ferrara, except the—

“Wait, are you talking about the university where the letters were translated?” She spun around to look at him, halting in the middle of the stacks, totally forgetting about the gun.  “So, you work for Lorenzo?  Are you saying my father found Lorenzo’s—I mean Gio’s—books in Ferrara?  He was in Florence, Dr.  Scalia, he was killed—”

She broke off with a gasp when the small professor stepped forward and raised the gun to her chest.  Her stomach dropped.  “I don’t understand what’s going on,” she choked out, suddenly looking around and realizing no one could help her.  There wasn’t a soul stirring on the third floor that night.

Dr. Scalia spoke in a soothing voice.  “I know it’s confusing, my dear.  Hand me your phone, will you?  I don’t want to have to shoot you.”  He held out his hand, and Beatrice tried to think of a way to stall him so she could call Carl, but the gun seemed to grow larger in his hand the longer she stared at it.  Eventually, she handed the small professor her mobile phone, and he stuck it in his pocket.

“It was such an honor to be asked to care for those books.  You’re a librarian, so you must understand.  And no one seemed to mind me in the old building.  I knew it like the back of my hand.  The books never should have been found, I had taken such pains to hide them.” 

He continued to look at her with sympathy, but she noticed his hand never trembled on the gun.  He pointed her toward the back staircase as they continued to weave their way through the bookshelves.  The back stairs were rarely used, even by the maintenance staff.