A Hidden Fire: Elemental Mysteries Book 1 (26 page)

“For fuck’s sake,” she heard Gavin mutter.

Lorenzo scooted away from her, seemingly uninterested in her further discomfort.  “So, not your property after all, is she, Giovanni?”

Giovanni sat, coldly sipping his scotch in the armchair.  He glanced at Gavin.

“Why are
you
here, Wallace?”

“Shite, I’m here to witness a
supposed
business transaction that your little boy here doesn’t seem to want to complete.  Stop the gabbing, Lorenzo, and just do it.”

“Fine!” Lorenzo sat back and crossed his legs.  “You two are so boring.  I’m going to allow that she’s yours,” she saw Gavin open his mouth to speak, but Lorenzo continued, “even though we all know I could press the point if I wanted to.  Still, possession is nine-tenths of the law, or something like that.”  He shrugged.  “Anyway, Papà, I do have a proposition for you.”

He waved his hand toward the dining room table.  “Over on the table, I have your books, the entire Pico collection.  Manuscripts, letters, scrolls, blah, blah, blah.  What I’m proposing—since possession is nine-tenths of the law—is that
you
give me the girl, who I have use for, in exchange for your books, which I don’t.”

Her stomach dropped.  He wouldn’t…

“The entire Pico collection is there?” Giovanni asked.  Dread twisted in her stomach when she saw the interest light up his eyes.  He glanced over toward the table and then let his eyes flicker to her.

“No,” she whispered, but no one seemed to listen.

“Yes, yes.” Lorenzo rolled his eyes. “All of it.”

“And Andros’s books?”

He snorted.  “How valuable do you think she is?”

A sense of panic began to crawl over her skin the longer Giovanni looked at the books on the table.

“No,” she said a bit louder.  Still, no one even glanced at her.

“I’ve grown tired of lugging them around, so I thought I’d just throw them in this lovely fire if you don’t want them.  After all,” Lorenzo leaned forward, “they are
mine
.  Like the girl is yours.  I can do with them what I want.”

“What?” Beatrice looked around the room.  “I don’t
belong
—”

“Giovanni?” Gavin cut her off with a glare.  “What do you think?  He’s offered a fair trade, property for property, do you want the books or the girl?  It’s up to you,” Gavin said, as he played with a thread on his cuff.

“Gio,” Beatrice started in horror.  “No!  You can’t—”

“No trade,” Giovanni murmured, finally looking at her.

Beatrice relaxed into the couch, leaning her forehead on her knees as she took a deep breath; her heart rate, which had been pounding erratically, started to calm.

“Unless you have Giuliana’s sonnets.”

Her head shot up.

She stared at him in horror.  “What?”

He was looking at Lorenzo.  She shook her head in disbelief. 

“No,” she said again, even louder.

Lorenzo reached over, drawing a thin book, bound in red leather, from the side table.  It was small, no bigger than the size of a composition book, and the binding was intricately tooled; she could see the finely preserved gold script on the cover.

“As a matter of fact,” Lorenzo said gleefully.  “
I do
.”

Giovanni cocked an eyebrow and held his pale hand out.  “Let me see them.”

She kept expecting him to offer her a look or a wink or…
anything
to tell her he was in control.  That he was bluffing.  That he wouldn’t trade her for his old books.  Anything to stop the cold feeling of dread and betrayal that began to climb her throat, choking her where she sat. She looked around the room in panic as Giovanni paged through the small book.

No, no, no, no, no
,
her mind chanted when she saw the interest in his eyes.

“They’re all there.  Angelo Poliziano had the originals bound after Giuliana sent them, heartbroken after her lover deserted her.  Andros took them after he murdered Poliziano.  These are her copies—written by her lover’s hand.  Now, would you like to trade?  Or are these little poems destined for the fire?”

Giovanni looked at the small volume in his hands and a look of tenderness softened his features.  Then, he wiped his expression clean and looked at Lorenzo.

“Fine.  The girl is yours.”

“No,” she screamed.  “No!”  Beatrice looked around the room, but no one would meet her eyes.  “I won’t go with him!”  She looked at the vampire she had trusted.  “Gio?  Don’t let him take me!  Giovanni?”

He wouldn’t even look at her.

She crawled over the back of the couch, trying to flee toward the patio doors, but the dark-haired vampire grabbed her before her feet hit the ground.

“No,” she screamed again, trying to twist away, but it was useless.  She was bound in the iron grasp of cold, immortal arms.  “You can’t do this to me! No!”

But the sick feeling that crawled through her said that they could.

She observed the rest of the Lorenzo and Giovanni’s “business transaction” as she twisted and bit the guard’s arms, desperately trying to get away from him. “Let me go, you bastards!  Let me go!”

They stood, and Giovanni shook Lorenzo’s hand, then Gavin’s.

She broke down sobbing when he refused to look at her.  “Please, Gio!” she cried.  “Please, don’t let him take me.  Please!”

“So,” she heard Lorenzo say, “all that posturing at the library was about your books?  I think I’m disappointed.”

“I don’t give a damn about your disappointment,” Giovanni bit out.  “And you’re going to give me the rest eventually.  Andros’s books are mine and I will find them.  Now get the hell out of my house and out of Houston.  I don’t want to see you for another hundred years, do you understand?”

Giovanni turned his back to her, and the tears fell swift down her face.  Her screams had turned to painful whispers, and her head hurt from crying.  She shook her head, trying to block out the betrayal that played out before her, and wishing for physical pain to block the deep cut of abandonment.

“I’m off!” Lorenzo chirped.  “Lovely doing business with you.”

There was no need for the guard to hold her tightly anymore.  She sagged in his arms, and if she’d anything left in her stomach, it would have been emptied on Giovanni’s luxurious Persian rug.

The whole time, she’d been a pawn.  Only a pawn for the man in front of her to get what he wanted.  His words months ago drifted to her memory.

“Don’t be naive.  For the right price, everything is for sale.”

He’d told her. 

She just didn’t want to believe him.

Beatrice was propelled toward the kitchen door, but she refused to walk.  Finally, her captor picked her up and carried her like a piece of luggage.  As she left the room, she heard Giovanni speak.

“Gavin, care to stay for a drink?  I’ve got a wonderful whiskey a friend sent for Christmas.  I’ve been waiting to open it.”

By the time they reached the car, she wished that someone would strike her or use their amnis so she could pass out and escape what must have been a nightmare. 

Lorenzo got in the car next to her and shut the door.  He smiled.

“Don’t worry, my dear.  I’m sure you and your father will be seeing each other very soon.”

She glared at him, a bitter rage churning inside her.

“Go to hell.”

A flicker of madness crept into his eyes.

“Already there.” 

Then cold hands touched her neck, and everything went black.

Chapter Twenty

Houston, Texas

June 2004

G
iovanni stood frozen, his fists clenched as he listened to Lorenzo’s car wind down the driveway.  When he finally heard it turn the corner toward Buffalo Bayou, he let out a roar and threw the glass of eighteen year old scotch into the fireplace.

“Dammit, man!  The next time I give you a not-very-subtle message to get in touch with me, do it!” Gavin shouted.

“Not now,” Giovanni snarled as he stalked past the table of books and crashed through the patio doors.

In the privacy of his garden’s high walls, he let the rage envelope him.  He’d kept himself reined since he scented the spilled blood coming up the driveway.  He’d tamped down his anger when he caught the sharp tang of adrenaline in the courtyard, but he’d almost lost control when his son had placed his hands on her. 

Blue flames erupted over his skin, burning off his clothes and turning them to charred rags as they drifted to the ground.  He silently paced the length of the garden.

“Gio?  Don’t let them take me!”

The full weight of his anger unfurled, and the flames grew.

“You can’t do this to me!”

He channeled the blaze toward a copse of cedars near the pool house, letting the intense fire burn them to ash in seconds as he heard Beatrice begging him to save her.

Please, Gio!  Please, don’t let him take me…”

He paced the yard, burning hands tugging his dark hair as the memory of her tears flooded his mind.  His shoes turned to ash along with his clothes, and he seared the lush grass wherever his bare feet touched. 

“How valuable do you think she is?”

Giovanni halted at the memory of his child’s scoffing voice.  He pushed the energy away from his body into the humid night air, loosing the fire within.

Priceless. 

A thousand memories battered his mind.  Her smile.  The soft curve of her neck.  The light in her dark eyes.  The feel of her hands tangled in his hair.  The soft, sweet smell of her skin.

In the shadow of her loss, he could finally admit the truth.

“How valuable do you think she is?”

She was priceless.

Remembering the sound of her defeated sobs when she realized his betrayal, he fell to his knees.  His rage forgotten as the wave of loss washed over him.  Giovanni stumbled to the edge of the pool, falling in and letting himself sink to the deepest part of the pool.  He felt the water bubble along his skin as it cooled.

His rage ebbed as he floated in the cool water.  The soft currents brushed through his hair, reminding him of her small fingers when she teased him the night before.

“Your hair is so soft.  I wish mine was soft like that.”

“I like your hair.”

“You do?  It’s so straight.  I always wished I had curls like yours.”

“No.  Your hair is beautiful as it is.”

He lifted his hand and felt the singed curls float in front of his face.  Pieces she had touched drifted away in the dark water.

After a few moments of self-indulgent grief, he gathered his wits and shot to the surface. He climbed out of the pool, wrapping a towel around his waist before he walked inside.  Gavin was on the rotary phone in the corner, speaking in a low voice.

“He’s just walked in…no, I don’t yet, but I’ll find out.  Here, talk to him.  Get him calmed down, and don’t ask him that because the bastard had two of his lackeys with him, and at least two more on the grounds that I could smell.  There was no way they were leaving without the De Novo girl.”

Gavin handed the phone to Giovanni, who immediately took it and put it to his ear.  He heard Carwyn’s steady voice on the line.

“Hello, Sparky, you calmed down?”

He could only grunt, but the priest seemed to take it as an affirmative.

“It’s a few hours before dawn here, but as soon as I’m able, I’ll be on the next boat—”

“Don’t.”

“What?” Carwyn paused.  “We’re going after her, Gio.”

“Of course we are, but we don’t know where he’s taking her yet.  I’m sure Gavin can find out, but it will probably be in Europe, and you’ll be closer if you stay where you are now.”

“But—”

“I can’t attack him here, Carwyn.  There are too many unknowns and he’s been planning this too far in advance.  They’re probably out of the city already, or close to it.  And he’ll have more people with him than just the four that were at my house.”  He saw Gavin nodding vehemently as he paced by the fireplace.  “I’m better off…diffusing this right now and picking my own ground.  I’ll need to go to Rome and talk to Livia—probably Athens as well—and we’ll need Tenzin.”

“But Gio, Beatrice will be—”

“Terrified, I know.” He clenched his jaw. “But he won’t hurt her.  Not yet.  And I am no longer interested in resolving this peaceably.  He ambushed me in my own home, and he took her from me.  I was foolish to underestimate him.”

There was a long pause on the line before Carwyn continued in a soft voice.

“Did you trade those damn books for her like Gav said?”

He cursed in a dozen languages before he answered.  “He was experimenting like the sick little bastard that he is.  He was going to take her, but I’d tipped my hand before.  He was trying to determine if it was Beatrice or the books I was reacting to.  It’s better…”  He cleared his throat before he continued.  “It’s better for her if he thinks I’m not attached to her.”

He gripped the doorjamb, cracking the oak paneling and sending plaster dust crumbling to the floor.

“You’re right,” Carwyn said in a soothing voice, “he won’t hurt her.  He needs her to retrieve her father.  We just need to get her back before Stephen De Novo hears about this and returns to Lorenzo.  If that happens, all bets are off.”

He couldn’t find the words to speak to his old friend, so he took a deep, measured breath.  The scent of her fear still permeated the living room, and he clenched his eyes in frustration.

“Giovanni,” Carwyn was saying, “you realize, she might not understand.  You know—”

“I know,” he muttered.  “I knew the minute I let him take her she might never forgive me for it.  But it’s better than her being injured or tortured to get back at me.” 

He turned and, leaning against the wall, slowly sank to his haunches.  He paused, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, savoring her scent, even if it was tinged by the adrenaline he hated.  He felt his heart give a sporadic thump as he stared at the sofa where Lorenzo had threatened her, and Giovanni had to fight back another wave of anger.  He gripped the phone to his ear, anchoring himself to the sound of his friend’s voice.

“Do you love her, Gio?”

He closed his eyes, but could only see her broken, empty stare as Lorenzo’s guard carried her away.

“What do you think?” he asked in a hollow voice.

There was another long pause before Carwyn responded.

“We’ll get her back.”

“Yes, I will.”

“And your son?”

Giovanni grit his teeth, letting his fangs pierce his lip as they descended, reveling in the taste of blood that filled his mouth and the sharp bite of pain.

“My son will burn.”

“I’ll wait for your call.”

He hung up the phone and walked upstairs without a glance.  In a little over a ten minutes, he had dressed, shaved off his singed hair, and walked back downstairs.  He stopped on the second floor to sit in Beatrice’s bedroom, soaking in her scent and the familiar traces of her that littered his home.

There was a stack of books on her bedside table.  She left them everywhere, scattered around the house in little caches, always ready to be picked up and continued when a few moments could be stolen.  Her boots stood by the closet.  She hadn’t worn them to work that afternoon, and he found himself wishing she had, as if the sturdy shoes could have protected her from the monsters who took her away.

A small picture of Beatrice and Isadora sat in a frame on her bedside table.  He grabbed it, extracting the picture and putting it in his pocket before he walked down to the first floor.

Gavin waited in the living room, eying him as he walked down the stairs.

“I made some calls.”

“And?”

“You know I’m only doing this because Carwyn is the closest thing I have to a friend, don’t you?  And because Lorenzo is such an ass.  I’m not picking sides in any damn war.  I refuse.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

Gavin rolled his eyes.  “She’ll be fine.  It makes no sense for him to hurt her.  Not now, and you know how little interest he has in human women.”

“That is so very reassuring,” Giovanni snarled.  “What do you know?”

Gavin measured him as he stood on the staircase.  Finally, he gave a small shrug.  “She did seem amusing.  And clever.  Carwyn said you were less of an asshole when she was with you.”

“Wallace, I would kill you without a moment’s hesitation if it would make you give me this information faster.  What did you find out?”

“You didn’t hear it from me and all the usual speech, but that crazy plane he has took off from a private airfield north of Katy a half an hour ago, headed to La Guardia airport in New York.  They must have driven straight there.  That’s all my contact knew.  They didn’t file anything else.”

“Could he be staying in New York?”

The Scotsman snorted.  “Not likely.  You know how the O’Brians feel about the little prick.”

Giovanni frowned, remembering the surly clan of earth vampires that had taken over the New York area around the turn of the last century.  They were notoriously hostile and suspicious, and Lorenzo had made them his enemies by throwing his money behind the old guard they had wiped out when they rose to power a hundred years before.

“No, it’s most likely a stop-over on the way to Europe.  Most of his allies are there,” Giovanni continued to mutter, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the peaceful life he’d cultivated for the last three hundred years was crumbling around him, returning him to the tumultuous early centuries of his life.

Just as he was about to kick Gavin out so he could go up to the library, he heard a crack at the French doors.  He frowned, but stayed where he was, flicking off the lights in the living room and peering into the night.  He thought he saw a magnolia branch sway, but no breeze stirred the other trees.

He heard another crack, but this time, he saw a pebble fall.  He snuck out the kitchen door and around the side yard, reaching out with his senses to determine who or what was on the grounds.  He scented the air, relaxing immediately when he recognized the familiar aroma of cardamom that always lingered around her.  He walked to the back garden and scanned the trees.

He heard a chirp from the low hanging magnolia tree and glanced up to see the small vampire perched on a branch, her legs dangling and her feet bare.  She appeared to be no more than sixteen or seventeen years old, and her glossy black hair fell in two sheets that framed her face.  Her eyes were a clouded grey and beautifully tilted by an ancient hand, but when the girl smiled, vicious fangs curled behind her lips like the talons of some primeval bird of prey.

A strange calm settled over him.

“Hello, Tenzin.”

“Hello, my boy,” she said in Mandarin.  “I thought you might need me.”

“I’ve lost her.”

The girl shook her head.  “She was taken from you.  But you’ll get her back.”

His eyes furrowed in grief, and she floated down from the tree to perch on his back, laying her head on his shoulder so she could watch his face.

“I’ve seen it.  She is your balance in this life.  In every life.”

He whispered in English, “You know I don’t believe in that.”

“You put too much faith in your science, my boy.  Science changes.  Truth doesn’t.”

He paused before asking, “Do you know where she is?”

“Water.  Lots of water.  He’ll go where he’s strong.”

He raised an eyebrow as he walked toward the house with her still clinging to his shoulders.  “Is that a vision, or five thousand years of experience killing your enemies?”

She shrugged.  “Whatever you decide to believe today.”

Despite everything, he felt a small smile cross his face.  “I’m glad you’re here, bird girl.”

She laughed, a tinkling sound that had always reminded him of a wind-chime.  “I’m fate’s messenger this time.  That is all.  I saw her long, long ago.”

He halted near the doors, dropping her and spinning around.

“What do you mean?”

An impish grin crossed her face.  “You are right to be patient.  Where is the food? I’m hungry.  It’s very warm here.”

Giovanni sighed, knowing he would get no further information from her.  “We have to take care of Beatrice’s guards first.  Lorenzo killed them.  Then we’ll go hunting.”