Imitation and Alchemy: An Elemental Legacy Novella (2 page)

“Avoid Naples.” He gave them a thumbs-up they probably didn’t see. “Got it. Later. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Except, you know, the biting stuff I don’t want to know about.”

“Good night, Benjamin.”

He shut the double doors behind him and leaned back, letting out a long breath before he walked to his bedroom. “How much you want to bet…?”

❂

THE next night, he was working with Tenzin at her warehouse in East Pasadena. She’d converted most of the old building to a training area, complete with one full wall of weapons. The only personal space was a loft in the rafters with no ground access.

Because the only person allowed up there could fly.

The windows were blacked out, which made life easier when you didn’t sleep. At all. Ben didn’t know how she stayed sane. Then again, the state of Tenzin’s sanity was never a settled subject.

“Look at that.” She leaned over his shoulder and reached her finger toward the computer screen, which began to flicker before he slapped her hand away.

“Don’t touch.”

They were watching a video about Kalaripayattu, an obscure Indian martial art, that someone had posted on YouTube. Tenzin
adored
YouTube.

“But look at those forms,” she said. “So much similarity to modern yoga. But more…”

“Martial.”

“Yes, exactly. If you could isolate pressure points…”

She started muttering in her own language, which no one but Tenzin and her sire spoke anymore, though Ben thought he was starting to pick up some words. Giovanni theorized it was a proto-Mongolian dialect of some kind, but Ben only spoke Mandarin. He hadn’t delved into Central or Northern Asian languages yet.

“If you watch…” She frowned. “The balance. That is key. This is very good. We’ll incorporate some of the balance exercises for you since you are top-heavy now.”

“It’s called muscular, and it’s a product of testosterone. I refuse to apologize for that.”

“Look.” She slapped his arm. “The short-stick fighting. We can incorporate some of those techniques too.”

“Are you saying I have a short stick?”

She frowned, still staring at the computer screen. “What are you talking about?”

Ben tried to stifle a smile. She could be so adorably clueless for a woman with thousands of years behind her. “Nothing. Ignore me.”

“Oh!” She laughed. “Was that a sexual joke? That was funny. But your stick is not short, Benjamin.” She patted his arm. “You have nothing to be worried about.”

“Thanks. That’s… comforting.” He cleared his throat. “So, I told Gio I was heading to Italy for the summer. He said the house in Rome is mine as long as I help Zeno out with some stuff at the Vatican while I’m there.”

“That’s good.” She cocked her head, her eyes still stuck on the video playing. “Can you skip ahead to the dagger fighting?”

“Yeah.” He found the section that was her favorite. “So, Tiny, when you said that we’d be looking for Sicilian coins, did you mean we’ll be going to Sicily?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, leaning closer to the screen. “We’re going to Naples. That’s where the gold is. Or where it was.”

“Of course it is.”

“Is Naples going to be a problem?”

“With you, Tenzin?” Ben leaned back and crossed his arms. “There’s really no way of knowing.”

Chapter One

BEN FELT HIS SHOULDERS RELAX as soon as he stepped into the terminal of Leonardo da Vinci International Airport. He walked quickly through the crowd, making his way past the slow-moving early-summer tourists. He’d skipped a checked suitcase—the notes and journal Giovanni had given him were wrapped in the bottom of his messenger bag—so if he timed things right…

He arrived at passport control just before an enormous tour group of Chinese visitors flooded the line. With a few quick stamps and another few rote questions, the girl checking his passport stamped it and waved him through.

“
Benvenuto a Roma, Signor Vecchio
.”

“Grazie. Ciao.”

With his name and near-impeccable accent, she probably figured Ben for an Italian despite his American passport.

It wouldn’t be far off.

Though his blood was an even mix between Puerto Rican and Lebanese, he could easily pass for an Italian, especially when he grew out his beard, which he’d done as soon as his semester had ended.

Slipping on his sunglasses, Ben grabbed a cab and relaxed into the backseat, letting out a long breath as the taxi wound its way through the traffic of midday Rome. The driver hummed along with the quick jazz on the radio but didn’t try to talk to him. Ben gave him an address near the Pantheon and leaned back to close his eyes.

Rome.

Ben smiled. It was good to be back.

Home had always been a fluid concept to Ben. It consisted far more of the people present than any particular location. Home was Giovanni and Beatrice. Caspar and Isadora. Dez and Matt. But home was also Angela, Giovanni’s longtime housekeeper in Rome. If there was any city that felt more like home than Los Angeles, it was probably Rome. Some of his happiest and most terrible memories were here.

He started awake from his snooze when the driver stopped in the tiny Piazza di Santa Chiara. Ben paid him and grabbed his bag, then waited for the driver to pull away before he made his way up the side street that led to the house.

After punching in the code for the giant wooden door that shielded the property from prying eyes, he pulled it open, wondering how Angela was coping with the gate when she ran errands. His uncle, being a five-hundred-year-old vampire, tended to forget about things like human frailties and arthritis.

“
Ciao,
Angela!” he called into the courtyard.

He heard a fluttering like bird wings before a tiny woman appeared from the kitchen on the ground floor.

“
Ciao, Nino!
” Angela covered his cheeks with her small, wrinkled hands and pulled him down for a kiss, chattering as he laughed.

Angela had to be in her late sixties, but she still had the bright eyes and impeccable style of a woman much younger. She’d run Giovanni’s house in Rome for most of her adult life with a healthy balance of efficiency, warmth, and Tuscan comfort food.

“You’ve gotten taller since Christmas,” she said.

“No. I promise I haven’t.” He’d filled out a bit in the shoulders, but he was done growing. Almost six feet would have to suffice.

“You’re too thin!” She pinched his arm. “Nino, what do they feed you in California? It’s not enough. Come.” She waved him into the kitchen. “I’m making meatballs for you and Fabi for dinner.”

He rubbed his eyes. Now that he was within the familiar walls of Residenza di Spada, he felt the delayed exhaustion hit. He’d bypassed the offer of Giovanni’s plane, choosing to use some of his frequent-flyer miles to upgrade to first class, but he hadn’t really slept for almost twenty-four hours.

“Angie, I think I might lie down for a little bit.”

“Not too long!” The housekeeper was accustomed to international guests. “Sleep for a little. I’ll wake you up for dinner. You need to get on Roman time.”

“Sì, zia.”

“Your room is made up. Fresh sheets on the bed and I washed the clothes you left here. Not many summer things, I don’t think.”

Because he usually avoided the furnace of Rome in the summer. He could already feel his shirt sticking to his back. “I’ll be fine. I’ll pick up some new things tomorrow.”

At least there was no lack of shopping in Rome. It was expensive, but Ben thought the quality was worth the extra cash, and he saved most of his formal shopping for Italian visits.

He walked upstairs and tucked Giovanni’s notes and the journal in the safe in the master suite, then made his way to the cool shadows of his room where he toppled face-first into bed.

 
❂

SHE was playing with the curls of his hair when he woke. Soft humming and the warm smell of citrus and bergamot she’d worn since she was a teenager. Ben rolled over and grabbed Fabia around the waist.

“Gotcha,” he said, his voice still rough with sleep.

Fabia laughed as she fell against his chest.

“Bad boy,” she said, brushing a kiss against his jaw. “The beard is so sexy. I love your hair longer. You should always wear it that way.”

Ben lay back, her familiar weight resting against his body. He took a deep breath and let his fingers trail over her smooth shoulders as Fabi laid her head on his chest and hugged him.

Women were just so… delicious.

Other than friendly kisses and a few teenage fumblings, he and Angie’s niece had never been more than friends, but the flirtation of more had always lain between them. Fabia was a beautiful girl. Smart and effortlessly sexy. She’d shorn her red-brown hair into a pixie cut when she entered her graduate program and moved to Rome. It suited her.

“I missed you,” she said.

“Why did you get a boyfriend then?” He smiled at her when she looked up. “I can’t kiss you—well, I can’t kiss you as much—if you have a boyfriend.”

“I don’t want a boyfriend who lives in California most of the year.” She pouted. “I am not made for a long-distance lover, Ben.”

“You could move to LA.”

“And you could move to Rome.”

They both grinned at the same time.

Ah well. Not meant to be, no matter how the chemistry taunted them.

He leaned down, gave her a quick kiss, then rolled her to the side while he went to use the attached bath.

“So how hot is it?” he asked through the door as he splashed water on his face and pulled off his sweat-stained shirt.

“Not too bad yet,” she said. “But July is just around the corner.”

He walked out and caught her admiring his bare chest with an arched eyebrow.

“I don’t have many clothes,” he said. “I’ll need to go shopping.”

“I can go with you tomorrow.” She sat up and went to the wardrobe, opening it and surveying the contents with a frown. “You’re right.” She threw a shirt at him and closed the doors. “Wear that for dinner. It’ll do. We’re meeting some friends tonight by the river.”

“Is the fair going on?”

“
Sul Lungotevere,
” she said. “Good restaurants this year.”

During the summer, the banks of the Tiber were taken over by restaurants and vendors who took advantage of the cool evenings to lure locals and tourists to the river. It was a combination of food, drink, and art that Fabi had told him about, but he’d never had a chance to visit.

“You can meet Elias.” Fabi fell back on the bed. “I
really
like him, Ben. He’s kind. Smart, but not full of himself—”

“Not like me then.” He grinned at her as he dressed.

“No, not like you.” She rolled her eyes. “He is handsome though. His mother is Ethiopian. He’s gorgeous. And so tall.”

“You trying to make me jealous?”

“Is it even possible?”

Maybe. He couldn’t decide yet. Fabi was an old friend, so it was nice to see her happy. That didn’t mean he’d give this guy a free pass because she thought he was handsome. Ben was protective of the women in his life, especially the human ones.

He buttoned up the shirt. “So dinner with Angie and drinks after?”

“Yes. I called Ronan and Gabi too. They’re going to meet us. Gabi will want to sleep with you now that you have a beard. Ronan might too. Just warning you.”

Ben laughed. “And yet, neither one is my type. It’ll be good to see ’em both.”

Ben and Fabi’s group of friends in Rome mostly consisted of other young people who had—like them—grown up under vampire aegis in some way. Ronan’s parents worked for Emil Conti, the immortal leader of Rome and most of Italy, while Gabi’s family was involved with the vampires at the Vatican. Gabi and Ronan didn’t offer information; Ben didn’t ask.

When you grew up with vampires, you learned to be careful which questions you asked.

But it was easy to be with a group of people who understood where you were coming from. Darkness didn’t hold the same allure when you grew up walking half your life in it. Their friends understood that.

“So why did you decide to come to Rome in June?” she asked as they walked toward the smell of meatballs. “Not that it’s not nice to see you, but—”

“I’m visiting friends.” He put his hand at the small of her back and ushered her into the courtyard where Angie was setting a small table for the three of them. “And I’m delivering some things for my uncle. And…” He sighed. “Still trying to figure out what I’m going to do, you know? Sometimes it’s easier to think when I’m not in LA.”

She touched his jaw in understanding. They’d spoken of post-university plans at Christmas.

“Any ideas yet?” Fabi asked.

“Maybe. Nothing definite. You?”

She shrugged. “I’m an attractive twenty-five-year-old Roman girl with degrees in archeology and art history. What do you think I’m going to do?”

“Tour guide?”

“Of course!” She smiled ruefully. “If I can build up a good private clientele, I can make a decent living. And I’ll set my own schedule. I like that.”