Authors: Elizabeth Hunter
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you are beautiful, and I like to look at you.”
She grinned and turned to face him. “Then I guess I can stare at you, too.”
Giovanni smiled. “You are allowed.”
“Bet your ass, I am.”
They laughed quietly, enjoying the peace of the house. Giovanni’s home in Florence reminded her of his home in Cochamó with a few major exceptions. One, it was huge. An estate more than a home. It was in the country and one wing of the house had no electricity, which made it easier for Beatrice to rest. She had even been sleeping a little more, which was nice.
It was surrounded by an olive grove, so it was private; she could see them spending many, many months there in the years ahead, enjoying the isolation and the quiet hills. She sighed in contentment, and Giovanni stroked her skin, tracing the small scars where he had marked her years before when she was still human. Her fangs dropped when she heard his low growl, and her hunger began to rise again.
Just then, a sharp cry pierced the silence of the room.
“What did you do?”
There was a clatter in the living room below them.
“Nothing!”
“Well, you must have done something. She wasn’t crying before.”
“Tenzin, I was just sitting here, and the baby started crying. I didn’t do anything.”
“Well, I didn’t do anything, either. I was just looking at her. She’s not a drooler. That’s good.”
“Well, how do we get her to stop crying? It’s gonna wake Dez up.”
More footsteps came from below them. “Oh there, precious girl. Let me have you.” Carwyn’s deep voice rose as the baby’s cry grew desperate. “Why didn’t one of you try picking her up instead of squawking about whose fault it is?”
“I don’t know what to do with babies! I’d probably break her.”
Tenzin’s voice replied, “That is not my child.”
“Shhh.” The vampire soothed the baby, whose cries began to die off. “There you are, Carina. No more crying, love. Uncle Carwyn is here, and he isn’t a bleeding idiot.”
“Hey!”
Matt’s voice came from a distance, whispering down the hall. “Hey, Carwyn, is the baby hungry?”
“I don’t think so. Let Dez sleep. I think she just woke up and realized she wasn’t by her
mam
.”
Matt’s voice drew nearer. “I appreciate you guys helping out, but should I—”
“No, no.” Carwyn interrupted. “She’s
fine
. See? She’s falling right back to sleep. Let Dez rest a bit. I’ll call you if she starts to fuss again.”
The baby’s cries had turned into pleasant gurgles, and Beatrice smiled when she heard the low hum of activity level out. Carwyn sang a lullaby to the baby. Matt returned to sleep. Tenzin and Ben wandered off to a different part of the house, probably to start another fight. She turned when she heard Giovanni’s low laugh.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Our friend is singing a drinking song to that child.”
Beatrice couldn’t contain her smile. “Well, it’s a very
soothing
drinking song. Besides, probably better that she gets used to him now.”
He only closed his eyes as his shoulders shook with silent laughter.
“I mean,” Beatrice continued, “that baby’s going to have the most messed up sleep schedule in history with all these vampires doting on her.”
“Carwyn does indulge the child.”
“You’re just as bad! I saw you reading her a book at two in the morning the other night. Isn’t she supposed to be sleeping at that hour?”
“
The Runaway Bunny
is a classic of children’s literature, and an allegory of unexpected depth.”
“Sucker.”
He couldn’t hide the smile. “It’s not a... conventional family.”
“But it
is
ours.” She grinned and tucked her head under his chin as he wrapped his arms around her. “And conventional is boring.”
“It is. Though… perhaps we could use some boring.”
“Maybe just a little.”
By the time they’d returned from Crotone, Saba had disappeared, taking Lucien with her. If anyone could cure the vampire, it would be Saba. Giovanni appeared to hold no lingering effects from the strange coma that had held him for weeks, except a deeper sense of peace and contentment than Beatrice had ever seen from him. He no longer struggled to control the fire within him. It was always there, bubbling under the surface, but the tension, the ever-present stress of it no longer seemed to affect him.
He was finally at peace.
As was Beatrice… as much as she could be. The wound from the loss of her father, from the loss of their friends and allies could only heal in time. But they had time. And though the cost of the battle had taken its toll on all of them, when Matt and Dez brought home their tiny daughter, the whole household seemed to heave a collective sigh as they looked to the future instead of dwelling in the past.
Only one mystery remained.
Beatrice lifted a hand to stroke along Giovanni’s cheek. “We should get ready.”
“What time is our appointment?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“Yes, we should leave soon. It’s a bit of a drive.”
Citta di Castello
Perugia, Italy
When they pulled through the gates of the isolated country house, Beatrice noticed the glowing lights that welcomed them. It was a large home, and when she had called the number listed, the curator did not seem surprised by her request for evening hours. The polite woman had simply asked for their names, put her on hold for a moment, then asked when they would like to make their appointment. She would be at their disposal.
The front door opened, and an attractive woman wearing long slacks and a blouse waited for them to exit the car. She had curling brown hair and a friendly expression. Her name, records indicated, was Serafina Rossi. She was thirty-six, and a graduate of the University of Ferrara. She had worked for Lorenzo for ten years.
“How long had he owned this?” Giovanni asked quietly.
“The house was built about two hundred years ago, but the renovations were done just before he hired the curator. So about ten years or so.”
“A few hours from one of my own homes,” he mused before he stepped out of the car. “A few hours…”
The curator stepped forward and greeted them in Italian. “Dottore Vecchio, Signora De Novo, it is a pleasure to meet you both. I am Signorina Fina Rossi, welcome to the collection.”
“Thank you so much for meeting with us,” Beatrice answered. “I know it’s late.”
“Oh,” she waved a hand. “We are accustomed to unusual hours here.”
“Signore Bianchi would visit frequently?” Giovanni asked.
“Not frequently. He often traveled out of the country.” She smiled. “Occasionally. But I always enjoyed his visits.”
“I see.”
“Signore Bianchi gave me your name, Dottore.” Her eyes flickered. “He said that if anything were to ever happen to him, that I should contact you. Were you a relative of some kind? Has something happened?”
Beatrice looked into the woman’s eyes. She didn’t appear to be under the influence of any kind of amnis, but at the same time, her cautious expression told Beatrice she knew her employer was something other than what he seemed. Nevertheless, she appeared honest and forthright as she spoke with Giovanni about the collection. Her husband broke the news to Signorina Rossi that her employer was no longer living.
The single home belonging to Paulo Bianchi had been buried in Lorenzo’s files. It wasn’t particularly noteworthy. A large country home in the province of Perugia. A weekly caretaker and a single employee who lived in the cottage on the grounds and received a generous, but not extraordinary, salary. In their search for Lorenzo’s more illicit investments, the mundane had simply escaped their notice.
A shout drew their attention to the small cottage at the side of the house.
“
Mama
?” A small boy of nine or ten appeared in pajamas. A cloud of light brown curls covered his head and he blinked as he looked up at them from the open doorway. “
Chi e qui?
Has Signore Paulo come to visit?”
Signorina Rossi gave him a sad smile. “No, Enzo, we have other visitors. Go back to sleep; I’ll be with the books if you need me.”
The boy waved once more, then turned and went back in the house, closing the door behind him. Signorina Rossi gave them a sad shrug. “I will have to tell him tomorrow. Signore Paulo was a favorite of his. He would usually visit with Enzo when he came to see the books.”
Beatrice frowned, curious if there were more humans on the property. “His father?”
The woman gaped. “Oh! No, no. Paulo was just a friend. Enzo’s father… well, when Signore Bianchi gave me this position after university, it was very unexpected. A godsend, really. Not many employers would be so understanding about a single mother bringing a baby to work.”
Beatrice glanced over at Giovanni, whose face was carefully covered by a polite mask. “Signorina Rossi, we don’t want to keep you any later than necessary. If you would only show us—”
“Of course. I’m sure your time is limited. Though you may stay in the collection as long as you like, of course. I’ll show you how to lock up. If Signore Bianchi trusted you, you are most welcome.”
She ushered them in the door and Beatrice breathed in the cool, dry air that was so familiar and welcome. The smell of old paper and ink assaulted her. Vellum and the faint must it always held. The curious vanilla smell of old books and dusty covers. She looked around in awe.
Though there was an entryway of sorts, and she could see a small office to one side, the house had been renovated into a vast library. The vaulted ceilings sheltered row after row of dark, wooden bookcases and the arched windows were covered in smoked glass to protect the room from the harsh light that would shine through during the day. Signorina Rossi guided them through the room.
“In my ten years, I’ve had the privilege of curating the collection here. We rarely have visitors, though I do coordinate the loan of some materials to private institutions and universities. Most of the collection is private. I will confess, I almost feel guilty that many of these items are not in a museum, but that is not my decision, of course.”
She guided them among glass cases, which displayed pieces of the collection. Beatrice grabbed Giovanni’s hand and felt him clutch her fingers tightly as they walked among the treasures.
A finely preserved Asian scroll with red lacquer finish. Papyrus leaves pressed between clear protective sheets. A vividly decorated manuscript of intricate Arabic script that glowed with gold-flecked illuminations. A collection of small clay tablets marked by tiny cuneiform writing.
“Most of my time is spent organizing the collection. It was not in any order when I was first hired, and I am still organizing parts of it. It keeps me very busy!” Dottore Rossi laughed before she turned. As if she could sense the waves of emotion around her, the librarian halted and fell silent. Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath. “I’m sure you would prefer to examine it at your leisure. I’ll leave you here. If you have any questions, please feel free to knock on my office door, but I will allow you your privacy.”
Giovanni was silent, but Beatrice stepped forward and took the woman’s hand, shaking it and sending a subtle message for the woman to go to her home and leave the key on the desk near the door. The friendly curator smiled and nodded before she left, and Beatrice waited until the door swung shut to turn to her husband.
He was overcome, and Beatrice was rocked by conflicting emotions when he pulled her into his chest. Sorrow. Joy. Relief. Anguish. Even pride. Giovanni looked around at the books that had caused so many trials and so much pain. A mystery that had brought them both the greatest joy and the deepest suffering.
“Beatrice…” He could not seem to form the words, so he held her hand and wandered among the rows of bookcases, stopping occasionally to open a manuscript box or scan the stacks.
Beatrice said, “This collection… Gio, it’s priceless.”
“She’s right,” he mused. “Most of this needs to be put into larger libraries or museums.”
“But not all at once.”
“No, not all at once.”
He looked around at the collected treasures of his sire. Of his grand-sire. Centuries of wisdom hidden away from sight. They strolled among the lost books, and she could see him breathing in their scents. They would donate the most valuable pieces so the world could share them. Slowly, over many years, Andros’ collection would belong to the world again. They had time.
Just then, a familiar volume caught her eye. Sitting unobtrusively on a shelf across the room, it was tucked among the others, but the scent of her father’s blood marked the worn leather cover. She dropped Giovanni’s hand and walked toward it. Then she reached over, picked up Geber’s manuscript, and clutched it to her chest. Giovanni approached her from behind and placed his arms around her waist as the tears fell.
“Do you want to destroy it, Tesoro?”
She shook her head and patted her eyes with the handkerchief he held out for her. “It’s just a book, Gio. It’s just a book. It’s not a secret anymore. It can’t hurt us.”
He reached around and plucked the small book from her hands, placing it on the table before he turned her and enfolded her in an embrace.
“That one goes home with us.”
“Yeah,” she sighed and buried her face in his neck. ”Good idea.”
After a few minutes, they parted to continue exploring. The library was arranged around a central reading area containing sturdy wooden tables and chairs, which was lined with glass display cases. Leading away from the reading tables, there was a long corridor down the center of the room, and two rows of bookcases lined either side. Small benches were placed at intervals, but the corridor was cloaked in darkness.
Beatrice looked for a light switch and spotted one on the far wall. She flicked it on with a pencil that lay on one of the library tables, and her eyes darted toward the single glowing light that lit the back wall.
“What is it?” she asked, blinking into the brilliant glow.