A Hidden Fire Page 9

  “Go ahead,” he murmured as he watched her examine him.

  “You drink whiskey.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, do you eat? Do you need to?”

  “I have to drink blood to survive. Human is the most nutritionally satisfying and tastes the best, of course—”

  “Of course,” she interjected and he smirked.

  “But I can also survive on animal blood if I need to, and many immortals choose to do that. They just have to feed more often.”

  “How often?”

  “Drinking human blood? About once a week.”

  She perked up. “Oh, well that’s not so bad. Oh, unless—”

  “No, I don’t have to ‘drain’ a blood donor, Beatrice. I don’t have to kill to survive.”

  She paused, a small smile ghosting her lips. “Unlike us, who kill animals all the time.”

  He shrugged. “I wasn’t going to mention that if you weren’t.”

  She met his eyes, a tentative warmth creeping into her expression. “So, you don’t need to, but you do eat a little.”

  He leaned forward and took another sip of whiskey. “Our bodies are very…slow. Well, the processes are, anyway. My hair grows, just very slowly. My fingernails will as well. We digest normally, but again, very slowly. So I can eat and drink, but I don’t need to, though it becomes uncomfortable if I go too long without anything in my stomach.”

  “So the coffee thing?”

  He shrugged. “I really just like the way it smells. I think it tastes absolutely vile, though. I don’t know how you drink so much of it.”

  She grinned, finally looking relaxed as she sat in his chair. “I like it. You drink blood. That smells and tastes vile, if you ask me.”

  “Touché.”

  “Thank you.”

  She paused again before asking, “So, the wooden stake through the heart thing is apparently a myth, but you can be killed by fire. Anything else?”

  “Should I be concerned that one of your first questions is how to kill me?”

  Her jaw dropped. “What? No! I didn’t mean…I was just curious.”

  He snorted. “Well, you can remain so.”

  “What about the sun?” she asked. “Extra toasty?”

  “I’m not going to burst into flames, but I avoid tanning beds.”

  “Silver?”

  “Some of my favorite cufflinks.”

  “Garlic?”

  “Please,” he sneered. “I’m Italian.”

  She was wearing an almost adorable scowl as he ruined all of her movie stereotypes of his kind. He was usually bored by human reactions, but found himself enjoying hers. For his part, Giovanni hoped she would take the job as his research assistant. Besides the valuable connection she provided to her father, she was extremely bright, and he found it relaxing not to have to hide around her.

  He could also monitor any other vampire who became aware of her. Houston’s immortal population was small, and most tended to mind their own business—which was why he had chosen the humid city in the south of Texas—but if he had discovered her, her father’s sire could, as well.

  Beatrice was still sipping her drink and sneaking looks at him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

  “So, if I take this job, where would you want to work? At the university?”

  “No, here. I have top of the line equipment upstairs and extensive firewalls to keep my research private, along with numerous electronic editions of reference texts and a large library. I just can’t use any of the computers.”

  “That has got to be frustrating.”

  “Very. Because of my nature and affinity toward fire, I’m even less able to use modern technology than most vampires. It has become more and more complicated as the years go by.”

  “Good thing you have Caspar.”

  “Yes, it is. He’s very useful, despite the fact that he’s a horrible eavesdropper.”

  “I heard that!” Caspar called from the kitchen. Giovanni cocked his eyebrow at Beatrice, who stifled a laugh.

  “So, if I take this job—if I take it—what kind of hours are we talking about? And what do you actually do? Can I ask?”

  He nodded and took another sip of whiskey as Caspar came into the living room to refill Beatrice’s drink and set a small plate of cheese and olives on the coffee table.

  “Of course. I only work when I want to, so it would be part-time. Evenings, of course, but I’m flexible as to which ones. Fridays are not usually available. I don’t have to work, but immortality is dreadfully boring for the idle rich, so I try to keep myself occupied. I’m a hunter by nature, so I hunt rare documents and books for private clients, along with some antiquities. Collectibles, art, that sort of thing, though antiquities are not particularly interesting to me.”

  “So, do you work mostly for other—other vampires?”

  “Mostly yes, though not exclusively. I don’t advertise, and since clients find me through referral, I tend to take work from those who have worked with me in the past. Most of those people are immortal.”

  She sat quietly, staring into her drink before she spoke again. “Wow.”

  He frowned. “What? Why? Why ‘wow?’”

  “You’re like a—a book detective. That’s really cool.”

  He couldn’t suppress his smile. “I think so, yes.”

  “And you want to pay me to help you find books and antiques?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  She paused for a moment, biting her lip before she asked, “Will you help me find my father?”

  The blood began to rush in his veins and he smothered a low growl of satisfaction when he heard her. It was perfect. She wanted exactly the same thing he did, though probably for very different reasons.

  “Yes,” he said with a smile he hoped didn’t show his extended fangs. “I’ll find him.”

  Beatrice smiled. “Then I’ll take it, I don’t even care if you’re an asshole when you’re working. Besides, what you do is a book lover’s dream job.”

  He shrugged. “Well, if you’re going to be pursuing a career for eternity, it might as well be something you enjoy.”

  “I’ll say so.”

  He tried to suppress the smile that wanted to take over his face. “So you agree to work for me? I confess, I’ve never had an assistant other than Caspar. I might very well be an asshole when I’m working.”

  “You are!” Caspar shouted from the kitchen.

  Beatrice laughed outright when she heard him, and Giovanni couldn’t help but join her. His mind began to race with thoughts of finding his books, and he couldn’t deny that the girl’s amusing presence was an added bonus.

  He saw a grey streak dart down the stairs from the corner of his eye then Doyle was there, curling himself around Beatrice’s combat boots and looking longingly at Giovanni with copper colored eyes.

  “Oh, hi. Hi, Cat.” Beatrice seemed more than a bit taken aback by the large feline investigating her. Doyle sniffed her boots for a few moments before he jumped on the couch next to Giovanni.

  “You’re not getting any cheese from me, Doyle. I’m told it’s not good for you.”

  “That is a very large cat.”

  “He is.” Doyle chirped and shoved his head under Giovanni’s hand. Beatrice grinned at them both. “He’s very smart. But spoiled. That is Caspar’s doing, I’m afraid. He keeps trying to buy his love through extravagant meals.”

  “It’s going to work one of these days,” Caspar muttered as he came in to lift Doyle from Giovanni’s lap. “Come now, Doyle. I have some lovely tuna for you in the kitchen.”

  Caspar tucked the cat under his arm and walked back to the kitchen, winking at Beatrice as he left the room.

  “So when can I see your library?” She was practically bouncing in her seat.

  He smirked. “So forward, Beatrice. Just jump right in and ask to see a vampire’s library, why don’t you? Not even dinner first?”

  Her mouth dropped open and she flushed bright red.
“What? That’s not part of the job, is it?”

  He could stop the laughter that burst out. “No! I was teasing you. I don’t expect—no, definitely not. That’s not part of—no. No.”

  She curled her lip. “Well, now I’m almost offended. I can’t smell that bad.”

  His gaze suddenly focused on her neck and the slight flush that lingered there. He felt the raw hunger in his throat, and he knew he had waited too long. He needed to feed. And soon.

  “No,” he said hoarsely. The tender skin on her neck began to pulse slightly as her heart rate picked up. “You smell…”

  She must have felt the energy that suddenly charged the room, because she stiffened in her chair, staring at him. He heard her heart race, and the scent of adrenaline began to perfume the air.

  “Gio,” Caspar called as he walked briskly into the living room. “Do you and B need a refreshment on your drinks?” The older man came to stand between Giovanni and the girl, breaking his concentration and snapping him out of the sudden bloodlust that had taken him by surprise.

  “No.” Giovanni cleared his throat. “Beatrice was just leaving.” He stood and went to offer Beatrice a hand as she rose from her chair. She eyed him cautiously, glancing between him and Caspar as she stood.

  “I apologize. I do need to go out this evening. We’ll have to see the library another time,” he spoke quietly, hoping she couldn’t detect the fangs lengthening in his mouth as he approached.

  From the way she stared at his lips, he suspected they were not as hidden as he hoped.

  “Sure,” she said. “I need to get home, anyway. My grandmother is probably waiting up.”

  “Of course.”

  Caspar took Beatrice by the arm and walked her toward the kitchen door. She glanced over her shoulder, and Giovanni tried to temper his hungry stare as she walked away. From the sound of her heart, and the scent of her blood, he wasn’t very successful.

  Still, she did not look away.

  He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring at the deliciously rich scent of her blood slowly dissipated in the air around him. He walked over to the chair where she sat, bending down to run his face along the back much as the cat had scented her legs earlier.

  His eyes narrowed and his throat burned. He quickly walked upstairs to grab his coat before the hunger overtook him. Taking a deep breath as he stepped outside, feeling his skin burn as he wrestled down the instincts he had battled for five hundred years.

  “Why is she here?”

  “For you. My blood is gone from your system and you need sustenance.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “You will not drain her. That only exhibits a lack of control. Though you are young, you must never be without self-control, do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Now feed.”

  After he was sure his control was intact, he headed for the nightclubs which would already be packed on Friday night.

  Brushing against the bouncer at the door to one of his favorite clubs, he quickly found a table only occupied by a few college boys. He held out his hand to introduce himself and, with a quick use of amnis, convinced them he was an acquaintance they had invited out for the evening. As the night progressed, college girls passed by drawn to his looks, but put off by his manner when he brushed them aside. Finally, he spotted a pair of women who appeared to be in their late twenties eyeing him from across the club.

  He observed them for a few minutes, noting their provocative clothing and the body language indicating they were looking for sex. Abandoning his oblivious companions at the table, he approached the women, leaning down and trying to ignore the stale scent of fruit body wash and forget the smell of honeysuckle.

  “Hi, I’m John,” he said with a flat American accent, holding out his hand to shake first one, then the other’s hand. Their minds were weak and would be easy to manipulate. And though the prospect of sex with the two women surprisingly distasteful to him that evening, he sensed both of them were in good health and would not suffer any ill effects when he took their blood. He could easily manipulate them into thinking they’d had a very enjoyable time.

  The blonde batted her lashes. “You’re hot.”

  He smiled and held out a hand to her before he leaned over and let his lips feather across the neck of the slightly less crass brunette. He inhaled her scent, ignoring the smell of cheap alcohol that tainted her blood.

  He would drink deeply that night.

  Chapter Seven

  Houston, Texas

  November 2003

  “Oh, wow.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I tried to imagine, but—I mean…it’s so much more—”

  “Think it’s large enough to keep you satisfied for a while?”

  “It’s so much bigger than I expected.”

  He backed away, leaving Beatrice to gaze in wonder at the library that took up half of the second floor.

  “I think I’ll just leave you two alone for a bit,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Would you like a fire?”

  “Okay.” She wandered toward the map case, peering into it with awe.

  “How about something to drink? Should I have Caspar bring something up?”

  “Sure.”

  “Mind if I just take a quick sip from your carotid before I go?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine,” she murmured as she stared at a sixteenth century map of South America.

  “Right then,” he cleared his throat and ignored the low, hungry burn. “I’ll be back later. Enjoy.”

  “Okay. Gio?”

  “Hmm?”

  A small smile quirked her lips. “I heard the carotid thing. No.”

  He smirked. “No harm in asking.”

  “But yes to the fire. It’s cold in here.”

  He chuckled, walking over to the small fireplace with the grouping of chairs surrounding it. Leaning down, he turned on the gas valve and snapped his fingers, quickly tossing a blue flame toward the vents which filled the grate with a warm glow. He saw Beatrice watching him. He looked at her as he stood, and she grinned.

  “Still very cool, Batman.”

  He winked. “Well, I have a library to compete with now.”

  She sighed and looked at him sympathetically. “Cool flame tricks aside, there’s no competition.”

  He lifted his eyebrow. “Library wins?”

  “Every single time.”

  He chuckled and walked toward the doorway. “Feel free to wander around. There’s only one locked case, which is of no importance to your work. Everything else is made to be read. Familiarize yourself with the computers tonight. Caspar has created an account for you with your first name as the login identification and last name as the password. Keep it that way.”

  “You got it. Your computers, your rules.”

  He gave a curt nod. “I’ll be downstairs in my study making some phone calls.”

  She was already engrossed in a first edition Austen he had purchased in London in the late 1800s. He smiled and left her with his books.

  Giovanni walked downstairs, and asked Caspar to bring Beatrice a drink in the library. Since they were working from his home, he could start soon after he rose and had no need to wait for sunset to leave the house. He was surprised how much the idea of having a competent assistant invigorated him. He’d spent the previous fifteen years watching the slow transfer of information from paper to electronic medium with dread, knowing that eventually, much of the information vital to his work would be out of his grasp. Her agreement to work with him, knowing who and what he was, lifted an unanticipated weight off his shoulders.

  Beatrice had agreed to work from five-thirty to nine o’clock, Mondays and Thursdays, leaving Tuesday free for some activity she did with her grandmother, and Wednesday for her regular library hours.

  He was satisfied with the arrangement and found himself pleased with the prospect of seeing her three nights a we
ek. He knew he could hardly ask for more and was confident his research would go much faster than it had in the past.

  He picked up the phone and dialed Carwyn’s number.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” the priest said. “Why are you calling me again? You’re like a child waiting for Father Christmas. This girl can’t be that interesting.”

  Giovanni chuckled and ignored his friend’s question. “I thought you liked hearing my voice.”

  “And you said she was interesting, not irresistible.”

  “Stop making assumptions.”

  “Oh? So you’re not ‘interested’ in her that way?”

  He frowned, and his mind flashed to the image of Beatrice in his library, browsing the books with a small smile and laughing eyes. Then he remembered the feel of her soft body pressed against his as they jumped out of the broken elevator.

  “She’s a student, an assistant. A contact, in a manner of speaking.”

  “Because you always take this kind of interest in students and assistants and contacts,” his friend said sarcastically. “Just remember that I’m available for confession should the need arise.”

  “Amusing. I’ll keep that in mind,” he muttered, eager to change the subject. “I was calling to let you know we’re having an unexpected cold spell, so you might need a sweater.”

  “Your ‘cold spells’ are balmy spring weather compared to my mountains. I’m packing my loudest Hawaiian shirts.”

  He winced. “Please no.”

  “I just ordered a new one. Had it shipped to your place. Lots of pink flowers on it. Should clash nicely with my hair.”

  “Do you know what looks good with your demon hair? Ecclesiastical black.”

  “Boring. I’m only wearing the uniform now when I celebrate mass.”

  “Hmm, and how is your congregation?”

  Carwyn chuckled. “Small, but faithful as always.”

  He sipped his drink. “I’m glad you’re staying longer, Carwyn. Something’s going to happen. I don’t know what, but too many pieces are moving at once for this to be ignored. This girl. Her father. I’m not sure whether to smile or shore up my defenses.”

  The silence stretched over the line before the Welshman spoke again in his tripping accent, “Have you talked to Tenzin?”