A Fall of Water
Page 9
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“Sure thing, B!”
“Goodnight.”
“‘Night! Night, Isadora!”
She glanced at her grandmother, who was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book. “Good night, Benjamin.”
Beatrice leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her grandmother’s delicate cheek. At age seventy-eight, Isadora Alvarez De Novo Davidson had lost none of the liveliness from her vivid green eyes; though her step was slower, her mind was not.
“And how is Dez?”
“Pregnant, but don’t tell anyone. It’s early.”
“Oh!” Isadora smiled. “How wonderful. And the Kirbys will be thrilled.”
“It’s really early, so Matt doesn’t even know. That’s why you can’t tell anyone.”
Isadora frowned. “How early? Matt doesn’t know?”
“Nope. I just told her tonight.” Beatrice munched on an almond from the bowl her grandmother had out. “She smelled different. I got all fang-y.”
Isadora was quiet for a minute. “You know, sometimes it’s easy to forget you are a vampire, and sometimes, it’s not.”
Beatrice grinned and let her fangs run down. Isadora slapped at her shoulder. “Stop it, Mariposa!”
She giggled and took two almonds, sticking them on her fangs and muttering around them. “Yep, thcary, thcary vampire here.”
They both broke into giggles, until Beatrice finally calmed down. “Where’s Caspar?”
“He drove Matt and Gio to the meeting at Ernesto’s.”
“Ah.”
“I’m going to go to sleep soon. I just thought I’d stay up to say hello. I missed you this afternoon.”
“I was in the library.”
“Looking at Geber’s journals?”
“Yup.” The journals, which her father had left in Tywyll’s care, were all written in the alchemist’s own strange code. In addition to learning Old Persian, Beatrice was also trying to decipher the peculiar phrases and code words the medieval scientist had used to disguise his research. If she could decode them, they might learn the identity of Geber’s original test subjects and be that much closer to solving the mystery of the elixir. Though they hadn’t heard a peep from Lorenzo, his presence lurked in her mind, teasing her that the book Stephen had taken was in his possession again.
“Mariposa?”
“Hmm?” She looked up at her grandmother.
“I said I’m going to bed now.”
“Oh.” She rose and kissed Isadora’s cheek. “Night, Grandma.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I’ll probably be in the library around ten or so.”
“Have a good night.”
Isadora shuffled through the door and down the hall toward the ground floor rooms that Giovanni had converted into a suite for Caspar and Isadora. She could hear Ben walking around upstairs and felt the quiet hum of the electrical currents and waves of Wi-Fi that Matt had installed for Ben. The house may have been quiet, but it was never really still the way their house in Cochamó was, and Beatrice realized why Giovanni would get frustrated if he was surrounded by technology for too long. The modern world, to the senses of an immortal, was relentlessly noisy.
She was happily lost in a novel and curled up in the living room when the sound of the Mercedes broke through. She smiled at Caspar when he walked through the door. The clock on the wall pointed toward one and the old man bent down to kiss her cheek.
“Good night, my dear. I’ll see you in the morning. This old man is exhausted.”
“Night, Cas.”
“What time did she turn in?”
“A few hours ago.”
“I’ll be joining her. Have fun with him.”
“Oh?” She said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Caspar shrugged. “Don’t ask me. He’s being terribly silent tonight.”
“Huh, weird. He was fine earlier. Did everything go all right with Ernesto?”
“I believe so. He didn’t seem upset. Just... quiet.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning. Night.”
He gave her a small salute and walked down the hall just as Giovanni walked through the door. He wore a strange expression and sat beside her. She stared at him as he looked off into the distance. Finally, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick, cream envelope with a broken wax seal. The interior was filigreed in gold leaf, and she could see a swirl of calligraphy peeking out from the letter inside.
“Hi. What’s this? Caspar said you were doing the moody, silent thing. What’s up?”
Giovanni tossed the envelope on her lap and leaned back, throwing an arm around her on the couch.
“Beatrice, how do you feel about Rome in the springtime?”
Chapter Two
Crotone, Italy
1494
“Where am I?”
“Your new home.”
Jacopo looked around the room, blinking. It looked nothing like the warm chambers of his uncle’s villa in Ferrara or the bustling of Benevieni’s house in Florence. The dim room where he woke was dark and damp. Though there were clean rushes that littered the floor, the chill of the air seemed to seep in through his bare feet and the smell of the ocean was everywhere. He sat on the edge of a small bed that smelled of sweet straw and herbs.
“This is not my home.”
Signore Andros only smiled at him indulgently. The strange man had always bothered Jacopo, though never the same way as the teasing courtiers of Florence or Rome. He had learned at a young age to escape their stealthy hands and avoid their attention, but from the beginning, Niccolo Andros had seemed to be a different sort. Jacopo had never understood his uncle’s fascination with the Greek, despite his wealth, knowledge, and connections.
“Goodnight.”
“‘Night! Night, Isadora!”
She glanced at her grandmother, who was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book. “Good night, Benjamin.”
Beatrice leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her grandmother’s delicate cheek. At age seventy-eight, Isadora Alvarez De Novo Davidson had lost none of the liveliness from her vivid green eyes; though her step was slower, her mind was not.
“And how is Dez?”
“Pregnant, but don’t tell anyone. It’s early.”
“Oh!” Isadora smiled. “How wonderful. And the Kirbys will be thrilled.”
“It’s really early, so Matt doesn’t even know. That’s why you can’t tell anyone.”
Isadora frowned. “How early? Matt doesn’t know?”
“Nope. I just told her tonight.” Beatrice munched on an almond from the bowl her grandmother had out. “She smelled different. I got all fang-y.”
Isadora was quiet for a minute. “You know, sometimes it’s easy to forget you are a vampire, and sometimes, it’s not.”
Beatrice grinned and let her fangs run down. Isadora slapped at her shoulder. “Stop it, Mariposa!”
She giggled and took two almonds, sticking them on her fangs and muttering around them. “Yep, thcary, thcary vampire here.”
They both broke into giggles, until Beatrice finally calmed down. “Where’s Caspar?”
“He drove Matt and Gio to the meeting at Ernesto’s.”
“Ah.”
“I’m going to go to sleep soon. I just thought I’d stay up to say hello. I missed you this afternoon.”
“I was in the library.”
“Looking at Geber’s journals?”
“Yup.” The journals, which her father had left in Tywyll’s care, were all written in the alchemist’s own strange code. In addition to learning Old Persian, Beatrice was also trying to decipher the peculiar phrases and code words the medieval scientist had used to disguise his research. If she could decode them, they might learn the identity of Geber’s original test subjects and be that much closer to solving the mystery of the elixir. Though they hadn’t heard a peep from Lorenzo, his presence lurked in her mind, teasing her that the book Stephen had taken was in his possession again.
“Mariposa?”
“Hmm?” She looked up at her grandmother.
“I said I’m going to bed now.”
“Oh.” She rose and kissed Isadora’s cheek. “Night, Grandma.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I’ll probably be in the library around ten or so.”
“Have a good night.”
Isadora shuffled through the door and down the hall toward the ground floor rooms that Giovanni had converted into a suite for Caspar and Isadora. She could hear Ben walking around upstairs and felt the quiet hum of the electrical currents and waves of Wi-Fi that Matt had installed for Ben. The house may have been quiet, but it was never really still the way their house in Cochamó was, and Beatrice realized why Giovanni would get frustrated if he was surrounded by technology for too long. The modern world, to the senses of an immortal, was relentlessly noisy.
She was happily lost in a novel and curled up in the living room when the sound of the Mercedes broke through. She smiled at Caspar when he walked through the door. The clock on the wall pointed toward one and the old man bent down to kiss her cheek.
“Good night, my dear. I’ll see you in the morning. This old man is exhausted.”
“Night, Cas.”
“What time did she turn in?”
“A few hours ago.”
“I’ll be joining her. Have fun with him.”
“Oh?” She said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Caspar shrugged. “Don’t ask me. He’s being terribly silent tonight.”
“Huh, weird. He was fine earlier. Did everything go all right with Ernesto?”
“I believe so. He didn’t seem upset. Just... quiet.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning. Night.”
He gave her a small salute and walked down the hall just as Giovanni walked through the door. He wore a strange expression and sat beside her. She stared at him as he looked off into the distance. Finally, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick, cream envelope with a broken wax seal. The interior was filigreed in gold leaf, and she could see a swirl of calligraphy peeking out from the letter inside.
“Hi. What’s this? Caspar said you were doing the moody, silent thing. What’s up?”
Giovanni tossed the envelope on her lap and leaned back, throwing an arm around her on the couch.
“Beatrice, how do you feel about Rome in the springtime?”
Chapter Two
Crotone, Italy
1494
“Where am I?”
“Your new home.”
Jacopo looked around the room, blinking. It looked nothing like the warm chambers of his uncle’s villa in Ferrara or the bustling of Benevieni’s house in Florence. The dim room where he woke was dark and damp. Though there were clean rushes that littered the floor, the chill of the air seemed to seep in through his bare feet and the smell of the ocean was everywhere. He sat on the edge of a small bed that smelled of sweet straw and herbs.
“This is not my home.”
Signore Andros only smiled at him indulgently. The strange man had always bothered Jacopo, though never the same way as the teasing courtiers of Florence or Rome. He had learned at a young age to escape their stealthy hands and avoid their attention, but from the beginning, Niccolo Andros had seemed to be a different sort. Jacopo had never understood his uncle’s fascination with the Greek, despite his wealth, knowledge, and connections.
