A Hidden Fire
Page 22

“I’m not a scientist.  Though, I suppose it is a kind of science experiment,” he mused quietly.  “One I’ve been working on for many years.”
He shrugged as he settled into the corner next to her, and that familiar gesture did more than anything else to set her at ease.  Her logical brain told her he probably wouldn’t bother explaining any of this if he was planning to kill her and drink her blood.  Besides that, she couldn’t really imagine Dr. Giovanni Vecchio doing anything quite that rude.
The blue flame continued to swirl above them without any apparent effort on his part, though she knew from its inception he must be manipulating it.  It was the same way he had shorted out the elevator, killed her phone, and made the hair on her body stand at attention when he got too close.  He controlled this electric current, this…“amnis.”
“So you don’t think it’s magic?  It seems like magic.”  She cocked her head.  “And I always thought of vampires as magic.”  She suddenly sat up in excitement.  “Are there other creatures?  Werewolves?  Demons?  Fairies?”
He snorted at her and looked down his nose a little.  “Fairies?”
She was a little pissed off he seemed so dismissive.  “Hey, you’re the one with the glowing blue fire and suddenly pointy teeth, mister.  Don’t give me that look.  Doesn’t seem that far-fetched to me.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her.  “My teeth are stimulated by a certain set of physical triggers related to blood flow, Beatrice.  It’s perfectly natural.”
“Natural for you,” she muttered.
“Yes.  Besides,” he picked up her phone where it had fallen on the floor of the elevator and tossed it to her.  She fumbled a little but picked it up.  “What do you think humanity would have called this two or three hundred years ago?  You don’t think they would have thought mobile phones were magic?  What about laser surgery?  Basic medicines?”  He shook his head and said something in Latin.
“How old are you?”
He cocked his head but remained silent.
“I’m sorry, is that a rude question?  My grandmother would probably say it was.”
His face softened into a smile.  “It’s not something we talk about.  We guard our origins carefully.”  He paused before he continued.  “I’m over five hundred years old.”
“Renaissance?  Wow…I was almost wondering if you were born during the late middle ages because of the Dante interest.”
He shifted and cleared his throat.  “No, Dante wasn’t fashionable in my day.  Too coarse.  Too medieval.  My father was all about the classics.”
“So why all the questions about my dad?  I gotta tell you, that was kinda…”
The smile dropped from her face.  She put her head between her knees as a thought nudged the back of her mind.
“Why were you asking about my father, Gio?” Beatrice asked quietly.
“What do you mean?”
She looked up at him, no longer afraid and wanting answers from the pale man whose face haunted her dreams.
Just like another face she’d tried so hard to forget.
“Why were you asking about my father?  Did you...know him?  Before he died?”  A sudden thought struck her.  “Do you know who killed him?  Was he killed by a—a vampire?”
He didn’t say anything, but continued to stare at her as her heart rate rose.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”  She gulped and tears came to her eyes.  “Did you...you didn’t…I mean—”
“I didn’t kill your father, Beatrice.  I wouldn’t do that.”
“Then why were you…”
As she trailed off, she closed her eyes and it was as if puzzle pieces began to fall in the darkness.  A quiet gasp left her throat.
Giovanni’s pale face in her dreams.
A familiar tingle along her spine. 
A throbbing began to take root at the base of her skull, but she pushed through it and a quiet and familiar voice whispered in her mind.
“Just forget, Mariposa.  I’m so sorry.  I love you.  I’m sorry...”
She swallowed the lump in her throat as the tears trailed down her cheeks.  “Oh…oh,” she whispered.  “My father’s like you, isn’t he?  My father’s a vampire.”
Giovanni remained still and silent as the rest of the puzzle took shape.
Her confusing dreams the summer she turned fifteen.  Followed by an inexplicable depression that seemed to drag her under despite the loving support of her grandparents.  Her withdrawal.  The strange and inexplicable moods.
She heard Giovanni murmur from across the compartment, “You are an extraordinarily perceptive girl, Beatrice De Novo.”
A memory from a night in her grandfather’s garage pushed its way to the front of her mind.
“Sometimes, I wish I could just forget him, Grandpa.”
Tears fell hot on her cheeks.  “Oh, he is…and he tried to make me forget him,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
She saw him lean forward, suddenly alert.  “What do you—”
“The summer I was fifteen, I saw my father.  He was sitting on a bench in a park across from the library where I had a summer job.  It was just a flash,” she whispered and snapped her fingers.  “Like that.  I thought I was going crazy.  He didn’t look how I remembered him.  He was too thin, and his face…that pale face, just like yours.”