A Hidden Fire
Page 42

Every now and then, she had wondered why she had so easily accepted her strange new reality.  The more she thought about it, the more Beatrice decided that the idea of vampires just didn’t seem that far-fetched.
She could accept there were things in the world that science didn’t understand yet, and who was to say that some of those things didn’t have fangs and need to survive by drinking human blood?
As she sat at the reference desk, listening to philosophers quietly argue the meaning of this, or the implication of that, she thought about how much had changed since Giovanni had lived as a human.  If Dr. Giovanni Vecchio was, indeed, the Italian count the letters were addressed to, that meant that he was 540 years old, and even at age twenty-three had been considered one of the most progressive humanist philosophers of the Renaissance.
He hadn’t answered her questions, but it was too coincidental that the two mysterious letters had been donated by a vampire to the very library where Giovanni had chosen to do his research and she worked.  They had to be connected.
Not long after six o’clock, a small man with a shock of silver-grey hair walked through the double doors.
“Dr. Scalia?” she asked of the man, who did remind her of an owl with his large round glasses and tiny nose.
He smiled eagerly.  “Yes, yes!  And you are?”
“I’m Beatrice De Novo.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.  You have an appointment for the Pico letters, is that correct?”
“Yes, thank you.”
As she listened to another academic wax eloquent on the importance of the two Italian letters, Giovanni and Carwyn silently entered the reading room.  She quickly settled Dr. Scalia at the table with the Pico letters and walked over to the two vampires.
“Okay,” she whispered in her sternest librarian voice, “he’s a sweet, old man, and I don’t want you two to mess with his brain.  He’s a professor.  He needs it.”
Giovanni frowned.  “Really, Beatrice, how clumsy do you think we are?  He would never realize—”
“Don’t care.  It’s his brain.  Stay out and wait your turn.”
She saw Giovanni’s nostrils flair a little in annoyance, or maybe he had simply caught the scent of the old parchment at the other table.  Carwyn, she thought, looked like he might break into laughter at any minute and kept glancing between his friend and Beatrice.
“Fine.  If I could have the Tibetan manuscript then, Miss De Novo.”
She rolled her eyes at his tone, but turned and walked back to the stacks to get the manuscript for him as he chose a table near the small professor who was already busy taking notes.
By the time she got back, she noticed that Giovanni had assumed his usual position at the table, though he was watching Dr. Scalia with an almost predatory stare.  She set the book down in front of him and grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper from the stack he had sitting on the table.  With a quick scribble and a fold, she wrote a small note and propped it in front of the 500 year old vampire.
No biting.  No altering cerebral cortexes.  Have a nice day.
He couldn’t keep the smirk from sneaking across his face.  He looked up at her, winked, and bent his head to his notes.
Wearing her own smile, she walked back to the reference desk to find Carwyn had pulled a chair over and was reading the paperback she had started that morning.  As always, he was eye-catching in a loud Hawaiian shirt that clashed with his red hair and made his blue eyes seem to pop out.
He glanced up from the book.  “Do you—”
“Shhh!”  She glared and put her finger to her lips.
“Such a librarian.  You need wee glasses sitting on the tip of your nose when you do that,” he whispered loudly.  She heard Giovanni shift at his table and she looked over her shoulder to see him glaring at Carwyn.  Snickering, the mischievous vampire reached into her book bag and pulled out the notebook that she’d been using to take notes on the mysterious Pico and his letters.
She could see when Carwyn discovered the notes, but he didn’t look angry.  On the contrary, he looked inordinately pleased and immediately flipped to the back of the notebook and began to write.
You’re a curious thing, B.
Flipping the notebook to her, she read and took a moment to respond.
I’ve had some curious things happen to me this fall.  Also, I feel like we’re passing notes in study hall.
We are, he wrote back.  So, what do you want to know that Professor Chatty won’t tell you?
She couldn’t hold in the snort when she wrote, Everything.
Carwyn just smiled and took a few moments to write back.
I can’t tell you his story.  One, I don’t know all of it.  I don’t think anyone does.  Two, what I do know is not mine to tell.  But you’re welcome to ask me anything about my life that you’d like.
She cocked an eyebrow at him.  Anything?
Other than what color pants I’m wearing (red, by the way) I’m an open book.
She held back the giggle.  Always try to match your hair and your underwear.  It’s just a good rule of thumb.  How old are you?
He smiled and wrote back.  I’m around thirty-five…plus a thousand years.  Approximately.
Beatrice gaped for a moment, trying to reconcile a thousand years with the relatively young man before her.  She tried to imagine the things Carwyn must have seen and how much the world had changed since he was human.  She couldn’t begin to imagine.