They were turning onto her grandmother’s street, and she began to wonder how this strange, but illuminating, night would end.
“Gio?”
“Yes?” He pulled up in front of the house, and waited with the engine idling.
“We’re still kind of friends, right?”
She saw the corner of his mouth turn up in a smile. “I’d like to think so. I hope so.”
“You’re not going to break into my room and mess with my memories tonight, are you?”
He paused before answering softly, “No, Beatrice. I won’t do that.”
She hesitated. “Will you ever?”
He wore an unreadable expression when he answered.
“I don’t know.”
She felt a catch in her throat. “I don’t understand this, not really. Part of me is still wondering whether I’m going to wake up and realize it was all a weird nightmare.”
He frowned for a moment before leaning toward her, and she felt the strange buzz of energy again. He lifted a hand and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
“We’ll talk tomorrow night.”
Beatrice felt a sudden, overwhelming swell of panic, but she nodded before she slipped from the car. As she stood on the path, the dark night seemed to close around her and formerly familiar shadows grew ominous. She almost ran toward the front door, locking it behind her as she heard the Mustang pull away.
Chapter Six
Giovanni straightened when he heard the door to the kitchen open. He had stayed up to wait for Caspar’s return to the house after he delivered Beatrice to her first class of the morning.
He heard the older man moving through the house and lingering in the kitchen.
“Caspar!” he called from the shelter of the dim living room.
“Oh,” the older man called as he walked into the room. “I didn’t realize you would still be awake, I-”
“I’m exhausted. How was it?”
Caspar shrugged. “Fine, very little traffic this morning. We made it to the university with plenty of time before her first class. Parking on that campus is absolutely hideous first thing in the morning.”
“So?”
“She’s lovely, by the way. Surveillance photos never really do a woman justice. She has the most lovely skin, and that hair-”
“Caspar, you know what I’m asking, please don’t make me kill you.”
A frown settled onto Caspar’s face and he cleared his throat.
“She was a bit…discomfited. I suppose it’s understandable. She asked that I give you a message.”
Giovanni scowled. He’d thought she had taken the news better than most.
“What was the message?”
“‘Don’t call me, I’ll call you.’”
Giovanni looked down, his book suddenly forgotten. He closed it and set it carefully on the low coffee table before he stood.
“Thank you for driving her to campus. I’m retiring for the day.”
He was halfway up the stairs when he heard his friend mutter quietly, “Damn.”
He didn’t call her, but after two weeks and a curt phone call from Tenzin in China, Giovanni did go back to the reading room at the library to continue his transcription of the Tibetan book.
His eyes immediately sought her out when he entered the small, windowless room. She glanced up from the computer, paused, but then continued typing as he spread out his work materials at the table nearest her desk. He ignored her racing heart and neither one of them spoke. He saw her fill out the call slip herself and dart back to the stacks to grab the manuscript.
He jotted a quick note that he put on her desk before he sat down. He was careful not to examine her too closely when she returned, but smiled a little when he noticed she was wearing her combat boots with her slim black skirt.
“Thank you, Beatrice,” he murmured as she set down the grey box. She paused for a moment, as if she had something to say, but then he heard a small sigh.
“You’re welcome, Dr. Vecchio. Please let me know if there are any other library materials you need.”
He gritted his teeth when he heard her address him formally, but remained silent and began his careful work. He heard Beatrice sit down at her desk again and pick up the small note he had left near the keyboard. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and saw her fold the note and slip it in her bag. He hid a small smile and went back to writing.
For the next two weeks, they continued their near silent interaction, each week she brought him the document he requested, paused as if she wanted to tell him something, and then returned to her desk without speaking. Each week he worked on transcribing the ancient characters, took careful stock of her appearance and left afterward with scarcely a word exchanged with the stubborn girl.
He was trying to be patient, but he’d heard nothing about Stephen De Novo from Livia’s people in Rome and was beginning to feel as if the first lead he’d had in five years was dangling just out of his grasp.
It was a Friday night, and Giovanni was preparing to go out for the evening when he heard the buzz from the phone in the kitchen, signaling a car was at the gate. He frowned and walked quickly down the stairs just in time to hear Caspar hit the intercom.
“Yes?”
“It’s Beatrice De Novo.”
Caspar immediately buzzed her in before turning to look at Giovanni.
“It’s Friday. Will you be all right?”
Giovanni shrugged and walked upstairs to hang up his jacket. He paused to check his appearance in the mirror, wishing he wasn’t wearing black as it accentuated his pale skin, but also feeling a perverse pleasure that he had no need to hide his true nature any longer.
He’d never doubted she was trustworthy. Maybe it was her careful handling of the rare texts that contained so much elusive knowledge, or maybe it was the guarded expression in the girl’s dark eyes, but he knew Beatrice was someone who could keep secrets, including her own.
He walked downstairs to hear Caspar opening the door for her.
“Miss De Novo, what a pleasure to see you again.”
“Thanks, Caspar. How’ve you been?”
“Very well, thank you. I was able to catch that showing of
“Cool! Glad you saw it. I never got out to the theater. No one does zombies like Romero.”
Giovanni turned the corner and paused in the doorway of the kitchen.
She was wearing black, of course, but nothing about it made her seem inhuman. Her smooth skin practically pulsed with life, and his eyes were drawn to the graceful column of her neck. Her long hair was pulled back, and his fingers itched to release it from the band at the nape of her neck.
She saw him, and for the first time since the night in the elevator, she called him by his name.
“Hi, Gio.”
“Hello.”
Caspar interjected, “Beatrice, can I get you something to drink?”
She turned to the older man. “A Coke? Do you have…Coke?”
