“Carwyn,” he heard Beatrice ask as he walked toward his locked cabinet, “why can you use the stereo and the remotes when Gio can’t?  You’ve got the same current under your skin, right?”

Giovanni’s eyes shot to his friend’s, who simply shrugged a little before he answered.

“Well,” he winked at Beatrice.  “Let’s just say I’m better grounded than Sparky over there.”

“Better groun—oh, elements!  Fire.  Earth.  Air.  Water.  Are you an earth vampire, or something?”

He nodded and stared at her in the flickering light from the hearth.  “Such a clever girl,” he murmured.  “I wonder what else we can figure out together, hmm?”  He glanced back to Giovanni, who only nodded silently at the back of the library.

“Beatrice,” the priest continued, “may I smell your hand, dear girl?  Just once more.  I promise not to get all fangy.”

Beatrice smiled and glanced over her shoulder at Giovanni.

“Sure.”  She held out her hand.  “But I’m pretty positive I didn’t meet a vampire today.  My day was completely boring.  The only exciting thing about it was a couple of new documents at work.  And that’s…”  She trailed off and Giovanni could see her make the connection.  “I mean…the documents—”

She broke off abruptly when she saw the gleam in Carwyn’s eyes.  He bent over her hand as if he was going to kiss it, but just like the night they met, he inhaled a deep, almost predatory, breath over her fingertips.

“Carwyn?” Giovanni asked with growing certainty.

“Parchment,” he muttered into her hand.  His blue eyes shot up.  “The new documents at the library—I need to know what they were.  Where were they from?  Were they bought?  Donated?  I need to know everything you can tell me about them.”

Giovanni felt electricity begin to charge the air as he moved closer to the couch, but the priest held up a hand as Beatrice’s eyes began to dart nervously around the room.  Caspar reached over and patted the girl’s arm.

“Everyone take a step back,” the butler said soothingly.  “I’m sure Beatrice is already an expert, gentlemen.  Let her speak.”

She glanced gratefully at him, and Caspar smiled in encouragement.

“It’s—it was donated anonymously.  It’s a letter.  There are two of them.  From the Italian Renaissance.  Two friends, a philosopher and a—a poet.  They were authenticated at the University of Ferrara.  Dated 1484.  From Florence.”

Giovanni was drawn to her voice, walking silently over to stand by the fire as she spoke.  Her eyes lifted and met his.

Carwyn’s eyes darted between him and the young woman.  “Who were the letters addressed to, B?”

“Giovanni…” she began, staring with her warm brown eyes.  “Count Giovanni Pico della Mirandola.  That’s who the letters were for.”

He looked away, hoping she had not seen the flicker of recognition at the old name.  He ignored the burning in his chest as he walked back to the library table and collected himself.  He glanced over to see Carwyn smiling at her.

“Anything else you can remember?  It really would be helpful.”

She shook her head.  “It sounded like they were mostly personal.  I only read the translation on one.  They were talking about a new servant, or squire, or—or something like that, and his education.  There was something about meeting Lorenzo de Medici.”  She blushed slightly and glanced back at him; his eyes were glued to her as she spoke.  “Something about a scandal.  I can’t—I can’t remember all of it.  I’m sorry.”

“Oh, I think you’ve remembered plenty,” Caspar broke in.  “I’m sure that’s what they needed to know.”

She looked for him in the back of the library.  “Did a vampire donate those letters, Gio?”

He still didn’t speak but nodded as he stared into the fire.

Carwyn finally answered her.  “I think that’s where you picked up the scent.  He must have handled them before they were donated.”

Giovanni was careful to keep strict control of his features as his mind flew in a thousand directions, finally settling onto one inescapable conclusion.

He had been deceived.

“Gio?”

He heard her voice and knew what she wanted to ask.

“Giovanni?” she almost whispered.

“Do not ask questions you know I will not answer, Beatrice,” he bit out.

“But—”

“It’s not—” he broke off for a moment, “not for you.”

She stood to face him.  Giovanni could see the angry confusion in her eyes, and he could not blame her.  She squared her shoulders and turned to Carwyn.

“I’m going home.  I guess I’ll see you at the library tomorrow.”

Caspar stood with her.  “I’ll see you out.”  The butler escorted the young woman out of the library, but not before she shot him a pointed glare.

Carwyn rushed over to Giovanni as soon as the two humans were out of the room and began speaking in rushed Latin.

“The letters—”

“‘They’ll be there soon, and there’s more where they came from,’” Giovanni muttered, quoting the mysterious e-mail from weeks before they had both been baffled by.  “‘You’re welcome.’”