“Yes, Father.”

He shook his head.

“I…it could have been as simple as your father asking the wrong question to the wrong person, Beatrice.  If Lorenzo considered him a threat, your father had no chance.  It’s more curious why he turned him, to be honest.  For that, I think he must have had some use, though I don’t know what it might be.  Otherwise, he would have just killed him.”

He saw a tear shining in her eye, but she brushed it away.

“It probably would have been better if he had, right?  If Lorenzo had just killed him?”

“Don’t say that,” he murmured with a frown.  “I’m not going to say that your father has had an easy start, but if this current problem can be solved, he can go on to live a wonderful, long life.”

“If we can even find him.”

He took a breath and put on a smile.  “I’ll find him.  I’m waiting to hear from someone very knowledgeable right now.  Someone in Rome.”

“Would your friend Tenzin know anything about him?

“Tenzin?” he chuckled.  “Why would Tenzin know?  She lives in the middle of the Himalayas most of the time.”

Beatrice blushed a little.  “I don’t know.  You and Carwyn always talk about her like she’s some all-knowing seer or something.”

“And you thought—”

“I just thought she might have seen my dad.”  She looked embarrassed, so Giovanni was quick to reassure her.

“We do talk about Tenzin like that.  She says she only sees people or vampires in our circle of friends.  People she knows.”

“But Carwyn said she’d probably had a dream or two about me?”

Damn sentimental Welshman.  He paused, unsure of what to say and strangely uncomfortable with Beatrice’s uncanny memory.  “It’s…possible, I suppose.”

Her eyes darted around the room.  “Oh, Carwyn was probably just teasing me.  She’s Chinese?”

“Who?  Tenzin?”

“Yes.”

“Tenzin is…old.”

“What, so she’s from way back when in China, huh?”

“Not exactly,” he frowned.  He wasn’t sure where exactly Tenzin was from on today’s maps.  He wasn’t sure his ancient friend knew herself.

Beatrice waved a hand in front of her face.  “You know what, forget it.  It’s her story, right?  I mean, I doubt I’ll ever meet her, but if I do, it’s her story to tell.  I got it.”

He smiled.  “If you do ever meet Tenzin, that’s the most important thing to remember.  She’s very, very old.”

“Older than you?  Than Carwyn?”  She frowned.

Giovanni smiled.  “Carwyn and I are children compared to Tenzin.”

Beatrice paused, speechless as she stared at him, open mouthed.  “How old do you have to be to make a thousand year old vampire look young?”

“Very old, Beatrice.  Tenzin doesn’t operate very comfortably in the modern world.  That’s part of the reason she’s in Tibet.”

“Wow.”

“‘Wow’ is usually a good word to describe her, yes.”

“I can’t even imagine having that kind of life.”

He shrugged.  “It’s not something you can imagine.  When you are immortal, you see your life in years instead of days, and centuries instead of years.”

She looked at him, searching his face for something he couldn’t comprehend.

“Are you happy?  Being a vampire?”

He blinked.  “Am I happy?”  He tried to remember if anyone had ever asked him that before.

She nodded.

Giovanni’s mind raced as he thought of the challenge of keeping a constant, iron control over his instincts.  He thought about how much he still missed the sun, and of all the human friends he had seen grow old and die over the years.

He also thought about the people he had met, and the places he had been.  He thought about rescuing Caspar.  And of an unmarked grave in the Tuscan countryside where his life would have ended had he never met his sire.  He watched the curious girl who sat next to him, sharing a piece of cake and a glass of champagne.  He nodded.

“Yes, I’m happy with my life.”

“And I’m glad I met you.”

They both smiled as they sipped the sweet wine.  He reached across and touched the edge of his glass to hers.

“Congratulations, Beatrice.  Happy graduation.”

When Giovanni went to the library the following Wednesday, he had a smile on his face.  It was Beatrice’s final week of work, so she would no longer be dividing her time between the university library and his own.

Caspar and Isadora were doing well, and had so far garnered no attention in the mountains.  And when he spoke to Caspar that evening, his butler had finally heard back from one of Livia’s people in Rome.

According to her secretary, Giovanni could expect a letter from Livia sometime in the next three months.  While it may have seemed slow for some, for the two thousand-year-old Roman noblewoman, three months was as good as overnight mail.

He was so cheerful, he almost skipped up to the fifth floor, only to halt in the stairwell as he caught the whisper of unfamiliar voices coming from above.  He didn’t sense any danger, but there were far more voices than normal.  He tensed until he heard Beatrice; she sounded worried, but not panicked in any way.