He chuckled and walked toward the doorway. “Feel free to wander around. There’s only one locked case, which is of no importance to your work. Everything else is made to be read. Familiarize yourself with the computers tonight. Caspar has created an account for you with your first name as the login identification and last name as the password. Keep it that way.”
“You got it. Your computers, your rules.”
He gave a curt nod. “I’ll be downstairs in my study making some phone calls.”
She was already engrossed in a first edition Austen he had purchased in London in the late 1800s. He smiled and left her with his books.
Giovanni walked downstairs, and asked Caspar to bring Beatrice a drink in the library. Since they were working from his home, he could start soon after he rose and had no need to wait for sunset to leave the house. He was surprised how much the idea of having a competent assistant invigorated him. He’d spent the previous fifteen years watching the slow transfer of information from paper to electronic medium with dread, knowing that eventually, much of the information vital to his work would be out of his grasp. Her agreement to work with him, knowing who and what he was, lifted an unanticipated weight off his shoulders.
Beatrice had agreed to work from five-thirty to nine o’clock, Mondays and Thursdays, leaving Tuesday free for some activity she did with her grandmother, and Wednesday for her regular library hours.
He was satisfied with the arrangement and found himself pleased with the prospect of seeing her three nights a week. He knew he could hardly ask for more and was confident his research would go much faster than it had in the past.
He picked up the phone and dialed Carwyn’s number.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” the priest said. “Why are you calling me again? You’re like a child waiting for Father Christmas. This girl can’t be that interesting.”
Giovanni chuckled and ignored his friend’s question. “I thought you liked hearing my voice.”
“And you said she was interesting, not irresistible.”
“Stop making assumptions.”
“Oh? So you’re not ‘interested’ in her that way?”
He frowned, and his mind flashed to the image of Beatrice in his library, browsing the books with a small smile and laughing eyes. Then he remembered the feel of her soft body pressed against his as they jumped out of the broken elevator.
“She’s a student, an assistant. A contact, in a manner of speaking.”
“Because you always take this kind of interest in students and assistants and contacts,” his friend said sarcastically. “Just remember that I’m available for confession should the need arise.”
“Amusing. I’ll keep that in mind,” he muttered, eager to change the subject. “I was calling to let you know we’re having an unexpected cold spell, so you might need a sweater.”
“Your ‘cold spells’ are balmy spring weather compared to my mountains. I’m packing my loudest Hawaiian shirts.”
He winced. “Please no.”
“I just ordered a new one. Had it shipped to your place. Lots of pink flowers on it. Should clash nicely with my hair.”
“Do you know what looks good with your demon hair? Ecclesiastical black.”
“Boring. I’m only wearing the uniform now when I celebrate mass.”
“Hmm, and how is your congregation?”
Carwyn chuckled. “Small, but faithful as always.”
He sipped his drink. “I’m glad you’re staying longer, Carwyn. Something’s going to happen. I don’t know what, but too many pieces are moving at once for this to be ignored. This girl. Her father. I’m not sure whether to smile or shore up my defenses.”
The silence stretched over the line before the Welshman spoke again in his tripping accent, “Have you talked to Tenzin?”
He shook his head though there was no one to see. “Caspar talked to Nima…well, e-mailed her anyway. Apparently they’re both being silent lately.”
“She usually only does that when she’s meditating.”
“Yes, I know.”
The silence stretched again. “Well, if there’s something to know-”
“She’ll send word.”
“Yes.”
Both were silent on the line again as they gathered their thoughts.
“I’m glad I’m coming, too, if for no other reason than to eat Caspar’s food. He’s a much better cook than Sister Maggie.”
“Be careful how loud you say that, Father. Gruel for a month if she hears you.”
Carwyn chuckled. “She’s happy to get rid of me for a while. She’s going to visit her sister’s family in Kerry while I’m gone.”
“We’re looking forward to seeing you. Doyle especially.”
“And on that note, I’m hanging up. Don’t call me again unless there’s an emergency. I’ll be there in two weeks, for heaven’s sake. Oh, have you ordered the match already?”
“Of course. It’s on the night after you get here.”
“Excellent. Goodbye.”
“I’ll see you next week.”
Giovanni hung up the phone and picked up the printouts Caspar had made of his e-mails from the previous day. Looking through them, he noticed they were still being put off by Livia’s people in Rome, and his client for the Lincoln documents was making a fuss again. He was bored by the whole matter and wondered whether he should just return the rude human’s retainer and move on to something more interesting.
Then again, he realized, the case might be a good one to give to Beatrice. It was sure to keep her busy. The client was human, so the consequences of missing something or failing to find the requested document were negligible. Yes, he thought, it might be a good first project for the persistent Miss De Novo.
He almost overlooked the last email in the stack. It was short, cryptic, and had clearly come from an immortal, as it was sent to the e-mail address he gave only to vampire clients. The message was brief, and the sender used an obviously false address.
They’ll be there soon, and there’s more where they came from.
You’re welcome.
L
He looked at the date and time the e-mail was received and stared at the final initial. Giovanni opened the locked drawer on the top right-hand side of his desk and slid the paper inside. Then he leaned back, sipped his whiskey, and let his thoughts wander to the past.
“It’s there somewhere.”
“I’ve looked, Gio. It’s not.”
“Yes, Beatrice, it is. The client has been waiting for this document for months now. It is your job to find it. We know it was sold at auction in 1993. We know it’s in a private collection somewhere on the Eastern seaboard,” he lectured her as he pored over one of his journals he had taken from his locked cabinet. “Put the pieces together. There are only so many auction houses that deal with that kind of document on the East coast, and most of them keep old catalogues online now.”
“From ten years ago?”
He shrugged as he sat at the dark oak table in the middle of the room. “Well, that’s what I hired you for. I tracked it to the auction. The rest is the easy part. Look at the list I gave you.”
He had put her on the trail of the boring Lincoln document earlier that night while he looked over some of his past clients, trying to ascertain who, exactly, the mysterious ‘L’ might be who had sent the cryptic e-mail. He wasn’t wasting energy on speculating what he or she might have sent, as there was wasn’t enough information yet. Whoever it was, he was certain it was related to Stephen De Novo and his lost books.
“This is going to take forever.”
“Forever is a very relative term when you’re talking to me. It’s going to take more time than you’ve spent on previous projects your insipid professors at the university have assigned you. Not forever.”
“Old man,” she muttered under her breath.
“Warned you, B,” Caspar called from the doorway.