Fina wondered how the three other people didn’t notice that vampires sat among them, chatting like common tourists. Their faces were fair, but the low tavern light hid Giovanni’s pallor. Zeno, she presumed, had been more olive-skinned in life, which was his advantage as an immortal. Their movements were just a bit too quick to her eyes. Their teeth gleamed, and their eyes were too keen.
But then, she had ignored the prickling feeling that Lorenzo had induced. Ignored her instincts because no common explanation could be had. Humans simply did not look beyond the obvious unless they were forced to.
“So, Giovanni, Beatrice,” Luisa asked, “what is it you are researching? The estate has many stories.”
“We’re curious about the founder,” Beatrice said. “Who was he?”
Luisa grinned. “And you pick the most scandalous story! In fact, we did not know for many years what the truth was. There were rumors, of course. Because when our ancestor arrived in the region, he had no tie to it. No family or friends. He appeared with a pretty young wife and chest full of gold.”
Zeno leaned an elbow on the table and sipped his wine. “Really? A chest full of gold?”
Luisa nodded. “That is the story. He bought the property and settled here. He’d brought some of his vines with him. Foreign vines, which was also scandalous to the locals, and he tended them himself. He had servants, but he worked with them. Not like a lord or a wealthy man at all. Rafael Szarka was a most unusual man for his time.”
Fina said, “Szarka is not an Italian name.”
“It’s not.” Luisa leaned forward, the delight evident on her face. “It is Hungarian. It was assumed by most of the town that he was ungherese, a Hungarian who had fled his homeland for some reason. But his wife, Antonia, was Italian. Though nobody knew from where.”
“They married,” Fina said. “They had a family.”
Luisa cocked her head. “Oh yes. They had three children. Fifteen grandchildren. And after that the family spread. But always some stayed with the estate, taking care of the vines. Making the wine.”
“It’s a lovely story,” Giovanni said. “But why did you call it a scandal?”
“Well, within the family there has always been some question of how Rafael ended up with that chest of gold. And where on earth he came from. Was he a noble bastard? A thief? Someone who had to flee in disgrace of a scandal? It has been the cause of many family stories, as you can imagine.”
Signor Rosati said, “My vote was always that he was a pirate.”
“And how would a pirate know how to make wine?” his wife asked with a laugh before she turned back to the table. “The mystery was solved only a few years ago. One of the old stone barns on the estate was falling down. It had been falling down for many years and only the children went to play on the rocks. But it was getting dangerous for the little ones. So some of my cousins and my husband went out and pulled it down. And when they were clearing away the rocks for a new wall, they found a chest of old papers and a few pieces of clothes. Very, very old.”
“A sea chest!” Signor Rosati said. “I was so hopeful. But sadly… not a pirate.”
“There was a journal though. In very good condition,” Luisa said. “I was amazed. I was more amazed that it was written in Spanish and not Hungarian!”
Beatrice was practically jumping over the table. “Where is the journal now? What did you do with it?”
“I could not read it at all. It was in Spanish. Old Spanish. I took it to a history professor in Naples, where I work. He was fascinated of course. He asked to photograph it for his records and said he would offer a translation if he could publish an article about the manuscript. I said yes of course. He begged me to let him put it in the university library, but…”
Signora Rosati smiled. “It is our family history. It didn’t seem right to give it away.”
“The professor told me how to store it. Keep it well preserved. I have it in my home library,” Luisa said.
Zeno asked, “And the translation?”
“The scandalous part. It turns out that Rafael Szarka was not a pirate but a priest. He’d run away from the church when he fell in love with Antonia. She was from a very prominent family but gave everything up to marry him.”
“All the girls in the family loved that part,” Signora Rosati said. “So romantic! He had traveled all the way from New Spain. From the missions in California. They came here under the name Szarka and stayed. In those days, of course, it would have been easy to change your name. They simply married and Antonia took his. There’s no mention of her family ever bothering them.”
Luisa said, “Much of the journal was about his life in California. Lots of technical information about wine cultivation.”
“Quite interesting,” Signor Rosati said. “We still use many of the pruning methods here in the vineyard that he did two hundred years ago. There are maps and diagrams of which vines grow best in different kinds of soil. Many things about grape cultivation that would have been very advanced for his time. It almost reads like a textbook.”
“But with quite explicit notes in the margins,” Luisa said with a grin. “There are other drawings other than vine diagrams. Rafael was quite an accomplished artist as well as a farmer. I have to assume he and Antonia knew each other rather well before he went to California. Or he had a very good imagination.”
Beatrice said, “I somehow think he left those parts out of the copies he sent around to the Franciscans.”
“Most likely,” Giovanni said with a smile. “Poor Father Ignacio.”
Luisa’s ears perked up. “There are other copies?”
“We think so,” Beatrice said. “We’re not sure. We have a series of letters written between Rafael and Antonia’s brother, who was also a priest. That is how we tracked down his name.”
“Oh, I would love to see them.”
Fina said, “I’ll make sure to send you copies. The letters are in Rome right now.”
“And you managed to find our ancestor from only some letters?” Signora Rosati asked. “That is amazing.”
“We had a lot of help,” Beatrice told her. “Signor Ferrara is a letter expert.”
“I am,” Zeno said with a decisive nod.
Fina bit back a smile. So modest, her vampire.
“Well… thank you so much!” Luisa said. “Thank you for finding us. We all think it’s such a beautiful story. Are you going to write some kind of book or paper about them?”
“Actually…” Giovanni leaned his forearms on the table. “We have ulterior motives for searching you out.”
Luisa said, “You want to examine Rafael’s journal?”
“Of course,” her sister said. “Perhaps take pictures for your research. I’m sure that will be fine.”
“More than that,” Giovanni said. “We have been authorized to make you an offer for the purchase of the journal. We are not only researchers, but we work as agents for very discreet collectors around the world. Collectors who, I assure you, make the preservation of manuscripts such as Rafael’s one of their highest priorities.”
Beatrice said, “Our client is a private individual with an interest in history relating to wine. He had heard of your ancestor’s journal only through rumors. We were hired to find it and buy it for him. I can assure you it is for his own collection. And he will have no objection to the professor or your family keeping copies of the work. But he wants the original journal for his collection.”
“Why?” Signor Rosati said. “It’s unusual and interesting, but why would he want to buy it?”
“It is not my job to ask,” Beatrice said, spreading her hands across the table. “I am only hired to find the book and broker the sale.”
“But…” Luisa looked stricken. “We cannot sell it. It is our family history. We must—”
“How much?” Signora Rosati asked quietly.
Fina looked around the room again. It was a beautiful old room. A beautiful old house, built from the hill stones and weathered by ti
me. But she could also see the signs of deterioration. This family could use the money.
Giovanni said, “Subject to our examination of the manuscript and its authentication, our client is prepared to offer you three million euros.”
Jaws dropped around the table and an audible gasp was heard. Fina was flabbergasted. Early nineteenth-century journals, even rare ones, would be auctioned off for a fraction of that sum. Who on earth was their client? And why was he willing to pay so much?
Signora Rosati gripped her sister’s hand, and Luisa nodded.
“Sold.”
Epilogue
Los Angeles, California
One month later
The Hungarian sat down in Beatrice’s private study, holding the precious journal with silk-gloved hands. He was a thin vampire with ascetic features and cold eyes. Beatrice had no idea how old he was, but his skin was extraordinarily pale, especially against his black hair and eyes. He paged through the journal as a man reads a book, a thin smile touching his lips occasionally as he traced the line of a drawing on the vellum.
The journal was remarkably intact, no doubt preserved by the sea chest it had been stowed in, which Beatrice had also been able to examine. The book was also very finely made, the vellum pages bound carefully and protected by a calfskin cover. The ink was faded, but the illustrations Rafael had wrought between the notes on grape cultivation were clear.
The Franciscan had been a gifted artist. Portraits of Antonia, drawn from memory, filled almost half the book. Often her curling hair entwined with tendrils of the vines he’d drawn on the page. There were also numerous landscapes and scenes of mission life, but the most detailed drawings were of his lover.
“We were fortunate that it was in such excellent condition,” she said.
“It is as if I can see him writing the words on the pages even now,” her client said softly. “Drawing her. How very strange.”
“Were you his benefactor?”
He angled his head slightly, and she could see the lift of his brow. The Hungarian thought her impertinent. Oh well. Lots of older vampires did. Luckily, Beatrice’s pedigree and connections—as well as her own reputation—protected her from most offense.
“His benefactor?” He looked back at the journal. “Of a sort.”
“He returned to Europe a very wealthy man.”
“Wealth is relative, of course. You say he married the woman.”
“He did. They had three children and fifteen grandchildren. A very large extended family now. They still live on the estate and are far more comfortable after the sale of the journal.”
The Hungarian closed the journal. “He would be pleased. Thank you, Ms. De Novo. Your work on this was excellent, and your fee will be transferred to your account within the hour.”
“Of course.” She rose and saw him to the entryway, the manuscript stored in the box she’d brought from Rome and carried by the human who had waited in the hall.
“Please give my regards to your mate.” The client bowed with the old-world formality so many vampires preserved. “Perhaps the next time I am in America, we may meet.”
“Of course. May I ask a question?”
“You may ask.” He straightened the collar of his coat after Caspar helped him with it. Unspoken was the other half of the answer. You can ask, but I probably won’t answer.
“Why?”
“Why did I want it?” He examined her with those painfully cold eyes. There was a flicker for only a second, then they were flat and emotionless again. “Sometimes, Ms. De Novo, a person can save a life without even realizing it.”
“Did Rafael save yours?”
He paused, and the thin smile touched his lips for another second. Then he angled his head down in another slight bow. “Good night, Ms. De Novo. I’ll send word if I have need of your services again.”
Rome, Italy
The following Christmas
The shouts of Latin verbs and a skidding ball mingled with laughter from the courtyard as Ben and Enzo tried to keep the ball away from Zeno, who had promised to remain at human speed for the duration of the game. Christmas in Rome that year wasn’t nearly as low-key as it had been the last.
“I haven’t had time to talk with you much,” Beatrice said, sitting at the kitchen table next to Fina, who was cutting vegetables for dinner as Angela fussed over the stove.
“You haven’t,” the once-reserved librarian said with a smile. “What interesting book mysteries have you and Gio solved lately?”
“Nothing quite so fun as Rafael’s journal.”
“That was fun. I often wonder where it is now. Why your client wanted it so much. I’ve enjoyed examining the digital copy.”
“Don’t let Zeno hear that.” Beatrice smiled. “A digital copy? The horror.”
Fina laughed. There was a flush in her cheeks. A quiet contentment that had added depth to her features.
“And how are things in Perugia?” Beatrice asked. “We’re looking forward to our visit after New Year’s.”
“Things are going splendidly, though Zeno tried to appropriate an entire bookcase in the Greek section to keep magnifying glasses and dusting powders.” She shook her head. “Incorrigible man.”
Beatrice could easily imagine Zeno’s temper butting up against the quiet determination of his partner. Fina would likely win every time, simply because Zeno didn’t seem to be able to refuse her anything. They hadn’t married or taken any traditional vows, but as far as she knew, the vampire and his human partner hadn’t been separated for a single night since they officially met.
Zeno had moved to Perugia and taken residence in one of the lower rooms of the villa while Fina and Enzo remained in the house on the property. He’d bullied the administrators of the Vatican Library into letting him take many of his letters with him, arguing that no one else was really interested in his research and he’d bring them back eventually.
Beatrice was guessing they’d agreed just to get rid of him.
He had also taken on some of the responsibilities for the Vecchio Library, which Fina had been cautious, but eventually grateful, for him to assume. It allowed her greater freedom to explore how the library could be made more useful and which institutions were discreet and reputable enough to receive pieces on loan. Slowly she was revealing the library’s riches to the world.
“Any decisions yet?” Beatrice asked.
Fina shook her head. “We have time. And Enzo is still young.”
She knew the struggles both of them faced in their relationship. Knew that no one could make those decisions for them. She did know a quiet agreement had taken place between her husband and Zeno that if Fina did choose to become a vampire, Giovanni would act as her sire as Zeno could not.
Beatrice had a feeling that the love the two shared would only grow with time. And when her son was old enough, Fina would choose to give up the day for her lover. But life was unexpected, and no one could make that decision except Fina.
“It’s good to have friends,” Beatrice said. “Especially those who know what you’re going through. Don’t hesitate to call. Or even—don’t tell Zeno—email me if you have a question.”
Fina laughed and assured Beatrice she would. Then she took a glass of Antonia’s wine out to her lover, who met her with an ardent kiss and a teasing smile. A vampire, yes. But also a man thoroughly in love.
Giovanni brushed a kiss on Beatrice’s shoulder. “Merry Christmas, tesoro.”
“Still no presents, Gio,” she said with a sigh. “Not a single gift. Ben’s going to back me up on this one.”
He chuckled and pulled her to her feet. “Come with me.”
“What? Why? I was helping Angela cook. Kind of.” She allowed him to lead her up the stairs as Angela’s laughter followed them.
He led them to their suite of rooms, which had been redecorated after the nightmare of Beatrice’s first visit to Rome when Livia still ruled. Now it was filled with rich reds and blues, colors that were vivid even at night. A
rt hung all over the walls and—because it was their room—books were stacked everywhere. It wasn’t the neatest place, but she loved it.
“Okay, what is it?” she asked.
“Come here.” Giovanni put his hands over her eyes and guided her across the room. “I did get you a present, though it’s also a present for me. And, being very unoriginal, I got the same present for Zeno and Fina.”
“Wow, so I was thinking lingerie, but now I’m really hoping that’s not what it is, because that would be weird.”
“Agreed.” He pulled away his hands. “Merry Christmas.”
It wasn’t lingerie. But it was perfect. A page from Rafael’s journal had been reproduced on vellum, looking so much like the original that she had to check the edges of the drawing. Floating over a mat of wine-red linen, the page was a drawing of Antonia looking over her shoulder, her dark curls tumbling down and mingling with the grape vines drawn on the hillside. She smiled, and the look the artist had captured in her eyes perfectly matched the contentment that Beatrice had seen earlier in Fina.
“I thought they’d like a copy as well. To remember last Christmas. He really was an extraordinary artist, wasn’t he?”
“It’s perfect,” she whispered, turning in his arms. “It’s perfect, Gio.”
“‘She is all that is light and beauty in my life.’” Giovanni recited Rafael’s words from his letter. “‘My soul is but a mirror of her own. My heart, her twin in devotion. Surely God cannot condemn us. Surely the world must be kind. I will come for her, though oceans separate us. … For what is an ocean against eternity?’”
“I love you.”
“Merry Christmas.”
The End
Disclaimer
On behalf of all actual librarians, archivists, or other information technology professionals, I’d like to make it clear that real academic and historical research rarely, if ever, proceeds this quickly. Most of it takes months or years, but I didn’t really have that much time in a Christmas novella. I just want to make it clear that this is fiction. (Then again, vampires who control the elements don’t actually exist either, so you’ve probably guessed that I’ve taken a few liberties with the truth.)
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