A Hidden Fire
Page 67
“I really hate my dad right now,” she whispered.
He wasn’t shocked by her admission, but it saddened him. He felt the urge to hold her again, but he shoved it to the side.
“I understand why you feel that way, but you have to know I do not blame him for running from Lorenzo.”
“You can’t? Even though it’s now messing with your life, too?”
Giovanni shrugged. “I’m the one who created the monster, Beatrice. And trust me, Lorenzo is a monster. Life as his child would be horrendous.”
“Why? I don’t get it. Carwyn told me he can’t make his kids do anything they don’t want to, so why would it be so horrible?”
He frowned at her. “It’s not a mental compulsion, it’s sheer physical strength most of the time. Strength for us is determined by age, mostly—though the age of your sire has some significance, as well. I’m old, but my sire was ancient. Combine that strength with my physical strength at the time of my change and my natural element—that makes me very strong.
“Lorenzo was never as strong as me when he was human, but my blood was very strong because of my sire and that was passed onto him. He has also trained himself particularly well in his elemental strength, though he’ll never be quite as strong as I am.
“Your father—though very strong now by human standards—would be no match for either of us. He would never beat Lorenzo in a fight, and I’m sure my son probably tortured him in all sorts of inventive ways when your father didn’t do exactly what he wanted.”
He saw her eyes widen in horror, but he didn’t want to soften the truth for her. “You have no idea how much power he would have over him, especially in those first few years when he was learning to control his bloodlust. Your father is almost five hundred years younger than his sire. And he could conceivably be under his control for eternity. You must not blame your father for running.”
She seemed to shrink in her seat. “How about your sire?” she almost whispered. “Does he—I mean, was he good like Carwyn?”
Giovanni frowned. “My father…was a complicated vampire. And he’s dead, so it doesn’t have any effect on me now.”
“Oh.”
“Is there a proper anger, my son?”
“Aristotle said ‘anyone can become angry, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree, and at the right time. For the right purpose and in the right way—is not within every man’s power. ’”
“Are you the ‘every man’ that the philosopher spoke of?”
“No, Father, I am better than other mortals, and will be better still.”
“Therefore, you must master your anger so you control it always.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Giovanni?”
“Hmm?” His eyes dropped their hollow stare as he glanced at Beatrice again.
“You missed the turn to my house.”
He quickly turned the car around and made the right onto the street he had missed. As he pulled up in front of Isadora’s small home, he noticed that all the lights lit up the first floor. He parked and walked around the car to help Beatrice out. Half way up the walk, the first scent of blood hit him, and he turned to Beatrice, pushing her back toward the Mustang.
“Go back to the car,” he said firmly.
“What? No! What the hell—” Her eyes widened when she saw his face. She ran up the front walk, but Giovanni beat her to the door, blocking her path.
“Grandma!”
Chapter Sixteen
Houston, Texas
April 2004
“Let me in!” Beatrice beat on his chest. “Let me in, you bastard. Isadora!”
“Be quiet and wait. The smell of blood is not strong,” he hissed. “Wait, so I can check the house, damn it!”
“Grandma?” She began to cry, continuing to try to shove past him, but his arms held her in a cold, iron grasp. She was beside herself, and could only imagine the worst.
“Beatrice, do you have your phone?”
She wanted to hit Giovanni, but she was too busy trying to get out of his arms so she could enter the house.
“Beatrice, calm down. You need to call this number.” He rattled off a number, but she still wasn’t listening.
“You stupid, asshole vampire!” She tried to jerk out of his arms. “Let me in my house. Make your own telephone—” She froze, suddenly realizing it was possible there were people or vampires still inside. She immediately fell silent and stopped struggling.
“What do you hear?” she whispered.
“Nothing suspicious, and I don’t feel anyone. I do smell blood, but your grandmother’s pulse sounds fine; her breathing is slow and regular. Are you going to be calm now?”
She took a deep breath and nodded, blinking the tears from her eyes.
He gave a quick nod and released her, turning the door knob to walk into the house. Beatrice couldn’t see anything in the living room but the television playing a game show her grandmother hated.
“This way,” he said, pointing down the hallway to the kitchen. Beatrice followed behind him.
“Grandma?”
She gave a strangled cry when she saw Isadora lying on the floor in a crumbled heap, but Giovanni pushed her back and went to examine the old woman.
He wasn’t shocked by her admission, but it saddened him. He felt the urge to hold her again, but he shoved it to the side.
“I understand why you feel that way, but you have to know I do not blame him for running from Lorenzo.”
“You can’t? Even though it’s now messing with your life, too?”
Giovanni shrugged. “I’m the one who created the monster, Beatrice. And trust me, Lorenzo is a monster. Life as his child would be horrendous.”
“Why? I don’t get it. Carwyn told me he can’t make his kids do anything they don’t want to, so why would it be so horrible?”
He frowned at her. “It’s not a mental compulsion, it’s sheer physical strength most of the time. Strength for us is determined by age, mostly—though the age of your sire has some significance, as well. I’m old, but my sire was ancient. Combine that strength with my physical strength at the time of my change and my natural element—that makes me very strong.
“Lorenzo was never as strong as me when he was human, but my blood was very strong because of my sire and that was passed onto him. He has also trained himself particularly well in his elemental strength, though he’ll never be quite as strong as I am.
“Your father—though very strong now by human standards—would be no match for either of us. He would never beat Lorenzo in a fight, and I’m sure my son probably tortured him in all sorts of inventive ways when your father didn’t do exactly what he wanted.”
He saw her eyes widen in horror, but he didn’t want to soften the truth for her. “You have no idea how much power he would have over him, especially in those first few years when he was learning to control his bloodlust. Your father is almost five hundred years younger than his sire. And he could conceivably be under his control for eternity. You must not blame your father for running.”
She seemed to shrink in her seat. “How about your sire?” she almost whispered. “Does he—I mean, was he good like Carwyn?”
Giovanni frowned. “My father…was a complicated vampire. And he’s dead, so it doesn’t have any effect on me now.”
“Oh.”
“Is there a proper anger, my son?”
“Aristotle said ‘anyone can become angry, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree, and at the right time. For the right purpose and in the right way—is not within every man’s power. ’”
“Are you the ‘every man’ that the philosopher spoke of?”
“No, Father, I am better than other mortals, and will be better still.”
“Therefore, you must master your anger so you control it always.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Giovanni?”
“Hmm?” His eyes dropped their hollow stare as he glanced at Beatrice again.
“You missed the turn to my house.”
He quickly turned the car around and made the right onto the street he had missed. As he pulled up in front of Isadora’s small home, he noticed that all the lights lit up the first floor. He parked and walked around the car to help Beatrice out. Half way up the walk, the first scent of blood hit him, and he turned to Beatrice, pushing her back toward the Mustang.
“Go back to the car,” he said firmly.
“What? No! What the hell—” Her eyes widened when she saw his face. She ran up the front walk, but Giovanni beat her to the door, blocking her path.
“Grandma!”
Chapter Sixteen
Houston, Texas
April 2004
“Let me in!” Beatrice beat on his chest. “Let me in, you bastard. Isadora!”
“Be quiet and wait. The smell of blood is not strong,” he hissed. “Wait, so I can check the house, damn it!”
“Grandma?” She began to cry, continuing to try to shove past him, but his arms held her in a cold, iron grasp. She was beside herself, and could only imagine the worst.
“Beatrice, do you have your phone?”
She wanted to hit Giovanni, but she was too busy trying to get out of his arms so she could enter the house.
“Beatrice, calm down. You need to call this number.” He rattled off a number, but she still wasn’t listening.
“You stupid, asshole vampire!” She tried to jerk out of his arms. “Let me in my house. Make your own telephone—” She froze, suddenly realizing it was possible there were people or vampires still inside. She immediately fell silent and stopped struggling.
“What do you hear?” she whispered.
“Nothing suspicious, and I don’t feel anyone. I do smell blood, but your grandmother’s pulse sounds fine; her breathing is slow and regular. Are you going to be calm now?”
She took a deep breath and nodded, blinking the tears from her eyes.
He gave a quick nod and released her, turning the door knob to walk into the house. Beatrice couldn’t see anything in the living room but the television playing a game show her grandmother hated.
“This way,” he said, pointing down the hallway to the kitchen. Beatrice followed behind him.
“Grandma?”
She gave a strangled cry when she saw Isadora lying on the floor in a crumbled heap, but Giovanni pushed her back and went to examine the old woman.
