A Hidden Fire

Giovanni chuckled.  “Yes, we have Coke.  Caspar’s quite fond of it.”

She blushed.  “Just that, thanks.”

“And I’ll fix myself a drink in the living room, Caspar.”  He looked at Beatrice.  “If you’ll join me?”

She nodded and allowed him to usher her into the brightly lit living room, filled with comfortable furniture and a large flat screen television which hung on the wall.

“Oh, wow.  That T.V. is huge,” Beatrice mused as she walked over to observe the large screen.  “The picture’s probably really good, right?”

He chuckled. “Yes, Caspar couldn’t very well watch bad special effects from old horror movies on a small, low-resolution screen, could he?”

Beatrice glanced over her shoulder with a smile on her face.  “Of course not.”

He just smiled at her, unexpectedly pleased to see her wander around his house and examine his belongings.  He was tempted to show her his library but decided to wait and see why she had come to his home before he offered.

Caspar came in a few moments later as he was pouring himself a whiskey at the sideboard.

“Please let me know if there is anything else you need, Beatrice.”

“Call me B, Caspar.  Only Mr. Formal over there insists on calling me Beatrice.”  Giovanni grinned with his back to the room, more determined than ever to call her by her given name at every opportunity.

“Of course, B.”

“Thanks.”

Giovanni finished pouring his drink and turned back to face the room.  Beatrice was sitting in one of the leather armchairs—the one he usually used—so he sat to her left on the sofa.

“Will there be anything else?”

He shook his head, and Caspar left them alone.  Giovanni sat silently, sipping the whiskey Carwyn had brought him from Ireland the year before and waiting to see why she had come.  He felt a small surge of triumph when she unfolded the note he’d left for her weeks ago and set it on her lap.

“So the job you mentioned, what kind of job is it?” she asked.

“A research position.  Primarily computer work.”

“Why me?” she asked, her eyes still carrying a shade of suspicion as she looked at him.

So I can find out more about your father and his habits.  So I have something to offer him in exchange when I do find him—which I will.  Also, you smell like honeysuckle.

He blinked at the last thought but shrugged nonchalantly.  “You have more than the necessary skill set.  Most of the information I need to search for is online now.  Obviously, you can imagine why that is problematic.  Caspar can help, but he’s neither as technologically savvy as you are, nor does he have your background in information sciences.”  He paused before he continued.  “Though he does make an excellent cocktail, and that shouldn’t be overlooked.”

“Thank you!” he heard his friend call from the kitchen.  Giovanni and Beatrice exchanged a smile before she remembered she was being suspicious.  She frowned a little and asked another question.

“I’m sure there are plenty of people you could hire.  Why me?”

He stared at her challenging expression before he set his drink down and leaned back into the plush couch.  “Well, you seemed to have handled the whole ‘blood sucking demon of the night’ thing fairly well, so I thought I’d take a stab at not having to meddle with the brains of every assistant I use.”

Her expression was carefully blank as she absorbed his words.  He leaned forward and sipped his drink, noticing her watching him carefully. 

“Go ahead,” he offered quietly.

“What?”

“I can see a million questions swirling around that brain of yours.  Just ask them.”

She squirmed in her seat.  “I didn’t want to be rude.”

He sat back again and stretched a long arm along the back of the sofa.  Though he was usually a secretive creature, he found himself curious what she would ask.

“Go ahead,” he murmured as he watched her examine him.

“You drink whiskey.”

“Yes.”

“So, do you eat?  Do you need to?”

“I have to drink blood to survive.  Human is the most nutritionally satisfying and tastes the best, of course—”

“Of course,” she interjected and he smirked.

“But I can also survive on animal blood if I need to, and many immortals choose to do that.  They just have to feed more often.”

“How often?”

“Drinking human blood?  About once a week.”

She perked up.  “Oh, well that’s not so bad.  Oh, unless—”

“No, I don’t have to ‘drain’ a blood donor, Beatrice.  I don’t have to kill to survive.”

She paused, a small smile ghosting her lips.  “Unlike us, who kill animals all the time.”

He shrugged.  “I wasn’t going to mention that if you weren’t.”

She met his eyes, a tentative warmth creeping into her expression.  “So, you don’t need to, but you do eat a little.”

He leaned forward and took another sip of whiskey.  “Our bodies are very…slow.  Well, the processes are, anyway.  My hair grows, just very slowly.  My fingernails will as well.  We digest normally, but again, very slowly.  So I can eat and drink, but I don’t need to, though it becomes uncomfortable if I go too long without anything in my stomach.”