Malibu, California
July 2005
“Brilliant tradition. Excellent use of explosives.”
He and Beatrice were leaning against a pile of rocks he’d formed to create a kind of shelter from the wind that whipped down the California coast. They were roasting marshmallows on the deserted beach, enjoying the bonfire, and watching the distant fireworks that marked American Independence Day.
Beatrice said, “It is fitting, isn’t it? We do like our violent celebrations.”
“You do. Is this better than the fireworks in Houston?”
“Oh yeah. Rich people put on a great show.”
Carwyn snorted, enjoying the fact his friend didn’t lump herself in with the rich, despite the rather massive fortune she’d stolen the year before from a vicious water vampire who had kidnapped her. Lorenzo was the estranged son of his friend, Giovanni, and a villain at the core. Carwyn, Giovanni, and their friend Tenzin had attacked his compound in Greece and rescued Beatrice the year before, driving Lorenzo underground—or underwater, as the case may have been—but Carwyn knew he was still lurking. He also knew that, since helping his friends, he had become a target.
It didn’t concern him. Another hundred years, another enemy to watch out for. When you lived as long as he did, it was inevitable.
He saw Beatrice glancing at the ocean as the tide came in. Few would notice how the waves still made her tense, but she deliberately turned back to the fire and ignored them.
“Too much?” he asked, catching her eye and gesturing toward the ocean. “We can always take the bike farther up the coast. Plenty of dark left. We can just keep riding if you don’t want to listen to the water.”
She shook her head. “No, this is good. I’m good. I need to get over it, you know? Otherwise…”
“What?”
She smiled at him. “Sometimes, life hands you things you think you won’t survive. You probably know that better than me.”
He shrugged. “Despite my years, sometimes I feel as if I’ve lived a very charmed life. My family, for the most part, has been safe.”
“But still, things happen. There’s no such thing as complete safety.”
He thought of a dark room and a helpless little girl. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
“So when life breaks, you pick up the pieces and keep moving. Otherwise, you stay broken. And instead of being a survivor, you’re always a victim.” Beatrice leaned toward the fire and crossed her arms over her chest. “And I don’t want to be known for what happened to me. I want to be known for me.”
“Look at you, wise girl.” He winked at her. “You can handle anything, can’t you?”
“A good friend. A warm fire. I can’t handle everything, but I can handle the waves for a bit.”
He smiled. “Just let me know when you want to go.”
“I will.”
“B?”
“Yeah?”
His thoughts drifted back to a frightened young woman in Dublin, and the mingled bravery and fear he’d seen in her eyes. “I know when your dad first showed up again, after he’d turned and you didn’t know…” He paused. “Gio didn’t tell me much, but I know you thought… that you thought—”
“I was crazy?” He looked up, and Beatrice was smiling at him.
He chuckled a little. “Yes.”
“Well… yeah. Dad dies only to show up years later looking like an emaciated monster? You could say that messed with my head.”
“Did you ever—when things were bad—did you ever try drugs? Not the prescription kind.”
She cocked her head at him. “Should I ask why you’re wondering?”
“You don’t have to answer.”
Beatrice said, “It’s all right. And no. I drank some. Okay, a lot sometimes, but to tell the truth, drugs always scared the shit out of me. Plus, I just knew my grandma and grandpa would find out. There are some things you can’t hide.”
“I know.”
“Can I ask?”
He shook his head and thought of the difficult call he’d had to make to Ioan when he’d arrived in New York. “Just a friend. She had a rough childhood. I’m sure you can relate.”
“Not really.” He looked up in surprise, and Beatrice shrugged. “I mean, I lost my dad, and I had a really bad time when I was a teenager, but basically, I had it pretty good. I always knew my family loved me. And that’s the most important thing.”
“Me, too. I had a wonderful family.”
“Really?” She grinned. “Your human family? You hardly ever talk about them.”
“Oh, my parents were wonderful. And my sisters. I had four sisters. It was a very close family. Extended family, as well. When Efa and I married—our parents were dear friends, so it was arranged. Pure chance we loved each other. But it was a very close community.” He nodded. “That’s what saved me after I turned. I knew my children would be looked after, even though I couldn’t see them and their mother was gone.”
“You never talk about her.”
“Who, Efa?” Carwyn smiled when he thought about his gentle young wife. He’d been crazy in love with the demure girl. He could still remember their wedding night. Both of them young, fumbling. So eager and overwhelmed with love and excitement. Losing her years later had pierced Carwyn’s heart with a pain he hadn’t thought he’d be able to live through. But he had. And he’d survived without her for over a thousand years. “She was a very loving girl. I wonder, sometimes, if we would have fallen in love if we hadn’t been meant for each other. We were very different.”