Page 29 of Fangs, Frost, and Folios
Giovanni’s interest piqued again. “A vault in the library?”
“Something like that. Charles Mortimer was quite specific about the ventilation because he didn’t want the books to spoil. Good of him to think of it, honestly, because you can’t imagine the kind of damage I’ve seen to beautiful manuscripts that sat in a dank old castle for too long. It’s an absolute crime the kind of damage dampness can do to—”
“Did Penny know about the vault?” A vault? An actual vault? How had they missed that? There was nothing in the library that even hinted at a vault or a locked section. Could it be in another part of the house they hadn’t explored? Was that where Penny had hidden the play?
Edward blinked. “I have no idea if Penny knew. I would assume she did, but I can’t remember if she mentioned it in her letters.” He rose and reached for his cane. “Did I tell you that you’ve solved a problem for me, Gio?” The old man walked slowly over to a table near the old desk he used as a sales counter. “I’m going to send this back with you instead of calling the family. Much more direct. Penny sent a book in about six months ago to get the binding redone, and I’ve been dawdling on it.”
“Oh?”
“She told me to bring it with me and come for a visit when I was done. That she missed her old friends.” He shuffled some papers and files away from a package wrapped in brown paper. “I was trying to find someone to take me out to Hereford for a visit, but then I saw the announcement in the newspaper.” He stopped and sighed. “Don’t wait to visit the people you like, Giovanni Vecchio. Our generation is passing.”
Giovanni saw the echoes of Caspar’s gait in Edward’s shuffling feet. “I’m glad we had time to visit, my friend.”
“As am I.”
The man tried to lift the package, but Giovanni saw his hands tremble and he shot out of his seat.
“Let me.”
“You’re a good vampire,” the old man said. “Kind to old people, and if you ever drank my blood, you wiped any memory of it from my mind.” He left the wrapped package on the desk. “Penny said it was a favorite and not particularly valuable historically, so she wanted a fresh binding. I tried to do the old book justice.”
Giovanni saw the loose edge of the wrapping paper and slid a finger toward the seam. “May I?”
“I’m sure she would have been delighted for you to appreciate it,” Edward said. “The young man who finished the lettering is an artist.”
Giovanni slid the tape away from the paper and drew the wrapping back, somehow already knowing the title he’d see beneath his hand.
“She had all sorts of notes and bookmarks in the thing—even a few pressed flowers.” Edward was amused. “I kept everything intact. I’m sure every bit and bob had meaning for her.”
“I’m sure it did.”
The gilt lettering on the front of the volume was surrounded by a filigree of Victorian-style scrollwork that bled into a star-and-planet pattern highlighting the words on the cover.
The Alchemist.1612. A dramatic play by Ben Jonson.
“Iam absolutely not discussing this anymore.” Ben stomped into the guesthouse where he and Tenzin were sheltering during the day. “It’s none of our business, Tenzin!”
She was flabbergasted that he had so little respect for this important rite of passage. “This is why your culture is so damaged,” she said. “You have no rituals. You have no rites. Your biggest holiday centers around buying things you don’t need.”
“Gift giving is not about the cost or the act of buying.” He was falling back into an old argument. “The cost of the gift isn’t the point—it’s the thought behind it. You could get me a rock—”
“I thought you wanted a ring.”
Ben blinked. “Do not try to distract me. We’re talking about my sister.”
“Fine. You say that the gift isn’t about the cost but the meaning behind it.”
He frowned but nodded. “Yes, but—”
“It’s not the ritual itself that is important,” Tenzin said. “It’s the thought behind it, the connection to her past and her ancestors, the connection to the divine feminine and her connection to the earth.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it.
You look like a fish.
She didn’t say it; he would have been offended. It was the first thing that her assistant and friend Chloe had emphasized about being in an intimate relationship with a man that she actually cared about. They were very sensitive. You couldn’t just compare their mouths to fishes. Or their penis to specific species of wild mushrooms, because they would be offended.
She’d had to learn by experience on the second one.
