Page 45 of Fangs, Frost, and Folios
Tenzin blinked. “He probably doesn’t realize the subtle changes in hormonal scent—”
“Oh my God.” She covered her face. “I have to tell Kaya. She’s around vampires everywhere, and she would absolutely die.”
Tenzin thought for a moment. “You mean die in a figurative sense, correct?”
“Yes, Tenzin. Oh my God!”
“Okay.” She raised a hand to calm the girl. “It’s fine. I’m sure Kaya’s parents will have informed her about this biological reality, but if you feel you must text her, I do not object. In fact, you might invite her to your ceremony.”
Ben had drilled into Tenzin that calling it a fertility rite would probably panic the girl, so they’d decided to call it a ceremony.
Sadia frowned. “What ceremony? You want to have a ceremony for myperiod?”
“I want to have a ceremony to celebrate your… maturity.” Tenzin angled herself toward Sadia. “You are alive. Despite everything you went through, you are alive and you are approaching adulthood.”
Sadia looked away. “Everyone does that.”
“No.” Tenzin reached for the girl’s hand and held it firmly. “Not everyone.”
Sadia was silent for a long time.
“When we celebrate these things,” Tenzin continued, “it may seem strange to you. Or foreign because this modern culture takes life for granted.”
Sadia met Tenzin’s eyes. “But we don’t.”
Tenzin shook her head. “No, we do not.”
The girl blinked, and Tenzin could see her interest piqued.
“Well…” She sat up. “What would a ceremony be like?”
“When I was your age, my parents slaughtered a goat and held a bonfire and there was a lot of dancing and I received my first tattoos.”
Sadia opened her mouth. Then closed it.
Heaven above, she looked like a fish. Just like Ben.
“Okay, I definitely don’t want to slaughter a goat,” Sadia said. “And I’m not much of a dancer, but I do like bonfires and I definitely want tattoos. My parents would probably freak out about tattoos, though. Any other ideas?”
Excellent. It was exactly what Tenzin had been hoping for. “Am I correct in believing you were born in Aleppo?”
“Yes.”
“Then I have several ideas associated with ?epat, the storm goddess of ancient Aleppo. The ceremony would involve rainwater, gold and silver objects, and possibly a leopard.”
“I am so in.”
Fourteen
Giovanni, Beatrice, and René du Pont gathered around the large, leather-bound copy of Ben Jonson’s collected works, staring at the book that had been hidden in the Mortimer vault along with various priceless scrolls and manuscripts. Next to it was the leather-bound volume that Giovanni’s old friend, Edward Macintosh, had rebound for Penny before her death.
The Alchemist.1612. A dramatic play by Ben Jonson.
The Alchemist and Other Collected Works of Ben Jonson.
One was a beautiful, gold-detailed book that looked like a work of art. The other was a crumbling, leather-bound relic that nearly fell apart in Giovanni’s hands.
“What would you estimate?” Beatrice asked.
