“We’ll get her back.”

“Yes, I will.”

“And your son?”

Giovanni grit his teeth, letting his fangs pierce his lip as they descended, reveling in the taste of blood that filled his mouth and the sharp bite of pain.

“My son will burn.”

“I’ll wait for your call.”

He hung up the phone and walked upstairs without a glance.  In a little over a ten minutes, he had dressed, shaved off his singed hair, and walked back downstairs.  He stopped on the second floor to sit in Beatrice’s bedroom, soaking in her scent and the familiar traces of her that littered his home.

There was a stack of books on her bedside table.  She left them everywhere, scattered around the house in little caches, always ready to be picked up and continued when a few moments could be stolen.  Her boots stood by the closet.  She hadn’t worn them to work that afternoon, and he found himself wishing she had, as if the sturdy shoes could have protected her from the monsters who took her away.

A small picture of Beatrice and Isadora sat in a frame on her bedside table.  He grabbed it, extracting the picture and putting it in his pocket before he walked down to the first floor.

Gavin waited in the living room, eying him as he walked down the stairs.

“I made some calls.”

“And?”

“You know I’m only doing this because Carwyn is the closest thing I have to a friend, don’t you?  And because Lorenzo is such an ass.  I’m not picking sides in any damn war.  I refuse.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

Gavin rolled his eyes.  “She’ll be fine.  It makes no sense for him to hurt her.  Not now, and you know how little interest he has in human women.”

“That is so very reassuring,” Giovanni snarled.  “What do you know?”

Gavin measured him as he stood on the staircase.  Finally, he gave a small shrug.  “She did seem amusing.  And clever.  Carwyn said you were less of an asshole when she was with you.”

“Wallace, I would kill you without a moment’s hesitation if it would make you give me this information faster.  What did you find out?”

“You didn’t hear it from me and all the usual speech, but that crazy plane he has took off from a private airfield north of Katy a half an hour ago, headed to La Guardia airport in New York.  They must have driven straight there.  That’s all my contact knew.  They didn’t file anything else.”

“Could he be staying in New York?”

The Scotsman snorted.  “Not likely.  You know how the O’Brians feel about the little prick.”

Giovanni frowned, remembering the surly clan of earth vampires that had taken over the New York area around the turn of the last century.  They were notoriously hostile and suspicious, and Lorenzo had made them his enemies by throwing his money behind the old guard they had wiped out when they rose to power a hundred years before.

“No, it’s most likely a stop-over on the way to Europe.  Most of his allies are there,” Giovanni continued to mutter, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the peaceful life he’d cultivated for the last three hundred years was crumbling around him, returning him to the tumultuous early centuries of his life.

Just as he was about to kick Gavin out so he could go up to the library, he heard a crack at the French doors.  He frowned, but stayed where he was, flicking off the lights in the living room and peering into the night.  He thought he saw a magnolia branch sway, but no breeze stirred the other trees.

He heard another crack, but this time, he saw a pebble fall.  He snuck out the kitchen door and around the side yard, reaching out with his senses to determine who or what was on the grounds.  He scented the air, relaxing immediately when he recognized the familiar aroma of cardamom that always lingered around her.  He walked to the back garden and scanned the trees.

He heard a chirp from the low hanging magnolia tree and glanced up to see the small vampire perched on a branch, her legs dangling and her feet bare.  She appeared to be no more than sixteen or seventeen years old, and her glossy black hair fell in two sheets that framed her face.  Her eyes were a clouded grey and beautifully tilted by an ancient hand, but when the girl smiled, vicious fangs curled behind her lips like the talons of some primeval bird of prey.

A strange calm settled over him.

“Hello, Tenzin.”

“Hello, my boy,” she said in Mandarin.  “I thought you might need me.”

“I’ve lost her.”

The girl shook her head.  “She was taken from you.  But you’ll get her back.”

His eyes furrowed in grief, and she floated down from the tree to perch on his back, laying her head on his shoulder so she could watch his face.

“I’ve seen it.  She is your balance in this life.  In every life.”

He whispered in English, “You know I don’t believe in that.”

“You put too much faith in your science, my boy.  Science changes.  Truth doesn’t.”

He paused before asking, “Do you know where she is?”

“Water.  Lots of water.  He’ll go where he’s strong.”

He raised an eyebrow as he walked toward the house with her still clinging to his shoulders.  “Is that a vision, or five thousand years of experience killing your enemies?”