Giovanni nodded slowly. “Four immortals, who are hopefully still living. Balanced. One water, one wind, one earth, and one fire. Whomever Geber used in his research knew about the formula, possibly better than Geber himself. If Geber’s manuscript is out of reach, then I will make it my mission to find the immortals who helped author it, and I think Stephen’s contact was one of them.”

Tywyll took another drink. Then he smiled. The old vampire chuckled and slid the brown-wrapped parcel across the table.

“Well then, Giovanni Vecchio, I suppose ye have some reading to do.”

Epilogue

Plovdiv, Bulgaria

March 2011

Dr. Paskal Todorov shut off the light in the empty lab and shrugged on his brown overcoat to face the brisk wind outside. He sighed as he looked around the empty laboratory that had once employed so many men and women making high-end cosmetics for the European market.

Though their corporate office in Rome had given them enough funding to keep the building in good repair and to employ a few of the highest-grade chemists, they had not worked on a new project in months, and the majority of the employees had sought work elsewhere in the city’s growing economy.

He was walking out of the lab and to his warm office late on Friday night to shut down the computers when the lights in the hallway flickered. He frowned and made a mental note to ask the janitor about the wiring. It had been replaced only the year before, right before they had ceased regular operations.

Todorov turned into his office and started when he saw the corporate representative who had visited them right before the shutdown sitting in the chairs and playing with one of the perfume samples that sat in a small beaker on his desk.

“Signore Andros! What a surprise. I was just closing the lab and getting ready to return home for the weekend. I hope you have not been waiting for me long. Did you call the office to tell them you would be arriving tonight? If you did, I am sorry. I was not informed.”

The blond head covered in curls turned. A smirk twisted his mouth. “This is rose oil?”

Todorov frowned. “Yes, it is. The finest Bulgarian rose oil. My country is known for it.”

Andros nodded and set the beaker back in its wooden cradle. The young man had always set him on edge, though Todorov could never say exactly why. Andros smiled, then held a hand toward the doctor’s chair, but no warmth reached his vivid blue eyes.

“I came quite at the last minute, Dr. Todorov. I hope you don’t mind. I am only glad I was able to catch you before the weekend.”

“Well.” The chemist took off his overcoat and sat behind his desk, picking up the silver letter opener his wife had given him for his birthday and fidgeting with the handle. “How can I help you, Signore? I hope that our reports have been favorable. I confess, we are eager for a new project to keep our employees busy. I hope that there has been no irregularity that has caused—”

“No irregularity, Doctor. None. Your records indicate a very well-run lab with seven chemists on staff. Your specialty was in botanical cosmetics, was it not?”

Todorov nodded. “Indeed it was. We had excellent results using the traditional botanicals produced locally and incorporating them into high-end cosmetics. Our products were very well received.”

“And were all the botanical ingredients produced organically?”

Todorov nodded again. “Yes, it is what the corporate office requested. It costs more, of course, but the results and marketing made it—”

“Cost is not an issue on this proposed project.”

The scientist brightened. “So there is a project from Rome? How excellent. The chemists will  be—”

“There will be a project.” Andros reached into his coat. “Providing you have ready access to these ingredients produced organically. And you have the quantities indicated.”

Todorov took the paper from Andros’s pale hand and looked it over. Some of the ingredients were unusual. A few, almost medieval. He frowned. “I’m afraid, Signore, that some of these are not produced commercially in Bulgaria.” He glanced up to see the pale Italian’s eyes frost over. “However,” he continued quickly, “most of them are, and the others can be quite easily obtained. In fact, I know of a farmer we have used for specialty products who works primarily for the perfume industry. He can grow almost anything if it is ordered. Indeed, that would be ideal because we could ensure all the ingredients meet your particular requirements for quality. He even has extensive greenhouses.”

Andros’s smile immediately warmed. “Excellent. And when can we expect those ingredients to be ready?”

“It is March now.” Todorov shrugged. “If money is no object, we could, perhaps, have some within a few months. I will have to talk to the grower.”

“Of course, Todorov. I’m so happy I chose you; I was told you had a… flexible mind.”

The scientist cocked his head. “Oh?”

“Indeed.” Andros rose and turned to leave the office. “We will start production on the formula next winter, if all goes according to projections.”

“May I ask, Signore?” He examined the odd formula at the bottom of the page. “What is it that we are producing? I confess, I have never seen anything like this. It is most…”

Andros cocked his blond head innocently. “Yes?”

“Unusual, Signore Andros. It is quite unlike any other formula I have worked on.”

“Oh,” Andros chuckled. “I’m quite sure of that.”