Mr. Valdi motioned for the man to sit on the chair beside Raphael’s. “This is the young man you wanted to meet.” He gave Raphael a raised eyebrow that Raphael decided to ignore.
If the rector wanted to bow and show throat to the big wolf, that was his business. Raphael was no pack member and wouldn’t submit to another wolf. He’d had enough of that under his father, his alpha, the man who should have taught him the way of the wolf. With a shrug, he blew his bangs away and made a mental note to get a haircut.
As Mr. Quintilius descended on his chair, making the structure whine as if it would crack and break any moment—the man was even bigger than the rector—he offered his hand to Raphael. “Hi, Raphael. How are you?”
Surprise made Raphael’s eyebrows shoot higher up his forehead. He wasn’t accustomed to being treated with kindness, and wondered in which way these two adults would take advantage of him.
“He isn’t the talkative kind, is he?” Mr. Quintilius’s baritone voice was pleasant to the ear, another detail that put Raphael on edge.
On the street, flattery usually equated with requests that were sexual in nature. Raphael, whose features were too delicate, as his father had often told him before or after a beating—his attempts at parenting were misguided—knew what older men and sometimes women wanted from him when they softened their voices and paid him compliments.
Mr. Valdi sat back behind his desk and crossed his arms with a loud sigh. “No, he isn’t.”
“Well, he has his reasons.” Mr. Quintilius distended his legs in front of him and relaxed against the back of his chair.
Once again, Raphael noticed how the man dwarfed the large structure. For a wolf, Raphael was small. Not so much in height, although he probably wouldn’t reach the alpha’s chin on his tiptoes, but in size. Abundance of food of the healthy variety wasn’t part of a street urchin’s diet. Before the Controller sent him back to the shelter, he sometimes went days without a whole meal.
Mr. Valdi turned toward Raphael. “As you might know, Mr. Quintilius is RYS’s patron—” He let the sentence trail, maybe expecting an acknowledgment from Raphael that didn’t come.
Mr. Quintilius raised his hand and continued, “I’m truly sorry for what Mr. Beltrami did to you. RYS should be a safe haven for renegade kids, and when that girl finally spoke up for you and denounced the counselor it was one of the most terrible days of my life. I know I can’t make it up to you for what happened, but I would like to make you an offer.”
“What kind of offer?” Gasping for air, Raphael leaped out of his chair. Since the werewolf had entered the room, Mr. Valdi’s office had become progressively smaller.
Memories of groping hands and lewd whispers came back to Raphael, and his stomach contracted, adding nausea to the claustrophobia. One of the first nights in the street after he ran away from home, he was lured into a dark alley by two couples and barely escaped theirs clutches. Those people who had tried to take advantage of him had looked like the alpha, nice and polished. Since then, he never trusted elegant, well-spoken people again.
Mr. Quintilius motioned for him to sit down. “Relax, kid. I’m talking about a clerical job.”
Even standing up, Raphael wasn’t much taller than the sitting alpha. Cocking his head, he planted his booted feet on the marble tiles and folded his arms across his chest. “And what would that be?”
“Raphael—” Mr. Valdi’s low growl echoed in the stuffy room.
With a chuckle and a wave of his hand, the alpha interrupted the rector. “It’s okay.” Then he smiled at Raphael, all white teeth and eyes lit with mirth. “You remind me of someone else with an alpha-complex. And I hold her very dear to my heart.”
“Is that so?” Automatically, Raphael showed his teeth too and his wolf snarled.
A heartbeat later, the rector jumped out of his chair and grabbed Raphael’s elbow. “Apologize!”
Raphael realized he had gone too far, but he hadn’t survived on the street for being tame and shook his head.
“It’s okay. Really.” Mr. Quintilius too left his chair and made a show to mime Raphael’s cocky stance, then looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. “Kid, I understand your need to challenge me but I’m here to hire you for a decent job.” His expression relaxed as he added, “I’ll even offer you boarding.”
“Why?” Raphael shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
Shaking his head, Mr. Valdi stepped before Raphael, but not before casting him a disapproving look. “I apologize for his—”
A loud snarl filled the room as the alpha’s chest inflated. “For the last time, there’s absolutely no need for apologies.” He breathed in and out, then let out a softer growl. “For the record, I’ll take an independent and smart thinker over a sheep, any day of the week.”
Although Raphael remained silent, he couldn’t help but be pleased by Mr. Quintilius’s statement and it must have shown in his more relaxed stance, because the alpha gave him a bright smile and asked, “Any questions?”
“Yes, I have one.” Raphael turned toward Mr. Valdi. “Where’s Darla? Is she okay?” As soon as he came back to RYS, he looked for the girl and discovered she didn’t live at the center anymore, but none of the kids knew what had become of her.
Mr. Valdi rested both arms on the armchairs and cleared his voice. “Darla is well and living with her new family in Verona. A few months after you ran away, she was matched with a foster family that adopted her. Soon after she moved out, my predecessor received a terrible call from her foster parents. Darla broke in tears one night and told them about the counselor and what he did to her, to other kids, and to you.” He sighed, his eyes unfocused for a moment, then he looked back at Raphael. “The former rector looked for you everywhere, but you’re good at hiding—”
“What happened to Mr. B?” Raphael asked.
“He got his just punishment,” Mr. Quintilius answered, a cold edge in his tone.
“Good.” Raphael’s opinion of the alpha had changed significantly for the better in the last few minutes, and he now felt more at ease in his presence. “So, clerical work you say—”
“Filing documents, typing mails, secretarial tasks. That kind of work. Interested?”
“Anything that gets me out of RYS and back to Rome interests me,” Raphael said, then looked at Mr. Valdi and added, “No offense, Mr. V.”
Mr. Valdi shook his head, but smiled. “None taken.”
“See you tomorrow then.” Mr. Quintilius thrust his hand forward before Raphael could answer and Raphael found himself shaking it.
The next day, Raphael packed his meager belongings—a grocery bag stuffed with three shirts, one holey sweater with the Roma FC logo, a few mismatched socks, and underwear—and left RYS.
Chapter Three
Sunday afternoon at the Den of Rejects meant board games, and Raphael couldn’t wait to show Angel the two Catan expansions he had just bought with his second paycheck.
Two full months had passed under Quintilius’s reign, and having the alpha as his boss wasn’t bad. Even though the scholastic year would end in a month, the wolf tried to convince Raphael to enroll in a high school, but Raphael had shown him how—despite that he hadn’t seen the inside of a classroom in years—he had taken care of his education. Quintilius was pleasantly surprised by Raphael’s eclectic knowledge, but informed Raphael that he would pay for a private high school next fall. Not particularly pleased with that prospect, Raphael regarded the date as far away in the future, forgot about it, and focused on his current job instead. The clerical work was boring but easy, and he had the weekends free.
For once, life didn’t suck.
Had he had found Luisa already it would have been perfect. Maybe Quintilius would help her too and maybe they could go to public school together—he wouldn’t dare ask the wolf to pay for two tuitions. He also had a feeling it would never fly to live under the same roof, but they would find a solution to that. It was good to dream.
Leaving the hustle an
d bustle of the Spanish Steps behind, he descended toward the Metro. Unbeknownst to mortals, the subway ran alongside the higher level of the Promenade, the paranormal underground world that stretched for kilometers under Rome.
Having taken the Spanish Steps Metro entrance many times before, he walked straight to a Roman arch with the infinitum symbol carved on the cusp. A rusted metal door with the sign “Keep Out” lay hidden in the shadow behind the thick wall of the arch. Since magik protected the entrance and no mortals were allowed, he only had to lower the handle of the door to leave Rome behind. A blink of an eye later, he faced the cobblestone street bordering the black waters of the river Styx.
Daylight illuminated the copper roofs of the cafés and eateries built alongside the river, and playful winds pushed white, fluffy clouds around the ceiling dozens of meters above. Magik spells created the outdoor scenery and replicated the external weather. Raphael breathed in the scented air and merged into the crowd strolling by. The Promenade was always busy. Playground for diurnal and nocturnal paranormals, all the restaurants and stores were open 24/7. Using part of the ancient catacombs and what remained of the Suburra, the Roman seedy underworld, the Promenade had been Raphael’s sanctuary for a long time.
Although he was now legit and could walk leisurely, he jogged instead. Old habits die hard and the Promenade was usually swarming with enforcers. He couldn’t help but look over his shoulder for anyone following him, and he only relaxed when he reached the tunnel that would lead him closer to the Den of Rejects. In his five years as a runaway, he had taken great care in mapping the Promenade tunnel system. As a result, he knew all the shortcuts and how to navigate kilometers without stepping into Magik Nation. More than once he had used his extensive knowledge of the underground terrain to escape the Controller.
Before leaving the Promenade proper, he realized he had a few euros left to buy food from one of the street vendors by the river bank. The appetizing aroma of steak cooked on an open fire pit reached his nostrils and he growled. A few minutes later, his appetite was assuaged, and he slipped inside a fissure in the rocky wall that had been large enough a month ago, but now seemed too tight. He held his breath and pushed himself to the other side, board games and all.
The tunnel too had shrunk, and he was relieved when the narrow space opened into a small chamber from which three tunnels departed. Raphael entered the one in the middle. Several turns later, he exited the tunnel and entered the portion of the catacombs he knew all too well. Finally, he left the gloomy area to approach the entrance to the Den of Rejects.
Built to resemble a rocky wall, a partition made of bricks covered in plaster and moss hid a natural arch beyond which lay the rejects’ shelter. The first time Raphael saw the place, he was blown away by the level of industriousness shown by its inhabitants.
The den was an ever-evolving recycling project. Everything was built from scratch using scraps of whatever the kids could find inside the Promenade dumpsters. Colorful and joyous, the den had a main road, dormitories for the younger kids, private, one-story houses for the older and the couples, and common areas where everyone gathered during their free time. Walls were treated like canvases, and murals decorated the buildings. Art, in every form, was promoted, and the rejects displayed sculptures and paintings all over the main road. Presently, a May Tree adorned with garlands and origami birds greeted people at the entrance of the Recreation Hall.
Raphael ducked under one of the tree branches, and entered the hall. New chairs and bookshelves had appeared in less than two weeks. New faces greeted him as well. The center had been growing steadily under the indifference of the so-called good society for some time. Paranormals were a bunch of hypocrites. If one didn’t pledge allegiance to the Immortal Council, they were considered renegades. Once a renegade, one was an outcast and didn’t have any rights. In a nutshell, a renegade could lie wounded on the streets and no one would help him. The only exception was if the renegade was underage. In that case, the Immortal Council would send enforcers to flush him out for the Controller. Raphael couldn’t wait to be eighteen and not have to worry about adults breathing down his neck.
Although, when the demon had caught him at Coin, he had acted as if he was worried about him. Raphael shrugged at the thought—too alien to contemplate—then saw Angel sitting at one of the tables and waved at him.
Eyeing the two bags Raphael carried, the were-puma waved back. “Hey, what you got there?”
“Presents.” He showed Angel the logo on the plastic bags. “Got paid, again.”
Pushing his chair out from the table, Angel whistled and stood to meet him. “Brand new from D&D Parlor?”
“Cities and Nights, and Seafarers.” Raphael leaned to give the were-puma a one armed hug and passed the two heavy bags to him. “Unbox them.”
“You shouldn’t have.” Angel lingered a moment in the embrace before releasing Raphael. “We got plenty for free.”
The board game store owner was a nice immortal who let Angel have the display sets once they became shelf-worn.
“I don’t need the money.” Raphael sat at the table and crossed his legs at the ankles, waiting for Angel to open the boxes. When choosing the two expansions, he had imagined how much the were-puma would fuss over such an extravagant gift. None of the rejects could afford superfluous goods. “Never worked so little in my life and earned so much. Plus, I have a roof over my head for the first time in four years. And I got meal tickets too. Here, have some.” Reaching for his rear pocket, he picked the small bundle of cardboard cards he had tied with a rubber band. The meal tickets—good as money and accepted by every eatery in Rome—were the real reason he was visiting today. The rejects were a proud bunch and wouldn’t accept charity. Buying the board game expansions was Raphael’s evasive tactic.
Angel’s eyebrow shot up, and he paused from tearing apart the plastic film securing one of the boxes. “It’s okay. We don’t need them.”
Raphael relaxed against the chair and placed the stack of meal tickets on the table, then pushed it with one finger toward Angel. “Quintilius invites me for lunches so often I barely have to pay for a meal.”
“Still. What about Saturdays and Sundays when you don’t work?” Angel leaned away, as if repulsed by the offending pieces of cardboard, and sat ramrod straight.
“I have more left. Don’t worry.” Raphael pushed the stack closer to Angel whose eyes went to the tickets but still didn’t make any move to pocket them. “Tell you what, if I find myself hungry, I’ll come here.”
Angel’s chest deflated but he finally nodded. “Promise me you won’t starve.”
“Does it look like I’m starving to you?” Flexing his arms, Raphael showed how he filled the white shirt Quintilius had bought for him, along with a whole wardrobe of proper clothes.
“Is that a Rome F.C. sweatshirt?” Quintilius asked upon Raphael entering his office.
At the door, the secretary who let him in, a horrid werewolf who had already tried to shoo him out, snorted, readjusting her severe glasses over her thin nose.
Raphael tried to hide a big hole on the right sleeve by hugging himself.
With a shake of his grizzly mane, the alpha added, “That won’t do. I’m a Lazio F.C. fan,” then directed his focus on his secretary. “Cancel my appointments for the morning.”
“But, Mr. Quin—”
“Yes, Iris?” The alpha stared the woman down, and even Raphael quivered in sympathetic response.
The secretary scurried away, and Quintilius took Raphael out to buy new clothes.
For the first time in his life, Raphael was the owner of a whole wardrobe of garments that fit his frame like a glove. A far cry from the outfits he collected from charity bins, or “loaned” from second-hand stores.
Angel gave Raphael a once over and smiled. “You look good.” Despite the piercing on his lip, and the scar bisecting his right eyebrow and continuing under his eye down to his cheek, the were-puma had the softest smile and the gentlest hazel ey
es.
“Who knew eating, sleeping, and exercising regularly would do that to you, ah?” Last time he checked his weight on the pharmacy scale, Raphael discovered he had gained several kilos. With the job perks came access to the gym located under Quintilius’s offices, and he hit the place daily. Not even a month, but his arms were bigger already, and he was now working on his legs and abs.
“Keep at it and you might be strong enough to spar with me soon.” Angel wasn’t bulky, but like his animal, he was sinewy and lethally built. Not a gram of fat on his sculpted body.
“I might best you.” Raphael grabbed the second box and gave it a spin on the table.
“You might.” Angel resumed unpacking the expansion and removed the cardboard lid with barely concealed excitement. “Look at those cards. So neat.” He brushed the content of the box, his fingers caressing the small wooden figurines with reverence. “And the smell…”
In truth, Raphael had saved to buy those gifts, but witnessing Angel’s happiness was worth it. His friendship with the shifter was a priceless and unexpected gift he had almost ruined once. “So, do we get to play today or what?”
Angel rolled his eyes and sighed. “Give me a sec. I’ll go grab Catan and look for Patrizia and Paride.” He left the table and jogged out of the Recreation Hall.
Once alone, Raphael gave the newcomers milling around a good look. He waved at the closest and the kid waved back. No introductions were made and that was okay with him. Kids who ended at the Den of Rejects weren’t the easy-going kind. Renegades, very young renegades, found their way to the den after years of abuse. General mistrust toward humanity was a given.
With his boots placed on the opposite chair, he watched as a couple of laughing shifters—a boy and a girl, werewolves like him—jogged inside the hall, their long manes dripping water. Shaking their heads at the same time, they splashed everyone nearby, causing an uproar of expletives. The couple stopped at the table next to Raphael, where they discarded their soaked outer clothes. The boy helped the girl disentangle her arm from her flimsy sweater, and he brushed her skin with a feather light kiss that made her giggle.
Raphael (The Immortal Youth Book 1) Page 3
