An Immortal Valentine's Day

by Monica La Porta

  Samuel raised one hand and stopped them, then angled his head toward the canal boat. “I don’t hear any noise.”

  Quintilius’s nostrils flared and his mouth closed in a tight line. “I can smell their scents though.”

  “Okay. Let’s go inside and find out for sure.” Marcus marched ahead and walked over the short plank securing the barge to the bank.

  Alexander let everyone pass, then closed the ranks. He entered the barge and held his breath. Inside, the space was dark and it took his eyes a moment to adjust, but when he could focus on the interiors, his heart melted at the sight of a domestic scene.

  In a corner of the big, squandered space, smelling of dust and mold, was a clearing. Over a worn but clean rug, stood a coffee table made of a piece of wood balanced on a large terracotta vase. Alexander stepped closer and leaned over the table. On the smooth wooden surface, someone—most probably Raphael—had placed a chipped, glass pitcher filled with pink roses, and a bouquet of red balloons held down by a fluffy teddy bear hugging a heart. A box of chocolates lay open, a few of the gold plastic tray’s slots vacant.

  Noticing the small package at the foot of the vase, he bent to get a better look. Recycled newspaper, with red hearts stenciled all over it, wrapped a solid object. Alexander took the wrapped gift in his hands and decided it might have been a frame from the rectangular shape. He stood and noticed all the canvases placed against the walls with paintings in several stages of completion. The one on his right commanded his attention. It was a girl’s portrait. A brief glance around the space confirmed his suspicion. The majority of the paintings were of the same girl. “He loves her,” he said with a shake of his head.

  ****

  “He sure does. And that makes this whole situation a mess.” Peter had reached Alexander’s conclusion upon entering the barge and spotting the Valentine’s Day vignette.

  Peter knew all about young love and the perils associated with it. He had become a demon after helping two teenagers achieve their dream to be free to love each other. Sometimes, when Ophelia slept by his side, sweet and yet sad emotions assailed Peter. Not memories. He would never remember his life as an angel. But lately, more frequently, he experienced feelings he didn’t recognize as his. As the demon’s. So they must have been residual sentiments from when he was an angel.

  He reasoned the emotional flashbacks were due to the transfer he and Samuel had successfully attempted almost a year ago. During a manhunt that threatened his life and Ophelia’s, Peter and Samuel had used their combined power to read a living soul. Peter, the demon, could only read the dead and discover what had happened to them before dying. But Peter, the angel, had been able to communicate with the living souls. So, he used what was left of the fallen’s power to channel their united energies and read the thoughts of one of his angel enemies.

  Thanks to that reading, he now knew he never renounced his holiness. He had been forced to become a demon by the ex-archangel, Arariel. His only fault, he helped two star-crossed lovers find peace. Lucilla and Valerio had been young and in love. He a vampire, and she a werewolf. In Roman times, their love was doomed. Shunned by both their families, and unable to bear an existence without the other, the two kids had decided to transmigrate their souls to their next lives. Peter had made that possible.

  He often wondered if Lucilla and Valerio had found each other, and he fervently hoped so. Those two kids deserved to be together. And he was starting to think that Raphael and Luisa deserved to be together as well.

  “Where are they?” He looked at Samuel, shaking his head.

  The night will soon come, and with it the odds of finding them before the authorities will dwindle to zero.

  “They aren’t here,” Quintilius answered instead. “But they were on the barge not long ago.” He moved around the room, following its perimeter and stopping at the corners, his nose twitching. “Their scents are stronger near that door.” He took a few steps toward it. “They weren’t alone.” With a loud sniff, he passed a finger along the frame, then brought it to his nostrils and frowned. “A vampire—”

  “A vampire? An hour ago.” Peter shook his head. “It’s still daylight. That can’t be.”

  “No. It can’t be. And yet the scent is fresh.” Quintilius closed his eyes and brought his nose closer to the frame. “A werewolf. Not a vampire. But with enough vampire blood in his veins to mask his wolf scent.”

  Marcus groaned as Alexander and Samuel turned around. The three of them converged closer to the door.

  Peter wondered if Raphael was still procuring the drug for Luisa. That thought made him swore a long streak of profanities. Then he gave the place another look and shook his head. That boy loved her. He wouldn’t harm her, could he? But then again, if she needed the drug, he would probably do anything to assure she had her dose. Even calling back the man who had almost beaten him to death. Young love. He swore again.

  Quintilius must have followed Peter’s same train of thought, because, with one hand caressing the stubble on his jaw, he said, “Before jumping to conclusions, let me see if I can find more.”

  They all followed Quintilius outside and onto the stern of the barge.

  “Their scents are mixed with the werewolf and definitely stronger on this side.” Quintilius moved with sure steps toward the aft end of the barge. There, he paused. “And—”

  Peter had seen the blood stain on the handrail before Quintilius pointed at it. “His or hers?”

  Quintilius inhaled, a dark veil descending upon his face. “Hers.”

  Peter hissed, his mind running ahead with possible scenarios of what might have happened. Violence meant that maybe Raphael hadn’t called the man, after all. The werewolf must have coerced Raphael and Luisa to follow him out there. But why? Where they were now? “If we had only arrived earlier—”

  He wanted to punch something, but at least he wasn’t alone in feeling powerless. Marcus swore in Latin while Alexander’s expression turned pale and angry. Only Samuel kept his cool as he paced back and forth on the stern, seemingly taking in the details.

  Quintilius interrupted the heavy silence that followed. “The scents are fresh.”

  “How fresh?” Peter stopped and asked. He’d also been pacing without realizing it.

  “My estimate is sixty, seventy minutes old tops. They hung around this spot long enough for their scents to mark the place. I would say for that to happen they stood here for at least two or three minutes.” Quintilius looked at the Tiber for a moment, then back at them. “Then they must have taken those stairs. The scents are at their strongest right here.” He pointed at the metal rungs attached to the side of the barge. “The boy’s scent is laced with terror, the girl’s is spiked with pain, and the werewolf’s with satisfaction.”

  Peter looked at the expanse of the brown river water, then down at the side of the barge below the ladder, from which a length of rope was dangling from a hook. A brief glance in the other direction and he noticed a small dinghy anchored by the barge with a similar rope. “They left in one of the tenders.”

  Without saying a word, Samuel pivoted on his heels and went back inside the barge.

  Marcus punched the guardrail. “To go where? From here to the sea or from here to the mountains, they might have stopped at any harbor along the river, and taken a car. They could be anywhere by now.”

  Peter paced, his eyes on the other side of the riverbank. “Why take the river at all?”

  “I don’t know about that, but—” Alexander leaned over the handrail where the dried stain painted the rusty metal red. “The amount of blood here isn’t too much, and the girl smeared it with her hand. Maybe she was hit in her mouth and wiped away the blood, then grabbed the handrail to lower herself down the stairs.”

  Peter imagined the scene and nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “Okay.” Marcus turned to Quintilius. “Can you think of any place the werewolf could’ve taken them?”

  Quintilius raised his hands and growled. “I
control all the Roman territories along the Tiber, but, as a pack, we do have problems with shifter gangs. To keep Rome safe and not start a turf war every other day, several decades ago I discovered that I had to leave the gangs alone. A truce is hard to swallow, but it keeps people alive.” He paused and pinched the arch of his nose. “The Reds have been a thorn in our side for a long time, and although we do keep a close eye on them, I am not privy to all their hideouts and safe places.” He shook his head. “And this werewolf could also be operating with a different gang—”

  “Quintilius? Can you come here for a moment?” Samuel called from the door, his hand pointing over his shoulder toward the bow of the barge.

  The alpha hurried in that direction, leaving Peter and the two immortals behind.

  “Let’s see what Samuel is up to.” Peter reentered the big room and proceeded to exit on the other side.

  Samuel led Quintilius out of the barge and down to the bank, then up the marble stairs and back on Milvio Bridge. Peter hurried to reach them, and so did Marcus and Alexander. Once on the bridge, Peter watched Samuel stride toward the walkway occupied by parked cars.

  Alexander swore, then kicked the closest tire. “How is one supposed to walk a stroller here? They haven’t left any space for pedestrians.”

  Peter heard Alexander complain and couldn’t help the smile that followed. The Greek, who was preoccupied with the condition of the Roman streets with regard to strollers, was hilarious. He imagined Ophelia’s reaction when he told her that the former playboy was irritated about the lack of pedestrian walkways for strollers.

  Meanwhile, Samuel motioned for Quintilius to stop in front of the first few cars and asked him, “Can you detect the werewolf’s scent?” When Quintilius shook his head, Samuel grimaced but told him to keep tracking it.

  Scanning the area, Peter turned his back on them and spotted a semi-hidden bike by a Humvee parked in the second row, blocking part of the street. He navigated the crowded space between the Humvee and the wall of a building to get a good look at the bicycle. A detail had caught his attention. “Samuel? Quintilius? I think this belongs to our man.” He bent closer to the bike, a black Kawasaki Ninja similar to Ophelia’s. Something stood out about that bike, a beautiful rendition of a wolf howling at a blood-red moon had been skillfully airbrushed on its hood. The letter R and the symbol representing the infinitum were drawn on the side. “Forever Red,” he said out loud.

  A moment later, Quintilius joined him, his nostrils flaring.

  “At least we now know for sure that we’re dealing with the Reds,” Peter commented as he stepped to the side to give Quintilius access to the bike, but the werewolf raised one hand to his face and stopped abruptly in front of Peter.

  Looking as if he would puke, Quintilius pressed his hand over his mouth and nose and backed up several meters until he was on the street with the immortals and Samuel. “Yes. Even without that—” he pointed to the drawing “—the wolf scent combined with the vampire blood is unmistakable. This bike belongs to the man who abducted Raphael and Luisa. And he is high, dangerously so.”

  “So, the guy comes to visit Raphael and drives his bike.” Peter voiced his thoughts out loud and enumerated them by raising his fingers one at a time. “He clearly doesn’t have any intention to take them anywhere by road.” He caressed his chin with his free hand. “Things escalate fast.” Peter’s hand smoothed his hair and undid the ponytail in the process. “They leave the barge by boat.” With methodical movements, he tied his hair again. “Because—” He looked at the bike, then at the road where a car was trying to maneuver the space left open by the Humvee.

  In a few seconds, several cars stopped in front of the one still trying to pass the Humvee. A traffic jam formed. Soon, horns were honking and drivers were lowering their windows to swear and complain about the situation.

  One of them, a man in his fifties, was particularly vocal. “Can you move? We have places to go!”

  Peter thought about what the man had just said and slapped his forehead. “The werewolf came with his bike because he already knew he wasn’t going to use it to transport the kids. He knew the fastest way to reach his destination was by water.” Catching the attention of the rest of his group, he waited for Quintilius to nod his assent, then continued, “Which also means his destination must be somewhere along the river or close to it anyway.”

  Meanwhile, cars were piling up and the noise from the horns and the people swearing at each other had grown louder. The sun was disappearing behind the tallest buildings on the other side of the bridge, and, all of a sudden, the colorful pink and red garlands adorning the trees outside a parfumerie lit. The store’s windows were plastered with hearts and the word “love” written in several languages.

  A cacophony of sounds and lights hit Peter’s senses. “It’s Friday night, and in half an hour all of Rome will be locked up like this road.” Overwhelmed by the sensory overload, he closed his eyes to tune the world out. Then a thought occurred to him. “Remind me which one is the closest vampire nest to the river?” he asked the group at large.

  Samuel frowned, then his eyes brightened. “Fiumicino. The closest one along the Tiber is in Fiumicino.”

  Marcus raised an eyebrow in Peter’s direction, but then crossed his arms over his chest and added, “I think you might be onto something.”

  “I agree.” Alexander pointed toward the river. “We must take the same route, though. Otherwise, we won’t reach Fiumicino until late tonight.”

  “And by that time, Wolf’s Haven will have called in Luisa’s disappearance,” Samuel finished.

  Peter raised his eyes to the sky. The sun had set and the temperature was increasingly colder. In a few hours, it would be dark and the enforcers might not be their only problem. The vampires would be out and about too. He addressed Samuel, “Call Barnes and tell him to send us the fastest motorboat the Council has, and—”

  Quintilius shook his head. “No need to disturb the Immortal Council for that. I have several speedboats anchored at the Circolo Vogatori.”

  Peter had never visited Quintilius’s prestigious and very private row club, but he knew where it was located—as did everyone else in Rome. “Then we must go back down the bridge. I know there’s a magik entry to the Promenade, just before the underpass.” He turned to face the river. “There’s no way we’ll take the car to reach the Lungotevere Flaminio. Our best option is to skip the traffic by crossing under the city,” he said over his shoulder as he headed toward the stairs.

  Once they were down on the river bank again, he walked under the bridge and looked for a misplaced brick on the wall. Caelum had taught him how to recognize the signs of an object spelled by a warlock or a witch. He methodically scanned the wall, finally recognizing the faint lines of a spiral circling one brick. Careful of only tracing the spiral, Peter whispered one of the incantations Caelum had generously shared. He spoke decisively and pressed his thumb onto the center of the spiral. The brick disappeared along a portion of the wall, revealing an opening large enough for two men to enter side by side.

  Applauses erupted, and he stepped aside and motioned for the others to pass through.

  “Great trick.” Alexander smiled at him.

  With one of his signature punches, Marcus stepped under the archway. “I can see why Ophelia keeps you around. Despite your pretty face, you’re kinda useful.”

  Samuel thanked Peter.

  Quintilius was the last to pass, and he patted Peter’s arm. “Well done.”

  “Thank you.” Warmth spread through Peter’s chest. Perplexed, he pressed one hand over his heart.

  ****

  Quintilius watched as Peter led them through the magik passageway without faltering once, not even when the tunnel’s walls started closing around them. Peter told them to hurry and he kept the traps at bay with a perfectly executed incantation.

  A few steps away from Quintilius, the centurion laughed when Peter made a stalactite disappear. It had started growing fr
om the ceiling and would have impeded their progress. “I’m officially impressed.”

  Marcus Aurelianus said out loud what Quintilius thought, but would have never admitted.

  “I didn’t think magik was taught to outsiders.” Alexander carefully walked around a large mushroom with a long cream stem, a puffy ring, and a red and white cap. A rainbow-colored butterfly as big as a plate lay on top of it.

  Peter shrugged. “Usually, it isn’t, but Caelum and I are good friends.”

  Quintilius noticed that the demon wasn’t comfortable with the conversation and he wondered why, but kept his focus on the task at hand and their safe exit from this place. For the past ten minutes, they had been navigating through a brick tunnel that resembled a medieval dungeon, down to the lit torches and the rivulets of water running through the bricks. The smell of mold combined with the humidity in the air, and the constant fear a trap would spring up from the walls, floor or ceiling made for an unpleasant stroll.

  “This way.” Peter indicated a large clearing resembling a chamber and the opening at the other end of it. “Remember, it’s all in your head.”

  Keeping in mind Peter’s recommendation, Quintilius was still surprised when he crossed the entire length of the chamber and found that the scenery transformed into something completely different at every other step. By the time they were out of the magik territory and into the Promenade, Quintilius had walked through a river of lava, had swum underwater, and had even floated over a sea of flowers.

  “It’s not the same experience for everyone,” Peter told Alexander, who had just commented about ladybugs, pacifiers, and flying pearl necklaces. “You see things relevant to your own life.”

  The other men shared what they had seen, but Quintilius didn’t. He kept quiet and continued walking. As the alpha of the biggest werewolf clan in all Europe, he wasn’t used to having conversations with peers. He had his extended family, those he loved very much, but based on the banter and camaraderie among this group, he realized he hadn’t allowed anyone close in a long time.