by A. L. Knorr
My vision shifted as the realization that Gage was gone, that someone had taken him, penetrated my brain. Details in the center of my sight grew sharp while my periphery blurred.
A fruit vendor stacked crates of lemons and oranges. People wandered up and down the street, talking and laughing. A trio of tourists with their phones out headed for the piazza, speaking in German. A young couple with golden tans and glossy hair cuddled and kissed as they leaned against a wall.
“Signora?”
I turned, the back of my quivering hand pressed to my lips.
The man with the flattened fedora was there, studying me with a furrow between his brows.
“Are you ok, signora? You look like...” he paused, struggling for the right word. “Una phantasma.”
“Did you see what happened here?” My voice trembled. I hadn’t felt this alone and frightened since I’d been locked in Dante’s basement. I grasped the kind stranger’s compassion like a drowning person grabs at the nearest floating thing.
His concern deepened as he reached for a back pocket. He produced a phone, nodding. He pulled up a video clip and showed it to me.
Chest and head throbbing with every heartbeat, I watched the short video. It opened on action already in progress, taken from the vantage point of inside the gift shop. A small blue van was partially visible where it had pulled up on the sidewalk. It had already knocked over a rack of postcards.
I caught a flash of Gage’s hair and the side of his body as he was shoved in through the van’s open door by two people dressed in dark colors. I saw no faces and not enough of the bodies to be able to describe the kidnappers to anyone.
“They are mafia,” whispered Flattened-Fedora. “They will ask for money. Is your friend rich?”
I shook my head, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood. I watched the short clip again and again. It was all over in a few seconds.
“You know the faces along the piazza?” Flattened-Fedora continued.
It took me a second to register what he meant. I had seen them. The enlarged photographs of people hanging along the top of a columned facade. Most of them were smiling. Names printed beneath each face, and a span of dates—birth dates and death dates.
“All mafia victims,” he said. “The photographs are our way of protesting. We try to remind the polizia who they work for.”
“Where are the police?”
“They will come, but always too late. That’s how we know it’s mafia.” Flattened-Fedora made a face of disgust. “They care more about filling their own pockets than they do about their people.” He turned his head and spat to the side, putting all the anger and frustration he had about this into the gesture.
“My friend only arrived yesterday. Why would they take him?”
He gripped my shoulder. It was a gesture too familiar for one stranger to give another, but under the circumstances I appreciated the feeling of fingers pressing into my flesh. It helped me focus.
“They watch new arrivals at the airport. Think. Did your friend withdraw any money or give any other signs of wealth?”
My heart spasmed. “He took money from an ATM.”
His fingers gripped harder. “The one across from the taxi stand?”
“Yes.”
He clucked his tongue and swore in Italian, releasing my shoulder to hit the top of his own head. It explained why his fedora was so flat. He removed it and began to wring the poor hat like washing. “No one warned you not to take money near the airport?” he almost wailed, gesturing at me in a very Italian way with his crumpled headwear. “Napoli is not like Firenze. All of us know the airport is where they target people. How did you get from the airport to your hotel? By taxi?”
I felt dizzy and stepped sideways to put a hand on the nearest wall. How could this happen? “Yes, we took a taxi. If someone followed us, they hid themselves well.”
“No one had to follow you, signora. The taxi driver is part of it. Now, the polizia will come. They will take our statement, they will look at my film, and they will do nothing.”
The look on my face made him regret his words. He softened his tone as I bent to put my head between my knees. I wondered if he knew how in danger his spotless wingtip shoes were of being vomited upon.
“Mi dispiacé, signora,” he said, apologizing as I took deep breaths. “I am sorry. I am ashamed for my city.”
He went on about the mafia kidnappings but I was hardly listening as I sat on my haunches with my head down and my eyes stinging.
The whole thing seemed too coincidental. Had Gage really been targeted for a kidnapping based on the hundred euros he’d taken from an ATM? He never wore brand name clothing. He looked clean-cut and cared for, but he needed to replace his sneakers and he hadn’t even brought much luggage. If I were going to hold a tourist for ransom based on who had been at the airport when Gage had arrived, it wouldn’t have been him. There had been that trio of glamorous looking young women taking selfies in front of arrivals. Why not one of them instead? Or all three of them, for that matter. Why Gage? Unless they’d marked all possible targets and our taxi driver had made it apparent Gage was the easiest.
But did staying in a little side street along a piazza rather than in a hotel along the water front make him more accessible or more appealing? I would have thought it would be easier to nab someone from the bay where kids went to smoke and socialize at night. But what did I know? This was the first time I’d ever considered the business side of kidnapping.
What should I do now? Wait for the kidnappers to contact me? Or would they get Gage’s parents’ number from his phone and call them directly, leaving me out of it?
His parents. The nausea climbed my throat with a vengeance as I thought about Angelica and Chad. I put a hand over my mouth. If the kidnappers contacted me, I was going to have to tell his parents what had happened, and Ryan too, if he bothered to answer his phone when he saw who it was.
Before I did that, though, I had to call Basil.
Interrupting Flattened-Fedora mid-complaint, I stood and asked him if he would forward the video of Gage being taken. He agreed and I gave him my number. Thanking him, I moved into the bakery away from the noise of the street as I dialed Basil. Flattened-Fedora moved away, a troubled expression on his lined face.
Basil answered on the third ring. “Saxony. I’m glad you called—”
He took a breath to continue speaking but the words poured out of me like a torrent. “Listen. You’re not going to believe this, but Gage has been kidnapped. Two men shoved him into a van this morning in front of a bakery. Only minutes ago. One of the locals caught part of it on camera. I’ll send you the footage but it probably won’t help much. He thinks it was mafia, because Gage took money out at the airport—”
Basil’s voice invaded my ear. “Whoa! Slow down. Who thinks it was mafia? What happened? I can hear you’re in a panic but you’re talking too fast. I can’t understand you. Where are you?”
The sound of Basil’s voice centered me. I took in a breath and closed my eyes, keeping them closed to shut out the world. “I’m in a bakery across the piazza from where we are staying. When I got up this morning, Gage was gone.”
“What is Gage doing there?”
Right. I hadn’t updated Basil about Gage’s movements. “I called Gage on my way to the airport,” I explained. “He got on the next plane he could and met me in Naples. He didn’t want me to face Dante alone.”
“Good man,” Basil said. “So you woke up this morning and he was taken?”
“No, he left me a note saying he was bringing back breakfast but when he took too long, I went looking for him. When I arrived at the bakery, it looked like there’d been a fight on the street. But it wasn’t a fight. There are people who saw Gage get shoved into a van and taken away.”
My phone chimed as the video appeared in my messages. I looked for the man with the fedora but he must have returned to his own shop.
“I’ll send you video that one of the locals took.
Hang on.”
Fingers trembling, I forwarded the video to Basil. It felt like it took forever, but it finally went through.
I could hear Basil watching it on the other end of the line. There was a distant shout, a flurry of sounds, the slamming of a van door. A gunning of the van’s engine. A tire screeched.
“My God,” Basil breathed. “Have the police been called?”
“Yes, but no one has arrived yet. That’s another reason it could be mafia.”
“What were you saying about the airport?”
I told him what Flattened-Fedora had said about targeting rich tourists at the airport, and about the photographs of victims the locals had put up in protest. “But it doesn’t seem right to me,” I added, my hand pressed to the base of my throat. “If I wanted ransom money from someone at arrivals, I wouldn’t have picked Gage. You’ll send someone from the Agency now, right? How soon can they be here? I don’t trust the police and time is ticking. Arcturus must have solid protocols for kidnappings?”
There was a tense moment of silence and a long exhale.
“Basil?” My gut twisted into a knot. “What is it?”
“Under normal circumstances, I would ask them to send a team immediately, but I can’t.”
“What?” Indignation and anger roiled to the surface, my face flushed with blood and my voice came out on a sneer I couldn’t stop. “Why the hell not? You don’t think that now might be a good time to finally unleash the supposed power of the Arcturus Agency? So far, they’re more zero than hero.”
“More fires went out last night, Saxony,” Basil replied gently. “If someone was available to send, I would send them.”
My eyes flew open, my jaw dropped.
“The Agency is in an uproar,” he continued when I didn’t immediately reply. “I’ve never seen such panic. We lost three agents in March when the first fires went out. We lost another six, last night. Current projects have halted. All agents, with or without fire, have been recalled to headquarters, just outside of London. I’m on my way there now, in fact.”
I tried to apologize but it came out on a wisp of air.
“That’s alright,” Basil replied, understanding me. “I’m sorry, too. I’m afraid you’re on your own until the Agency rights itself. I can’t promise anything, not until I know the extent of the damage and who we’ve lost.”
Voices in the background of Basil’s call sounded urgent. The world around me seemed to spin. I sank into a seat inside the bakery, my knees feeling too weak to hold me up.
“I have to go, Saxony. I’ll call you as soon as I can. At the very least, I’ll have an authority on kidnappings call you with advice.”
Advice. That was the best he could do?
“Okay,” I croaked, massaging my forehead where my brain felt swollen. My thumb headed for the button to end the call when Basil’s voice came through again.
“Oh, and Saxony?”
I drew the phone back to my ear. “Yes?”
“Don’t call Gage’s parents. Leave that to me.”
“Okay. Should I try to reach Ryan, though?”
Basil paused, then: “You can try.”
Six
An Unexpected Ally
A duo of police officers finally arrived ten minutes later. One short and portly and the other tall and lanky. They interviewed me, Flattened-Fedora, the baker, and any other witnesses who’d remained around to be questioned. They asked me the same things that Flattened-Fedora had asked. When had Gage arrived? Had either of us taken money out or made any expensive purchases at the airport? What had we done immediately after meeting in arrivals? They showed me a couple of photographs of men and asked me if I recognized them. I didn’t. They exchanged a look (when I told them Gage had indeed withdrawn money at the airport) that said more loudly than any words would have, that they thought I was a stupid teenager who had been irresponsible and deserved whatever happened. By the time they moved on from me to grill Flattened-Fedora, I was ready to cry or throttle the short, portly officer.
I waited for them to give helpful advice but they told me in halting English that there was nothing to do now but wait to be contacted by the kidnappers. When they asked me for the Wendig’s contact information, I had to give them Basil’s because I didn’t have any way of reaching Chad and Angelica. I also gave them Ryan’s number, but told them I didn’t think he’d answer any number he didn’t recognize.
While the police were taking the baker’s statement, I stepped aside and took out my phone. Calling Ryan’s number was more than a failure. It didn’t even ring. There was no recording that the number had been discontinued, it just ended itself before any connection had been made. I didn’t know if that meant Ryan had turned off his phone, taken out his SIM card, or was out of range or out of the country. Giving up trying to get through on the phone, I recorded a voice message for him instead.
“Hi Ryan, it’s Saxony,” I said, the phone shaking a little in my hand. “I’m with the Neapolitan police. They will probably try to call you. Gage was kidnapped from a street-front this morning. I don’t know if he told you that he returned to Naples to help me with something, but he did, he arrived yesterday. The police think that kidnappers targeted him because he withdrew money from an ATM, but I think he made an unlikely target for a few reasons. You have to call me back. Better yet, you need to stop whatever it is you’re doing and help me find him. I don’t have much faith in the police here. Gage needs you and so do your parents. Basil will have called to tell them by now and they’ll be distraught. Please don’t ignore this message. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
I sent the message and watched as it uploaded. The phone gave no indication that it had been delivered, but neither did it give me the little red message saying it had bounced. I frowned at the screen and waited, but nothing changed.
Clenching my teeth, I growled. “Where are you?”
My cell rang. I gasped, thinking my voice message had gone through successfully after all. Until I read the number. It was the headmaster.
I lifted the phone to my ear. “Basil?”
He dispensed with greetings and got down to business. “I’ve just gotten off the phone with a Neapolitan inspector. How are you?”
I was freaking out, but I didn’t think he’d appreciate hearing that. “I’ve given a statement to the police. I’m still on the street where Gage was taken. I haven’t been able to get through to Ryan. What’s going on there?”
“I’ve spoken to Angelica Wendig, so they know that Gage has been taken. They will connect with the police. They’re in the middle of their busy season and have a whole bunch of events and bookings they have to cancel, but they’ll be on the soonest flight to Naples they can manage. You won’t be alone for much longer. Have you talked to your own parents?”
“Not yet. There hasn’t been time, but I will. As soon as I figure out what to say. My mom is going to want me to come home.”
“She’ll understand that you can’t though, right? Not until Gage is found?”
“Yes. But what should I do? I can’t sit around the villa waiting for the police to find him, or for the kidnappers to get in touch with the Wendigs. I have to do something.”
“I don’t think the kidnappers are going to get in touch with the Wendigs,” Basil replied. “I don’t think we’re dealing with someone who wants money.”
My head snapped up as he voiced the suspicions that I had been unable to convey to the police. I sidled into the shadow between buildings, away from the noise of passing traffic.
“I don’t think so, either. Dante and Gage met yesterday.”
Basil was quiet for a moment. “And how did that go?”
“Dante mistook Gage for Ryan, so they’ve obviously met, or at least, Dante has seen what he looks like. Then I think he realized he was dealing with twins because he got up and left in a hurry. Here’s my theory: Dante spotted Nero and Ryan, just like Enzo said, he took the rubbing from Nicodemo’s things—”
“Ru
bbing?”
“Yes, Dante said the parchment was a rubbing, it’s text but in an ancient language that he couldn’t read. If that rubbing is of interest to Nero, then Dante will trade it for assistance in acquiring fire.”
“So Dante was still a natural when you saw him?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good. You can’t forcefully take a mage’s fire, it has to be given. Ryan will never give up his fire, but maybe they think Gage could be... convinced.”
Hope surged in my chest. “Exactly, and when they can’t convince him, they’ll let him go.”
Basil was quiet so long that I thought our connection had been cut. Then he found his voice. “Why would they let him go?”
I felt like someone had swung a marble tile at the back of my head. My breathing came in shallow. “You think they’ll kill him if he doesn’t play along?”
“I don’t know this Dante kid, Saxony, but I do know Nero. You think they’ll just shake Gage’s hand and let him walk out of wherever they’re keeping him?”
“No, but if Ryan is part of this, he won’t allow them to hurt Gage,” I croaked, feeling slow.
“Are you sure about that?”
I wasn’t.
“Has Ryan responded to you?”
“Not yet. Gage told me that he found out Ryan was in the process of trying to get a visa for Iran.”
“Iran?” Basil sounded surprised. “So he might not even be in the country?”
“Maybe not. That’s probably why my messages aren’t getting through. Can you come? Please?” My voice quavered.
Basil let out a long breath. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could, but the Agency is in full-blown emergency mode. I’ve learned that this most recent snuffing is not the second but the third. It’s affecting more mages than I feared possible. We’re setting up a database now to compile the numbers who’ve lost their fire and it’s not looking good.”
The hair on my forearms lifted into spikes.
“Reports are pouring in, all of our resources are being redirected, which is why I can’t leave yet. One of our superior officers has been working on a digital map. When a new report comes in of a fire that has gone out, they input the data with a view to pinpointing the date of the snuffing and the location of the mage. Now that we’ve got the cooperation of agencies on every continent, who are also inputting data, what is emerging is a very interesting pattern.”
