“In what way?”
“Anemospilia means ‘caves of the wind,’ and it’s on the hills of Mount Juktas.” Alexis leaned around her to use the keyboard to bring up maps. Penelope tried not to breathe in the distracting smell of spice that emanated from him, but the heat coming off his body made the hair on her neck stand up.
“It’s supposedly where Zeus is buried. It would make sense to have a temple there to him,” argued Penelope.
“We should look into it further,” Alexis said, moving back into his chair and to his book. “Thevetat’s priests liked caves. They could have easily made it look like a cult to a dead God.”
“I’ll see what I can find and send an update to Marco.”
“Tell him to look into black market antiques. If those vases in Santa Croce were authentic, there will be a trail and a lot of money changing hands.”
“I’m on it,” Penelope replied. “My brain has been so focused on the script that I overlooked the antiques.”
“Let Nereus worry about the script. She and Galenos will have it cracked soon enough.”
WHENEVER PENELOPE needed to reset her brain, she asked Alexis questions. Lots of questions.
When she had arrived at 39 Calle dei Cerchieri, Alexis had promised her answers, and to her delight and considerable surprise, he gave them up to her. Penelope loved the way his Byzantine accent made whatever he was saying sound mysterious and fantastic. Penelope couldn’t help but note everything from the pattern of the embroidery on his never-ending supply of entari robes, to the crease in his brow when he was concentrating, as if he was trying to intimidate the manuscript he was studying to yield its secrets.
Penelope always thought her father’s hands were typical scholar’s hands, their soft, Irish paleness a reminder of his refusal to do any physical labor. Alexis’s hands were strong and calloused from sword practice, decorated with rings, smatterings of ink and scars from his adventures. A few times, Penelope’s treacherous mind had wandered off to imagine how many other scars decorated his tall, lean body. She wanted to know all the stories behind them.
Like a male Scheherazade, Alexis was full of stories, and they appeared sporadically within conversations as if the storytelling was an intrinsic part of whatever he was explaining.
Once she had asked him about horses in Atlantis, and his explanation about how they used to breed and raise them had turned into a recollection of how when he was a child, he and his brother had gone to steal their cousin’s mare for a ride. What they hadn’t known was that the mare was pregnant and had already begun to give birth. They had feared the horse was dying and went for their uncle, all mischief forgotten. The foal was having trouble getting out of its poor mother, so Alexis, being the youngest and with the skinniest arms, had to reach inside of the mare to pull the long-legged foal free. Both mother and baby lived, and as the foal grew it obsessed over Alexis, following him around like a dog, as if it remembered the great favor he had done for it.
A lot of the stories were simple, but they were always punctuated with something unbelievable or historically fascinating. There was the time Aelia had mentored a child with a prodigious talent for piano who turned out to be Mozart, or how Phaidros had once decided to have a month-long orgy in Greece, and when the local king Pentheus tried to put a stop to it, Phaidros had raised the town, turning the women against the king who was subsequently torn apart.
“Aren’t you talking about the Dionysus myth?” Penelope interrupted.
“It survived in that form, but the truth of it was Phaidros had a drunken tantrum.” Alexis folded his arms. “I would know, Penelope. I was the one that had to clean up the bloody mess after. Phaidros went through some incredibly dark periods in those days. We had seen and lost so much already. No one grieves like a magician, and a depressed one is volatile. It is lucky for us that humans can’t handle what they don’t understand, so a drunk magician sparking a riot becomes Dionysus seeking revenge.”
When the three of them had dinner that evening, Penelope tried to find that rage-fueled Dionysus behind Phaidros’s flirting golden eyes. His stunning gold hair and dark brown skin, paired with the ability to do magic, would have been enough to convince her of his godhood but the rage was not there. Or it was simply buried and dormant.
Penelope knew she was never going to stop being amazed as long as she stayed at the palazzo in Dorsoduro, and as long as Alexis kept telling her what she wanted to know, the less inclination she had to leave.
THE QUESTURA was packed and rowdy when Penelope and Alexis arrived for their formal interviews three days after her kidnapping. Marco took Penelope aside as a smiling female officer escorted Alexis to a separate office.
“How are you feeling, Penelope?” Marco asked.
“Much better. I’ve been treated like a princess the last few days, so you have nothing to worry about,” she assured him. “Are these interviews really necessary?”
“We need to keep everything official in case it all goes to hell. I’ll make it quick, I promise.” He showed her into one of the sterile interview rooms.
“Tell me again what happened when Alexis Donato arrived.” Marco tapped his pen against the table.
Penelope recounted him everything that had happened that day, keeping her story consistent with the one she knew Alexis was telling next door.
“Why are we going through this again? You don’t think Alexis or I could’ve killed them?”
“No, not at all. Men like Donato pay other people to get their hands dirty for them.” Marco rolled his eyes at her when she frowned at him. “I’m joking, Penelope.”
“No, you aren’t. He’s not mafia, Marco. If he were, Adalfieri wouldn’t allow him to work on this case.”
“Maybe he’s not mafia, but I know he is hiding something.”
“So is everyone,” Penelope said. “I’ve known Alexis long enough to know he’s just a rich eccentric. There’s nothing mysterious or interesting about him.”
Except absolutely everything is interesting and mysterious about Alexis.
“If you say so,” he replied. There was a sharp knock on the door, and Agent Bianchi came in, looking about as happy as the last time Penelope saw her.
“Have you asked her yet?” she demanded, sitting opposite Penelope. Her blonde hair was tied in a ponytail so tight and smooth it made Penelope’s eyes water in pity.
“Ask me what?”
“Agent Bianchi had an idea—”
“We want your help to get this Acolyte to come to us.”
Penelope made a mental note to ask Nereus if she was clairvoyant. Nothing would surprise her. “I was also going to suggest you find a way to use me as bait to lure him out.”
“No, not like bait exactly—” began Marco, but Penelope cut him off.
“It’s fine, Marco. I expected you to ask, and it’s a good idea. I have one condition.”
“What?” demanded Agent Bianchi.
“I want Alexis to help with whatever you’re planning.”
“Why?”
“Because Questore Adalfieri will want him involved,” Penelope said sweetly. “He has private security that could also ensure I don’t end up at the bottom of a canal.”
Again.
“I’ll agree to Donato—he has a high-enough profile to get into places others can’t—but no to the private security. I don’t want any more civilians involved,” Agent Bianchi bargained. “I want this to be a proper operation with every angle covered.”
“What did you have in mind?” Penelope asked.
AN HOUR later, Penelope left the interview room feeling like she had been raked over the coals. She didn’t doubt that Agent Bianchi was an excellent agent, but her people skills lacked Marco’s panache. Penelope had to keep reminding herself that she was only trying to do her job, and that deep down she probably wasn’t the raging bitch she presented to the world.
They found Alexis sitting with a group of female officers chatting and laughing. By the rosy glow of their cheeks a
nd shy smiles, he wasn’t holding back any of his charms.
“I was starting to think they had arrested you for your own kidnapping,” he joked when he saw them. Marco waved the women on, and they scattered under his glare.
“They were telling me their plan to use me to attract the Acolyte,” Penelope said.
Alexis’s eyebrow cocked. “Really? And you believe risking your life again is wise?”
Penelope glared at him. “It’s my life to risk.”
“She will be perfectly safe,” Marco assured him. “There will be lots of polizia to protect her, and the venue will have its security.”
“What venue?” Alexis asked, a definite tone creeping into his voice. Penelope pulled on their connection, and he looked at her irritably.
“The Arsenale for the masquerade ball,” Agent Bianchi said bluntly. “I’m sure you have more than one mask to wear, Signore Donato.”
“I DON’T like that woman,” Alexis stated as they walked through the streets of Santa Croce.
“She’s certainly blunt,” Penelope replied diplomatically. “You probably don’t like her because she’s immune to your flirting, unlike every other female in that office.”
“This is Italy—flirting is a local custom. Besides, it makes them think I’m something I’m not.”
“A playboy instead of a centuries-old magician from Atlantis?” Penelope said as straight-faced as she could.
“Yes, something like that,” he replied. “I thought by now you would have reconsidered risking your life to flush out the Acolyte.”
“I made it pretty clear how I felt about it. Are you worried about your abilities to protect me?”
“It’s not my abilities I’m concerned with. We don’t know if this Acolyte has paid off the police. I’ll have to watch them as well as watch you.”
“I doubt the Acolyte will be stupid enough to try and grab me in the middle of a masquerade ball.”
“You don’t know how stupid or smart he is and that’s the problem,” Alexis argued. “There’s so much we don’t know. I don’t like people very often, Penelope. Despite our uneasy beginning, I do like you, and I won’t apologize for not wanting you to take unnecessary risks.”
Penelope wanted to argue, but his sincerity, and the fact she felt the same about him, doused her fire. “I like you, too, and believe me, I won’t do anything stupid to get myself hurt. Nereus has been pretty adamant that I’m meant to follow your lead if a situation arises.”
“Did she? And you listened to her?” he teased.
“She told me she’d kick me out of the Archives if I didn’t.”
Alexis’s laugh was loud and easy. “I’ll have to remember to use that in future arguments.”
“And you think there will be many of those?” Penelope grinned.
“Have you met you?”
The Campo Santa Margarita was packed with tourists, and when Alexis placed her hand over his arm to prevent losing her, Penelope didn’t argue. Nor did she let go even once they’d made it past the crush of people. There were worse ways to spend her time than arm in arm with a handsome man in La Serenissima.
“Why Venice?” she asked as they strolled casually. “Of all the places in the world you could all live, why here?”
“We have always been here,” Alexis explained. “For many years it was only us and the incolae lacunae, the lagoon dwellers. As wars pushed people from their homelands, we began to be inundated with refugees. If you know anything about Venice, you know that its strategic position is a safe and powerful one. To find ways to house everyone, Nereus, Galenos, and I helped develop the idea of building houses and bridges to the islands, the way peasants used to in Atlantis. It made travel and trade between everyone safer and easier.”
“So the real reason Venice has never been severely looted or bombed is that you have been protecting it?” asked Penelope.
“Yes and no. Venice itself inspires a fierce loyalty even if the grand old lady is now seen as a decaying relic only fit for tourists.” Alexis looked fondly at the buildings around him, their facades tired and weatherworn. “She is still beautiful and safe. We learned our lesson after Alexandria. Humans can’t be trusted not to destroy, so we rebuilt here.”
“Are you telling me the Library of Alexandria was the original Archives?”
“What they destroyed upstairs was valuable, but it was nothing compared to what lay underneath it. It was enough for Nereus to decide to relocate. Egypt was no longer a place she recognized or liked. The Romans were like rampaging children, and Nereus wanted a place we could protect and defend.”
“I’m starting to see why you took on the crusaders for the Library of Constantinople,” said Penelope.
“Knowledge is sacred, whether it’s magical or not. It’s always worth protecting because its value is infinite.”
“I can understand not wanting magical knowledge to escape out into the world but what about historical knowledge of Atlantis? That would be fascinating and invaluable.”
“There is no way to separate one from the other. It’s one of the reasons I’ve fought so hard to protect it.” Alexis frowned, his blue eyes darkening as she watched him. “You will never be satisfied with that answer, will you?”
“Not even a little bit,” Penelope stated, giving his arm a playful squeeze. “But that’s what you like about me, my academic ability to poke my nose in is one of my charms.”
“One of many, and not my favorite,” Alexis replied with a smile that seemed to start at his eyes and fill his entire body.
It was but a moment, but it was enough that a long-forgotten part of Penelope woke up with interest.
Shut it down, Pen, she instantly warned herself, but the feeling refused to go away. She couldn’t help but be attracted to him, even though no good could come of it.
Christ, if she couldn’t keep a normal man interested, what chance did she have with someone like him? Gorgeous, dangerous, magical creature that he was. She blamed La Serenissima and the afternoon light that made everything glow warmer, turning their platonic stroll into something else. Eventually, she looked away from him, common sense winning out.
ALEXIS SAW Penelope brighten with flirtation before something closed behind her eyes. What had happened? She asked him about how Venice began to grow and how it was similar to the peasant housing of Atlantis. Alexis answered her, but his mind turned back to a conversation he had with Nereus.
Penelope had only been in the house for a few days and the growing desire to corner her with questions, to be in her company, was becoming embarrassing. What was worse was he could feel her through the blasted metaphysical connection they shared. It was like a phantom limb he couldn’t scratch or cut off.
As always when he was restless and melancholy, Alexis had ended up in the Archives, pulling down books in Atlantean, Greek, Egyptian, and Arabic to try and discover an answer to his problem. Nereus had come and sat with him like she had so many other times.
“How is our guest settling in?” she asked.
“The woman is insatiable for information,” Alexis complained, “and it’s always the mundane things: what kind of food was grown in Atlantis? How was it harvested? What animals did we have? What were our clothes like? What stories were popular?”
“And you answer these questions?”
“Of course I do!”
“Why?” Nereus pressed.
“Because…” Alexis struggled for the words. “Because I like the look of wonder on her face. I haven’t thought about any of this for thousands of years.”
“But you are happy to talk about them now, with her?”
“Yes,” he said softly. “I have always avoided talking or thinking about those kinds of memories because they hurt too much. Telling Penelope doesn’t hurt. Maybe it’s her open enthusiasm for it all, her happiness in simply knowing is contagious. She is contagious.”
“Phaidros is certainly taken with her,” Nereus said, studying her nails. “He’s in the kitchen with her makin
g Festival Cakes—”
The fountain pen in Alexis’s hand snapped in half, sending a flood of ink over his hand and the journal he had been writing in.
“Penelope has had enough shocks over the past few weeks without that idiot making her uncomfortable,” he said irritably.
“She didn’t look uncomfortable.” Nereus handed him a handkerchief. “She’s a wise enough woman to make her own decisions when it comes to men. I’m more concerned with what’s bothering you. You’ve been hiding here for hours.”
“Show me what I’m not seeing, Nereus. Why her? What the hell is this?” He waved a hand over his chest, and the glowing, complicated weave that tied him to Penelope appeared.
“Oh dear, I haven’t seen one of those since the old days,” Nereus said, leaning forward. She went to poke it, but he stopped her.
“Don’t. Penelope will feel it. There is only one way this could’ve happened. When I was in Australia listening to her lecture, I may have placed a psychic tracker on her,” he admitted. Nereus raised a white eyebrow. “It was only to alert me if she stumbled across anything real. Do you think the spell changed somehow, making it reverse in some way which allowed her to follow it back to me?”
“If that was the case, why didn’t it happen sooner? I’m sure Penelope meditated in the past two years. Why did she not find you then?” Nereus asked, making him feel like her student again. Would that feeling ever go away?
“Proximity,” he hypothesized. “She wasn’t strong enough to do it from the other side of the world but being in Venice gave it the push needed to connect.”
“What happened when she almost died?” Nereus sat back in her chair.
Alexis felt that sickening jolt again and rubbed his chest. “It frayed, and then I wiped her memories. When we touched after she found the house it…it reconnected. Even without the connection, her mind fought the spell, locking parts of her memory away so they couldn’t be destroyed. That’s why she became so ill.”
“It takes a special, singular mind to do that.” Nereus’s smile was slow and sly. “How upset will you be when I tell you that you’re wrong?”
The Immortal City Page 13
