The Immortal City

by Amy Kuivalainen

  Penelope placed a hand on his chest and said very seriously, “Alexis, you are a magician from Atlantis. That’s enough mystery for any person.” He looked at her hand, but when she made to move it, he covered it with his own. She could feel his heart beating loud and insistent, and her own responded, matching the rhythm.

  “I might be out of line saying this, but of all the people on this planet, I’m glad my fate is tied to yours, Alexis Donato,” Penelope said. “I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but from the moment I met you I’ve felt that as long as I’m with you, I’m going to be all right.”

  Alexis cupped her face with his other hand. “I promise to try and live up to your faith in me, Penelope Bryne. Right now, you are making me wish I was a lesser man so I could take advantage of this moment, but a lesser man would not deserve you.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers before rising to his feet. He bowed to her. “It has been an honor to be your escort this evening. Buona notte, dolcezza.”

  “Good night, magician,” Penelope said. He was almost at the door when she exclaimed, “Alexis, wait!”

  As he turned, Penelope was there, meeting him on tiptoes and kissing him hard and deep, her fingers threading through the midnight curls at the nape of his neck.

  It was a kiss that made promises, expressing the vortex of emotions she had felt since pulling the stone tablet from the sea. She kissed Alexis the way a part of her had wanted to since she saw him in his tower, that wild and graceful thing wrapped in silk and magic. In it, she tried to express the ache of her skin and the need in her chest. The wanting of not just his knowledge but him. God, she wanted him, to unlock every part of him like he was a living book filled with deep unknowable secrets, terrifying fairy tales of magic and violence and loss. She wanted to swallow the smoke of his voice and know the feeling of his fingertips on her face.

  Penelope pressed Alexis against the door, her softness molded against the hard shape of his long body.

  “I wanted a good-night kiss,” she said breathlessly after their lips parted. She stepped back from him, shaking.

  “If that’s how you kiss good night, I can’t wait to see how you kiss good morning,” Alexis said, brow slightly raised. His smirking mouth was begging to be kissed again, but then he was gone, the door closing gently behind him.

  Minutes later, as Penelope lay in bed, the first deep bars of a cello echoed down the tower stairs to her room, serenading her to sleep as something in her soul burned.

  BY THE TIME Penelope arrived at their designated meeting spot early the next morning, Marco Dandolo had coffees and biscotti waiting. He closed his paper as she entered the café, looking at her with an amused and measured smile.

  “You know what I love about Italy?” she asked as she sat down opposite him. “There’s good coffee wherever I go.”

  Marco looked her over again, his smile getting wider. “You slept with him, didn’t you?”

  “No! Why would you say that?” she said too loudly. “Of course I didn’t. I’m a little hungover, that’s all. Some friends arrived yesterday, so we had dinner and drinks and…fine! I kissed him, okay? Don’t give me a lecture because I don’t exactly know how I feel about it.”

  Marco laughed at her nervous confession. “Penelope, you are hardly the first person in the world to kiss someone after they’ve been drinking. Half the Questura wanted to make love to Alexis Donato yesterday, so I’m impressed you stopped at just kissing.”

  “I still don’t know if it was a mistake or not,” Penelope admitted, dipping her almond biscotti into the steaming espresso. It wasn’t only the kissing that troubled her; it was the chakra orgasm and the magic, too. She should have been concerned or afraid. Instead, she felt more comfortable with a group of magicians than she ever had with normal people.

  “I think the paparazzi are more excited about it than you are,” Marco commented and handed her a paper. She couldn’t understand what the article was saying, but there she was, arm in arm with Alexis, wandering the streets of Venice.

  “What the hell? Who took this?” she demanded. She tried to make sense of the sentence underneath the photograph. She and Alexis were both named. “What does this say?”

  “Who cares? It’s just a gossip rag. Nothing to concern yourself with.” Marco tried to take the paper from her, but she tightened her grip on it.

  “Tell me now, Marco.”

  “Fine, fine. In English, it would translate as ‘Pseudohistorian spotted in Venezia with illusive bachelor, Alexis Donato.’ Really, Penelope, no one reads this garbage. I’m glad that you’ve stolen their attention, so they aren’t focusing on the murders.”

  “Pseudohistorian! Those pieces of…God, I hope Alexis hasn’t seen this. He’ll be so embarrassed.”

  Her nerves tightened as she remembered their intimacy the night before. Did she want to be involved with someone who could land her in the papers every time she left the house? She hated the thought people would think less of him just because he was seen in her company. And she loathed her research being classed as pseudohistory. All of her confidence from the night before fled as she shoved some biscotti into her mouth.

  “Don’t let it bother you, Dottore. No one believes the media,” soothed Marco.

  “Can we please just talk about the case? You look like you have been up all night. Were you trying to unravel the mystery that is Agent Bianchi?”

  “Buffo. We can’t all succeed in getting our partners drunk like you, though if any woman desperately needs to get drunk and kissed, it’s her.” Marco handed over a file. “We spent last night profiling, and after much argument, we have a few ideas about who could be behind this.”

  Penelope looked through the papers. “Where have I seen this guy before?” The picture was of a man in his late twenties with an edgy, expensive fashion sense and a geometric neck tattoo.

  “That’s Tony Duilio. He’s the man I was telling you about who wants to turn Venezia into a floating city. He’s been very vocal against the MOSE from day one.”

  “He’s rich and eccentric, but hardly seems a psycho demon worshipper,” said Penelope. She remembered the TV coverage she had seen of him a few days beforehand. Nobody would risk such a career just because he didn’t land the Venice project.

  “We don’t think Duilio himself is the killer, but he has been stirring up protestors. People who are passionate and may want to sabotage as much of the MOSE as they can.”

  “What about the search of local farms for the missing livestock?”

  “Agent Bianchi was grudgingly impressed by your insight into that one.” Marco flicked through his file and produced a glossy brochure of a boutique farm near Favaro Veneto. “The couple who owns this farm reported the murder of their stud to the local polizia two days before the bull’s body was found in Santa Croce. They found the butchered remains of it near a local road and the investigators put it down to vandalism.”

  “And the horse?”

  “A racehorse that was reported missing from a property on the Lido. They thought that a competitor had stolen it because it was a week before a race. The horse was worth over a million euro.”

  “And nobody saw anything?” Penelope shook her head. “Who is this guy?”

  “Someone very organized and well-connected. Good at thieving and lying. It was a good lead, Penelope. I have officers who deal with art and antique thefts running checks on the vessels too. Even if we do find it, who knows how many hands they would have changed before our killer stole or purchased them?”

  “Keep at it. I hate black market antiques dealing. Any bastard you can charge over it will make me happy.”

  “I will, don’t worry. Do you have any other leads for me to try?”

  “Some, but nothing good enough to give to Agent Bianchi. She’ll want absolute certainty and might not even care what the killer’s religious mind-set is,” Penelope said. How am I going to tell them about the Living Language?

  “You are holding something back,” Marco sai
d. “Tell me. I’m not Bianchi. It doesn’t matter if it’s not perfect.”

  “It’s about the script. While I haven’t cracked a literal translation, I’ve found more information about it.” Penelope drank some coffee, her mind racing to piece together a nonmagical story. “I found a book of Alexis’s that speaks of a written language in Atlantis. It was an account by an Arabic magician who heard it from an Egyptian priest. The Atlanteans believed that this particular script had power and used it to write spells that would help give them the strength to manifest. Thevetat’s followers transmuted this language into a shadow script, its opposite. The Living Language’s counterpart deals with death and darkness. Pairing it with a human sacrifice makes it doubly strong.”

  “You’re starting to sound like you believe this,” Marco said slowly, with surprisingly little judgment.

  “I believe the Acolyte believes it,” defended Penelope.

  “Do you think he is done or that there will be more bodies?”

  “At least one more. Three’s a magical, powerful number in nearly every race and religion. He won’t leave it at two,” Penelope said. I was meant to be the third. She squashed the thought.

  “People connected to the MOSE are under surveillance, if that’s how he’s picking his victims,” assured Marco. “The ones so far have had a higher profile than many of the other workers.”

  “What have you got planned? The masquerade is tomorrow night.”

  “I know, and we’ll be ready. Agent Bianchi has already leaked to the media that the members of the MOSE board will be attending, as well as prestigious persons of scientific and historical merit, including yourself,” Marco explained calmly. “We’ll have eyes on you at all times so if anyone approaches you or even looks at you for too long, we’ll intercept them.”

  “Simple as that.”

  “Si.”

  “And I can have Alexis with me?”

  “Si, you can bring il innamorato with you,” he teased.

  “We aren’t lovers,” huffed Penelope. “And probably never will be now that it’s splashed all over the goddamn papers.”

  “You never know.” Marco shrugged vaguely. “It’s Carnevale. Everyone needs or wants a lover at Carnevale.”

  “What about you? I’ve yet to see one girlfriend bothering you. I’m sure you have a few.”

  “Only exes. Doesn’t matter. I’m too busy to maintain even a lover at the moment.”

  “A lot can happen in two days.” Penelope drained her coffee. “I’m going to get back to work, so I have something to report to Agent Bianchi. Results are the only things that seem to make her smile.”

  “That’s true. I know it’s none of my business, but have you let anyone know you are well since you lost your other phone? I’m sure your family will be worried after not hearing from you,” Marco said.

  “They probably haven’t even looked up from their current projects.” Penelope shook her head. “I won’t tell them about the kidnapping. My father already has ideas about what I should be doing with my life, but ultimately they care about their academic works, not their daughter.”

  “In Venezia, we have a saying, Megio un amigo che sento parenti. Better a friend than a hundred relatives,” Marco said, and Penelope chuckled. “At least more of your friends have come to the city to see you, even if they do get you drunk.”

  “What kind of friends would they be if they didn’t?”

  AFTER SAYING goodbye to Marco, Penelope wandered the streets of Dorsoduro. She wasn’t ready to go back to the invisible palazzo on the Calle dei Cerchieri. She needed to think and to breathe, and proximity to Alexis hindered both. The picture in the paper flashed in her mind’s eye, and her common sense started its warning cry. What craziness made her think getting emotionally involved with Alexis was a good idea? Would she be the object of even more public ridicule?

  Her mind went into planning mode, making lists of all the things she should do: get another hotel, call Carolyn and let her know she had lost her phone but was okay, check her emails, give Latrobe University a yes or no about the job offer they had made her. Her real life was starting to feel like it was the unreal one, not the one with magic and Alexis. She would have to go back to Australia eventually. No one can just run away to Venice and expect to stay there. That alone was a good enough reason not to let her growing interest in Alexis get too intense.

  Penelope brushed her cool fingers against her lips. She had never been kissed like that before. He’s had a hell of a long time to practice, Pen.

  But it was more than that. Maybe it was that their destinies were woven together. At least for the moment. What if it unraveled as soon as they found Thevetat’s follower?

  Penelope walked down the Calle Avogaria, over a bridge, and found herself standing in front of the gray and white facade of the Saint Sebastian Church. Tourists mingled out the front, but it wasn’t crowded, so Penelope went inside. It had been too long since she had studied the rich cycle of paintings by Paolo Veronese that decorated the interior. Scenes from Esther and Saint Sebastian leaped out in gorgeous Renaissance life, but her favorite had always been of Venice’s patron saint, Mark, and his brother, Marcellinus, being led to their martyrdom.

  The church was almost empty, so she sat down on the edge of a pew, letting her eyes absorb the beauty around her.

  Her father had been raised Irish Catholic, but it had never been a strong feature in Penelope’s academic upbringing. She’d always loved churches, however, and Italy’s places of worship married their love of sensual art and beauty to their beliefs. It was hard to avoid faith in Venice. The story of the famous theft in AD 828 of relics belonging to Saint Mark from Alexandria by two Venetian merchants for protection was strongly embedded in the mythology of the city, even down to the lion symbol they shared with the famous disciple.

  Under the sad, watchful eyes of the figures around her, Penelope let her thoughts return to Alexis, their kisses, and the possibility of more.

  The few times she had engaged in no-strings romantic flings were almost as unsatisfying as her two long-term relationships. She had decided that some people simply weren’t made for that conventionality and her passion was channeled into her work. Pouring time into study bore results every time; pouring time into people rarely did.

  Even without his fake celebrity profile, Alexis could not be so neatly slotted into the category of “people.”

  “You look like you are debating whether to commit a murder,” a deep voice said from behind her. Zo leaned over the back of her pew. “Are you going to kill someone? Because I can help if you are stuck on the details.”

  “What are you doing here?” Penelope whispered, her eyes scanning around him.

  “If you’re looking for il stregone, he isn’t here. He’s in the tower sulking. I saw you leave and hesitated to follow. But then I thought of all the ways he’d punish me if I failed to make sure nothing happened to you.”

  “I don’t need a damn bodyguard! I was only going for a coffee with Marco.”

  “And you were only going to bed when you were snatched from your hotel room,” replied Zo. “Alexis isn’t the only one who doesn’t want you falling into the hands of a psychopath. Why are you looking so glum?”

  “Just thinking,” sighed Penelope. “There’s a lot of things I’m avoiding back home.”

  “Here I thought it was just Alexis you were avoiding.”

  “I’m not avoiding him. I’m my own woman and will go wherever I like.”

  “Dottore, you snuck out of the house this morning like a guilty lover. I don’t want to know what happened between you two last night but if you are fighting, you both need to kiss and…oh, I see, you kissed him.” Zo’s dark expression melted.

  “He kissed me first,” she argued.

  “He kissed you? I’m impressed and can hardly blame him. You look very kissable.”

  Penelope glared at him. “It was probably all the wine he drank. I don’t want him feeling awkward about it today, so I tho
ught I’d give him some space.”

  Zo shook his head. “Come with me. The merits of making love is not a conversation I wish to have inside a chiesa.”

  Once outside, Zo held out his arm and Penelope took it. She liked Zo and his easy manner. Last night they had talked for over an hour about all the time he had spent in England, Australia, and America, and subsequently, he understood Penelope’s idioms and slang better than the others.

  “So the old Defender has finally admitted a soft spot for you.” Zo clucked his tongue. “I remember the first time he told me about a university student in Australia writing a theoretical piece on Atlantis for one of her major assignments. You worried him even then.”

  “But that was ten years ago! How could he have possibly known about that?” Penelope was horrified.

  “Alexis has been protecting our secrets for a long time, and he has computers now to help him flag anything on Atlantis theory. That includes university databases. He finds people of interest and keeps tabs on them. He almost busted an artery when you pulled his Tablet from the sea.” Zo chuckled at the memory. “I hadn’t seen him so agitated in five hundred years. He was impressed with you.”

  “And then he decided the best way to show it was to bomb my discovery,” Penelope said.

  “It hurt him to do it, but you were too close. He’s a complicated beast. Even on Atlantis, he was difficult to understand.”

  “Are you going to try and lecture me about not breaking his heart? Because I’m not in the mood.”

  “We all care about him. You have to understand, he’s always been the strongest, the most resilient of all of us. I’ve seen him walk away from people he cared about, truly loved and admired, because he wanted to protect them from our world. Not every human can take it in, or not want to use the knowledge we hold for their own gain,” Zo explained.

  “Are you telling me that he’s going to wipe my memory and dump me back into a hotel to protect me when all this over? Because if he tries, he’ll have another thing coming.”