I wonder what time it is. Penelope pushed her disheveled curls from out of her face and sipped her coffee. A robe of green silk had been placed strategically on the bed, and she wrapped it around herself, tying it at the waist. The remnants of her Carnevale dress had been cleaned up from where the layers had been tossed across the thick Persian rug. Sipping her coffee, she hunted her magician through the sprawl of rooms.
Alexis sat at one of his scratched-up wooden workbenches, scribbling in a large leather journal. His laptop rested on a pile of ancient-looking manuscripts.
“It’s a little early to be working so hard,” Penelope commented. He looked up, and the frown between his dark brows vanished.
“I was starting to worry you were never going to wake up,” he said, lowering his fountain pen.
Penelope went over to see what he was working on and he looped his arm around her waist.
“I had an exhausting night,” she replied. “Do you know how hard it is to move about in a dress like that?” He grinned as he bent to give her cheek a whiskery kiss. “What are you working on?”
His notebook was a mass of intricate writing that looked like a hybrid between written Atlantean and Arabic. A half-finished sketch of long lines was in the middle of the page.
“Tony Duilio’s floating cities.” Alexis scrolled through the underwater photographs and artistic renderings on his laptop. “Something isn’t quite right about them. Something to do with the cables. Perhaps I need to step away from it for a few hours. I did promise Lyca a training session…”
Penelope couldn’t hold back the smile that appeared on her face. The distracted rambling of an academic with a problem to solve was familiar territory.
“Go and train with Lyca,” she said, kissing his broad shoulder. “I need a shower and to make a few phone calls. I’ll meet you in the kitchen when you get hungry.” As she tried to untangle herself, the arm around her tightened, pulling her close so he could kiss her in a way that had her toes curling in the rug at her feet.
“I’m already hungry,” he complained, eyes full of mischief and sex.
“Stop that!” She pinched him playfully.
“No,” he replied. “Go on, I’ll see you at breakfast.”
Smiling to herself, Penelope walked down the tower steps to her bathroom. Her exotic makeup from the night before was smudged into metallic panda eyes, but the knowledge of how she got into such a state made something inside her glow with happiness.
Showered and dressed in clean clothes, Penelope found her phone and rang Carolyn.
“Mother of God, I thought you were dead,” her friend answered the phone almost instantly.
“Not quite. Sorry for not checking in, it’s been a strange few weeks. I dropped my phone in a canal, and all sorts of things have happened.”
“All sorts of things, like work or a guy? You have a weird he he in your voice,” she said shrewdly. Carolyn was not one for subtlety, a fact that had gotten her into more than one heated argument with the university’s academic board.
“I don’t have a he he in my voice,” Penelope retorted. “There is a guy, yes. I told you about him.”
“The hottie copper? I knew it, the man is—”
“God, not Marco. His name is Alexis.”
“I know of no Alexis, liar.”
“He’s the guy I saw in the meditation,” Penelope spilled. She couldn’t tell Carolyn everything but this one detail she could share.
“What the hell?” Carolyn’s voice was giddy. “The Turkish Corsair? How—when—fuck—tell me everything!”
“You were the one that told me to ask him questions if I saw him again.”
“So you asked him out on a date? You metaphysical hussy.”
“It wasn’t like that. I saw him in the meditation and our paths crossed, and I recognized him. It turns out he’s another academic nut. Oh God, Caro, you should see some of the artifacts he has in this house.”
“You are in his house!” Carolyn was incredulous. “Pen, this guy could be a total serial killer.”
“Stop being so dramatic. Alexis isn’t a serial killer. The house has other people living in it too, so it would be hard to get away with murdering me. Stop worrying.”
“You meet this guy in a meditation and you are shacked up with him already. Of course, I’m going to worry. You said he was an academic? In what field?”
“Esoteric mysticism in ancient civilizations.” In a manner of speaking. “Funny story, he was at the Atlantis Tablet lecture.”
“You’re kidding me! That’s spooky, even for me. Did you talk to him at the lecture?”
“Sort of.” Penelope hesitated before admitting, “He was the guy that asked about magic.”
“The crackpot,” Carolyn said deadpan. “You went to Venice and hooked up with the magic crackpot that you cursed so viciously and articulately afterward.”
“Yep. Funny coincidence isn’t it? He’s also not a crackpot. Magical history is a part of his research portfolio, so he had a legitimate reason to ask.”
“What’s magical crackpot’s full name?”
“Alexis Donato.”
“So Italian.” Carolyn was silent for a long moment. “Jesus girl, you sure can pick them.”
“Are you stalking him?”
“You know it’s my superpower. Google is a powerful tool. You should use it sometime. He looks like a Euro playboy, Pen. Not something you would be dumb enough to go for. Holy crap, there are pictures of you with him! Wow, you look taken with him.”
“Yeah, the media’s everywhere here at the moment. It’s embarrassing, actually. Also, don’t believe everything you read on the clickbait Internet,” Penelope said.
“Off clickbait and onto Google Scholar. He’s published a hell of a lot,” murmured Carolyn. “No wonder you are crushing on him, this guy has been circling your field for years. I’m sort of surprised you haven’t clashed with him before.”
“I’m raiding his library to try and help out with these murders. The books he has…I can’t even begin to describe them. I’m scared to touch anything without white gloves on.”
“Well when you have more money than God, you need to spend it on something. Your judgment’s always been so good, don’t get too distracted by all the pretty things around you not to see through any of his bullshit,” Carolyn advised sagely. “I’m really happy you rang. Stuart has been hounding me about where you are and, I quote, ‘You need to talk some sense into her Ms. Williams, she is too caught up in wonderland!’” The similarity to Stuart’s frustrated brogue was disturbing. “He’s really worried about you.”
“He’s really worried about the research grant he applied for with Latrobe University. Having a daughter on the faculty would help cement it and make him look good,” Penelope replied. There was no sting in her voice, merely a fact, which was even sadder.
“He wants to see you settled, not running around the world after murderers. I have to admit, I’m not 100 percent down with that either, but I know better than to try and stop you.”
“Wise, very wise,” said Penelope.
“I know you feel useful over there and are having an exciting romance in the most beautiful city in the world, but have you given any thought to what happens once it’s over? If you find the psycho killer, what then?”
Penelope pulled at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt. “I don’t know, Caro. I can’t see that far ahead. I don’t even want to look.”
“Penelope Bryne without a plan? Wow. What’s going on over there?”
“Let’s just say I’ve had some things happen in the last few weeks that’s made me take advantage of the present.”
I was tortured, stabbed, and thrown into a canal. I made a stranger bleed, I watched people die, magic is real, and it’s more terrifying and beautiful than you can imagine. She wanted to say the words, but they died on her tongue. Alexis saved me. He’s the missing piece of who I am. He makes me feel like I’m not alone, that I belong somewhere. I have magic wo
rds living inside of me.
Carolyn sighed. “Who am I to naysay a fabulous, exciting trip to Venice? As I said, you look like you are having a good time with him and that makes me happy. I hope you’re taking advantage of his library and not just his body.”
“I’m heading down to visit the collection as we speak,” Penelope said, pulling on her boots.
“That’s something at least. Text me if you find anything excellent, okay?”
“I promise.”
Where would I start? I die every time I go down there.
“And Pen? Call your parents. If you can’t handle Stuart, call your mom. You’re their only child, and you’re playing cop. They have valid reasons, not just grant reasons, to be concerned.”
“Fine, I will. Thanks for the chat, Caro.”
“You sound like you are having fun. I haven’t heard a smile in your voice since you found the Tablet. Be careful, okay?”
“I promise.”
Penelope headed down the stairs and touched a wall painted the color of oxblood. “Good morning, House,” she whispered, and it opened a doorway to the kitchen for her.
After making another coffee, she steadied her emotions and opened emails on her phone. Ignoring her groaning inbox, she sent a message to her father:
Stuart,
I am fine. Please stop harassing my friends. I have another two weeks to think about the Latrobe teaching position. Relax. I’ll let you know when I decide.
Love to Mom.
Penelope.
P.S. Met an expert on Homer. You would like him.
Penelope pressed send before she could chicken out. She couldn’t believe he had tried to get Carolyn to do an intervention! He knows you’ve stopped listening to him. She would have to deal with him one day, but it wasn’t today. She intended to have breakfast and go for a leisurely walk around Venice with Alexis.
Aelia was in the kitchen looking unusually casual in loose black trousers and a tank top, her bronze hair piled carelessly on top of her head. Even without makeup, she was stunning, perhaps even more so.
“Would you like a glass of juice?” she asked as Penelope sat down at the counter.
“I’m okay, thanks,” she declined as Aelia put kale into the juicer.
“You can’t live off coffee alone,” Aelia chastised.
“I can and will. At least I know what’s in it. How was the rest of your night?”
“Not nearly as enjoyable as yours,” Aelia said, smiling wickedly. “It was mostly telling Phaidros to get over himself and trying to find the bastard who attacked you.”
“Did the palazzo give you matching costumes? It’s kind of nice when you think about it.”
“Phaidros doesn’t see it that way.”
“Only because I make a better Sun Deity than you,” a stubborn voice said from behind Penelope. Phaidros wandered in, picked up a glass of green juice, and sniffed it. “What’s this disgusting mess? It smells like mulched grass and sadness.”
“If it smells so bad, don’t drink it,” Aelia replied primly.
Phaidros took an experimental sip, and his face lightened in surprise. “That’s surprisingly good. Raspberries and green apple?”
“And carrot and ginger and a whole bunch of other things,” Aelia said, her violet eyes watching him as he stole a couple raspberries, eating them before she could stop him. Despite their bickering, there wasn’t anything malicious about it, and a blind person could see most of the time, they were trying to get the other one talking.
Penelope pulled on the knot inside of her to hurry Alexis along. She tried not to think about him in the shower and failed. She imagined his bare skin gleaming with sweat from training, his dark hair tied back from his face as he moved all that graceful muscle…
“Whoa! Look at that glow, Aelia!” Phaidros commented, bringing Penelope out of her daydreams. “Her aura is positively vibrating.”
Aelia sipped her juice and leaned on the bench beside him. “Oh yes, I see what you mean. At least the tension has broken in the house.”
“Not only in the house,” Phaidros chuckled.
Penelope rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have anything else to do but speculate about my sex life?”
“No speculation needed. It’s written all over you. It’s good to know Alexis didn’t let you down. I’d say, it’s been a few hundred years,” he teased. “You can’t blame it on Carnevale like everyone else is this morning.”
“I’ve no intention of blaming it on Carnevale. Speaking of which, I’m surprised you didn’t end up moving out of the house and into a hotel like you said you were going to. What changed your mind?” Penelope said innocently.
“All my things are here. I couldn’t be bothered,” Phaidros answered nonchalantly.
“Uh-huh, whatever you say.” Penelope looked pointedly at Aelia, and both she and Phaidros blushed.
“What an awful-looking drink,” Alexis said, arriving in time to spare Penelope further uncomfortable conversation. He was dressed in dark jeans, a navy-blue sweater, and a thick, gray scarf to ward against the gray Venetian day that awaited them outside of the palazzo.
Penelope made a small sound in the back of her throat, part growl, part choke, and quickly covered it with a cough. Phaidros nudged Aelia playfully, and they both grinned.
“I’ll have you know that this juice is extremely healthy for you,” Aelia told Alexis.
“Does it kill or cure?” he quipped. “Penelope doesn’t know about your culinary experiments, Aelia. Her body is human; it won’t be able to digest your creations.”
“Mother of Zeus!” Zo squealed in horror. “What have you done to my kitchen?”
“Time to leave,” Alexis whispered in Penelope’s ear, and they departed amidst a torrent of curses and tantrum magic. “Walk or Archives first?”
“Walk,” she said decisively and took his hand.
Outside, the wind was cold and fresh, a film of damp settling on the paving stones and the buildings. Even in its gloomiest weather, Venice was still beautiful.
“What story would you like today, Doctor Bryne?” Alexis asked as he hooked arms with her.
“Whichever you’d like to share,” she replied, knowing no matter which he chose, it would be fascinating. They passed a seedy looking group of tourists, still wearing their disheveled outfits and drooping Carnevale bells from the night before as they searched for their hotel.
Alexis smiled with an unexpected brightness. “I’ll tell you a story about a spectacle on a scale that was absurd even for Venezia. It was 1530 and Venice, which has never celebrated half-heartedly, outdid itself in a grand display of wealth and naval prowess.”
Alexis’s voice came alive as he described a naval battle that took place in the middle of the Grand Canal. A wooden castle was built on rafts out on the water opposite the entrance of the Palace of the Great Council.
“It was painted to look like marble and had four big towers on each corner, and a larger tower in the middle,” Alexis explained. “Zo was involved, and under his direction, they loaded the towers with artillery. He had a captain of the city, Gattino, and some of his men watch over it before entering it early the next day. At midday, thirty armed brigantini sailed in from the Arsenale and with fireworks and other tricks of gunpowder, they attempted to take the castle. Zo, who has always loved a fight and the sea, was in the thick of the play-fighting, rallying men from the boats to bring the castle down. The Doge and the Dukes of Milan and Ferrara watched the grand display from the portico of the palace. With the fortresses captured, the festival finally began.”
Penelope’s mind filled with gilded battleships, exploding firework cannons, Zo hanging from a crow’s nest in full regalia as his pyrotechnics thrilled Venice, from the Doge and the golden families of the Libro D’oro to the lowest vagrant, drunk on cheap wine. She stopped and pulled Alexis in for a kiss when her phone started vibrating angrily in her coat pocket.
“You should just turn it off,” Alexis suggested.
“Buongiorno, Marco,” she answered. “How’s my favorite inspecttori this morning?”
“Hungover and pissed off,” he said sternly. “I need you to meet Agent Bianchi and me. Bring Donato if you want to.”
“What’s happened? Have you identified the owner of the blood?”
“Three bodies were found this morning. I can’t let you in at the site, but I’ll bring you photos.”
That knocked Penelope’s good mood right out of her. “Damn it. Tell me when and where to meet, and we’ll be there.”
BY THE time they arrived at the bar on the Calle de Carro in San Marco, Penelope’s dream of spending a lazy day with Alexis was gone. She spotted Marco and Agent Bianchi, heads pressed together over a pile of papers and half-empty coffee cups.
“They are looking a lot friendlier,” Alexis observed.
“A common goal. They’re finally working together,” Penelope replied, noting with a feminine eye that Agent Bianchi’s ponytail was messy, and the perpetual frown was gone. When she looked up and gave them a small smile of welcome, Penelope almost fell over in surprise.
“Buongiorno,” Penelope said, taking a seat next to Marco. “What’s all of this, Agent Bianchi?”
“Please, call me Gisela,” she replied, her brown eyes flicked unexpectedly to Marco. “This is everything we know about the bodies we found this morning. Marco can run you through it? I’ll get us all some more coffee.”
Penelope waited until she had gone before she raised an inquiring eyebrow at Marco. “Inspector Dandolo, I don’t wish to alarm you, but I think Gisela Bianchi is drunk.”
“Close. We are both hideously hungover,” Marco corrected. “We had too much of my cousin’s grappa last night and were in the process of sleeping it off when we got the call about the murders.”
“Sleeping it off…together?” Penelope’s eyes widened.
The Immortal City Page 24
