by S J Williams
Tearing open the package down one edge, Effie pulled out a smallish parcel addressed to her. She frowned down at it. Who would be sending parcels to her?
Sebastian started forward before she could open it. “Please, Effie, allow me.”
She glanced up at him, startled, then suspicious.
“You’re not going to squash it a pulp before I can get a look at it, are you?”
“Effie. Please.” He said again. “I can contain it if it’s anything dangerous.”
She gave him a long, hard look, then sighed.
“There you go, if you insist on being the hero.” She said reluctantly, handing the parcel over.
Turning away from her, he felt it gingerly in his hands, scanning it with his energy at the same time. Slowly, he relaxed.
“It’s a book.” He turned to Effie. She peered at it from beside him, placing both hands on his forearm.
“Well, one of us has to open it.” She said, glancing up at him.
He turned it over, then stiffened. Someone, the same someone who had written the note with the pears, had scrawled on the back:
To Effie, to celebrate all our hard work together.
Effie sucked in a breath as she recognised Bartholomew’s handwriting. They exchanged another look, then, with one movement, Sebastian tore off the paper covering.
Effie’s hands tightened on his arm.
“A book?” She asked in a strangled whisper. “He’s published a book? How didn’t we think of this?”
How indeed, Sebastian echoed silently as he stared down at a brand new copy of Fra Amedeo’s Unseen Portraits, ed. by Effie Graham.
Effie took it from him and opened it. Something slipped out from between the pages to land on the floor at her feet. Without thought, Sebastian raised it so that it hovered at eye level between them.
Effie squinted at it, then snatched it out of the air.
“It’s an invitation.” She mumbled. “It’s an invitation to the gallery’s opening event.” She looked up at him, fear widening her eyes. “I thought he’d given up on the gallery.”
“So did we all.” He said grimly, gently taking the invitation from her.
The Unseen Fra Amedeo, an exhibition of never before seen works by the celebrated Renaissance artist. Preview Monday 18th May.
“That’s today.” He murmured, scanning the rest of the invitation. “Do you recognise the location?”
Effie frowned and shook her head. “No. He’s not using the rooms we’d originally planned. I have no idea where this is.”
Sebastian tilted his head as he frowned down at the address.
“That’s near the Uffizi Gallery down by the river.”
“Should we go?” Effie asked, eyes still on the invitation in his hand.
He turned his frown on her. The idea of her potentially being in the same room as the vampire was not a good one. But they needed to see first hand how the immortals were being presented to the public. And it was highly unlikely that Bartholomew would be out in the open, not when he knew he had four immortals in the city looking for him.
“You will stay close to me.” He told her sternly. “Please.” He added when she raised a haughty eyebrow at him. The eyebrow quirked. Then she sighed.
“I suppose that would be wise. Fine. I’ll be on my best behaviour and let you play bodyguard.”
Sebastian smiled but he knew it didn’t reach his eyes. Nothing about this felt right to him. If anything, it felt like a trap.
“We’ll ring up the others and tell them where we’ll be, just in case Bartholomew has rigged up a nasty surprise for us.”
Effie nodded. “If you like, I’ll ring the number on the invitation now and see if there is actually an exhibition on and he’s not just trying to trick us.”
Sebastian nodded, his phone already in his hand.
Minutes later, Effie was pressed up against his back on the way to the exhibition opening.
12
The gallery space was a Renaissance building that Sebastian thought might once have been a brothel. Effie snorted when he mentioned that to her.
“Poor Fra Amedeo. He’s probably rolling over in his grave right now.”
They walked through a pair of ornate iron gates set in a thick stone wall and into a courtyard with the tall faces of buildings stretching up on three sides. Each building had rows of long, shuttered windows going up three storeys from where the prostitutes would have solicited their customers. Directly in front of them was a wide arch underneath a balcony from where trailing ivy tumbled down, glowing deep green against the gold stone.
Beside him, Effie sighed quietly. “It might have been a brothel, but it’s beautiful all the same.”
Sebastian snorted quietly at the irony in her voice and nodded towards where he could see the first of the portraits hanging in the space beneath the balcony. “I think that’s where we want to be.”
True to her word, Effie stuck close to his side as they drifted among the other curious visitors quietly discussing the portraits and sipping white wine. Sebastian spotted a couple of humans who were standing around ready to answer questions about the portraits but saw no sign of Bartholomew.
Effie frowned when she saw the attendants, then sighed and shook her head.
“You know,” she said ruefully, glancing up at him. “It almost annoys me that I’ve been so easily replaced. He’s even found a much nicer exhibition space than the rooms we’d picked out at the university.”
Sebastian quirked an eyebrow at her. “I thought you said Fra Amedeo would find this house inappropriate.”
Effie grimaced and shrugged. “Maybe, but the gallery space at the university was all modern and sterile. Here, the portraits might not fit in with the precise history of the building but at least the decor is the right period. And,” she gestured meaningfully up at the trailing ivy, “it’s much prettier.”
Sebastian stopped in front of one of the portraits, Effie stopping beside him.
Her hand flew to her mouth. Sebastian’s jaw clenched.
Beside the fifteenth century portrait Friedrich Helmar was a framed photograph of Oscar Mansfeld. New and old, the likenesses were unmistakably of the same person.
Effie’s hand flew to her bag. Pulling out the book, she flicked through the pages.
“Look!” She squeaked, the sound so strangled it was barely audible. “He’s done it throughout the book!”
Taking the book from her, Sebastian read the page she had opened it on. Bartholomew had laid out the history and context of Fra Amedeo’s portrait, just as Effie had researched it, and presented alongside it in a sensationalist exposé the photograph and biography of the still living immortal. Going from page to page, he found that, while some entries had more details than others, they were all highly convincing. It might take firm DNA evidence to convince the more sceptical, but humans could do that now. And Sebastian wasn’t naive enough to believe that most humans would be that sceptical.
Trying to hide her panic from the other gallery visitors, Effie tilted her head to one side, folding her arms. The contemplative look on her face betrayed none of her thoughts.
Unable to resist, Sebastian spread his mind beyond his shields. He almost staggered when he tasted the fear that was coming off her in waves.
“You know,” she said, a hint of a tremor in her voice the only sign of the panic steadily building inside her. “I spent hours researching his family history, the story of his card game, everything. I might as well have been building my own coffin.”
“Come on,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders, “let’s get back. The others will be home soon and wanting to hear what we’ve found.”
She shuddered lightly under his touch.
“There’s no coming back from this, is there?” She asked in a quiet voice.
As they left the building, they passed a small table with an elegantly lettered sign. Sebastian glanced at it.
Fra Amedeo’s Unseen Portraits: Free copies.
Beneath the sign was a neatly stacked pile of Bartholomew’s book.
Effie looked up at him, her eyes almost begging him to tell her everything would be all right. Sebastian wished he could give her a hopeful answer but, as he steered her towards the exit, he found he couldn’t think of anything. She was right. With this gallery’s opening, all other doors had been closed. They only had one left. They could do nothing but go through it.
“It’s worse than we thought.” Henry reported after finding the published book on the portraits on yet another online bookseller’s site. “Look. They’ve even got a promotion on it on this one.” He swivelled his laptop around for the others to see.
Effie paced the room, too tense to sit. Each new listing of the book on a seller’s website left her feeling cold and sick.
“A book?” She asked for what felt like the hundredth time. “It takes ages to get a book published. How did he do it?”
“He must have been well ahead of us.” Lucien said from where he was slouched in one of the armchairs around the fireplace, watching the small blaze he’d steadily been kindling into life.
“To answer the question of how he did it, in all of the listings I’ve come across, it says published by Portal Books.” Henry said, frowning down at the laptop screen.
“What do we know about Portal Books?” Catarina asked, her voice taking on that snappish tone Effie was beginning to associate with Catarina under pressure.
“Not much.” Henry admitted. “Except they publish books, apparently very quickly.”
Effie stopped pacing and came to look over Henry’s shoulder. “Can I have a look?”
“Certainly.” He said, relinquishing the laptop and his seat to her.
She sat down and began typing, her fingers skittering over the keys. Henry watched her hands move, looking slightly unnerved.
“You, er, you do a lot of typing, do you?”
She glanced up at him, still typing. “I’m a— Or, at least, I was an art historian. What do you think I spend most of my time doing?”
“Whoa.” Henry stood back and put his hand over his eyes. “Keep your eyes on the screen, woman. You make me nervous when you do that.”
She rolled her eyes and continued with her search. But a smile tugged at her lips.
“I thought so.” She said at last and turned the laptop screen around so the others could see it. Henry, Catarina and Sebastian crowded round it. Lucien still hadn’t moved from his place by the fire but, when Effie glanced over at him, she could see a thin line of tension across his shoulders, a sure sign he was listening intently.
“This is the Portal Books website, yes?” Catarina glanced up at her from under one eyebrow,
Effie nodded. “What do you notice?”
Sebastian frowned, then reached for the touchpad. “They’re only selling one book.” He murmured.
“Bartholomew’s book.” Effie agreed. “What does that tell us, do you think?”
“Bartholomew set up his own publishing company?” Henry guessed.
Catarina thumped the table with her fist. “That sneaky bastard!”
Effie silently echoed her sentiment. “I don’t know if this was always the plan or a backup in case he was discovered before the gallery could open but this is how he’s done it.”
“Look at the blurb.” Henry said, disbelief colouring his voice. “‘Immortality has always been the unattainable dream. Newly discovered portraits by the Renaissance artist Fra Amedeo reveal that, for a privileged few, immortality is a reality. Effie Graham’s world changing research brings together the lives of some of the richest individuals in society with their hidden pasts and shows how humanity has been duped for centuries.’ He’s made immortals look like villains in a spy novel.”
Sebastian leaned over his shoulder, his eyes darkening as he scanned the book. “This mission has just gone from disaster prevention to damage control.”
“What is the likelihood that immortals will read this book?” Effie asked in a small voice.
“For an immortal who was alive at this time and living in Italy? It’s a certainty. The word will spread quickly after that.”
“Look. He’s selling copies for fifty euros each. I don’t know how many hours of work you put into this, Effie, but he’s going to make a mint out of it.” Henry said indignantly.
The others all looked at him.
“What?” He looked from one exasperated face to the next. “He is!”
“I’d hardly say that our biggest concern right now is how much money Bartholomew is going to make off Effie’s labour.” Catarina drawled.
Henry shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. “And that attitude right there is why I’m the millionaire and you’re the pauper.” He muttered.
Effie, momentarily diverted, stared at him. “You’re a millionaire?”
He nodded. “If you count property.”
“Quite a few immortals are worth millions.” Lucien said quietly. “That’s why this book is going to be quite so sensational. A lot of the world’s rich list are going to find themselves in the spotlight after this.”
Effie groaned and lowered her forehead to rest it on the tabletop. “I couldn’t be more screwed if I tried.” She said, her voice muffled.
The silence that greeted her words told her the others agreed.
“Can’t we just, I don’t know, tell people that Effie isn’t the one who published this?” Catarina asked, her voice sharp with impatience and frustration. “If we can make it plain that Bartholomew is behind it…”
“Then we would direct the fire to Bartholomew. Yes, that would be ideal.” Lucien said heavily as he levered himself out of his chair and came to stand beside her. “But he’s played his hand very cleverly. The first name that will come up when people start looking for someone to blame will always be Effie’s. We’ll be running to catch up with the accusations.”
“There will be assassination attempts.” Sebastian said, his voice stark.
Effie jerked her head up. “Assassination attempts?”
“For revenge. To keep you from saying anything else. For all they know, you’re sitting on more sensitive documents. The people who have been hurt by this will immediately assume a malicious intent. All they have to do is look at what you’re doing through your connections with Durham and their suspicions will appear to be confirmed.”
Effie paled, then made a grab for the laptop, spinning it around so it was facing her again. Her fingers sweating, she logged into her page on the university website.
“The bastard.” She whispered, her heart plummeting to somewhere around her ankles, taking her stomach with it. “I forgot about this when I was taking down my contact account.”
There it all was, in black and white. An inventory of the collection listed in bold under her profile picture. Suddenly remembering something, she flicked back to the Portal Books page. There, in a convenient hyperlink, was her university page address.
“He’s set up a trail straight to me with flashing lights pointing the way.”
“What’s this?” Henry came round to look over her shoulder. She pointed out the link to him. He looked up at the others. “She’s right. It’s pretty damning whichever way you look at it.”
“Hasn’t he condemned himself as well?” Catarina frowned in confusion. “As her partner, hasn’t he also drawn attention to himself.”
“He’s condemned Roberto Albini. And his page,” Effie clicked through the links to the professor’s page, “shows a photo of a man I’ve never seen before.”
Lucien looked up at this. Coming round, he nudged Henry out of the way. “That looks like one of the professors I knew in Padua. As far as I’m aware, he’s dead now.”
“Won’t that be flagged up?” Catarina jumped on the flaw in Bartholomew’s plot.
“No, or, at least, not immediately.” Lucien straightened up again. “This scholar’s name was also Roberto Albini. I’d wondered where I’d heard it before. It will take a whi
le for the mistake to be rectified but the front is pretty convincing for now.”
“I’m going to write to the university, see if I can do some damage control.” Effie said grimly. She grimaced. “This is going to be a complicated email.”
Henry squeezed her shoulder.
“Do what you can. We’ll start making calls to the council, see who we can get to listen. It might help if we flag this early before—"
A cascade of electronic pings broke off his words. Effie stared at her inbox in dismay.
“I have thirty emails.” She said through numb lips. “All arriving in the past hour. Thirty-one. Thirty-three…”
Sebastian moved so fast he was a blur as he zipped behind her to read over her shoulder. Lucien peered down on the other side.
“Most of these are enquiries. How did they find out so quickly?” Lucien took over the touch pad, scrolling through the messages. Effie let him do it, leaning back in her chair as she looked up at Sebastian.
“I think we’ve got an answer to what Bartholomew was doing to advertise the portraits.”
“Private messaging and networking was always his style. It seems he still thinks as he did the last time I was chasing him.” Sebastian said grimly.
Effie nodded. “All this points to a plan that’s been a long time in the making. He must have told these people about what the book would reveal months in advance. They’re practically chomping at the bit to get at it.”
“Some of these emails are asking about specific portraits. All he had to do was drop a few names and a few hints among the right people and, well, you can see the results.” Lucien confirmed as he checked through the emails.
“What do I do? I assume answering these emails would be a bad idea?” Effie felt hopelessly lost.
“Absolutely do not answer the emails.” Sebastian ordered, his harsh order making her grimace at him in distaste.
“Alright. I said I knew it was a bad idea, didn’t I?”
“I’m going to make some tea.” Henry offered.
“Now?” Catarina demanded in disbelief. “You’re going to make tea now?”
“You may have coffee if you wish. I, however, am British and I say these circumstances call for tea.” He disappeared into the kitchen.