Analiese Rising

by Brenda Drake

  Have you talked to Mom?

  barely. shes on call this week. your good. check in later

  Well, at least Jane has no idea I’m in Rome being chased by delusional people who think they’re immortal. Another message from him pops up.

  stay out of trouble K?

  Okay. Bye.

  ttyl

  Leaning back, I slip my phone back into my pocket, take in a deep breath, and slowly release it.

  “It’s a beautiful scene, don’t you think?” The man from the hotel lobby last night sits down beside me, leaving little space between us. I snatch up my jacket and purse and rise to my feet, but he stops me with his command: “Sit down, Analiese.”

  He knows my name. How does everyone know my name? I don’t move. “Who are you?”

  “I think you should sit for this.” He’s dressed in expensive-looking clothes. Stylish. Sunglasses. Leather jacket.

  I lower back to the step, making sure to leave enough distance between us. “Okay, I’m sitting.”

  An amused smile tips his mouth, and his eyes watch me intently. He repeatedly clicks open and close a silver lighter in his hand. Rubies form an “A” on one side of it. It reminds me of my dad’s in my front pocket. His silence annoys me. Or scares the shit out of me.

  Both. Definitely Both.

  “What do you want?” I press.

  “Shall we make our introductions first?” He smiles as if we planned this meeting. “My name is Ares. I’m a god of war. You, my dear, have walked into the middle of a battle between gods.”

  “So I’ve been told.” I’m not sure where my sass comes from, but I’m going with it. “I don’t see a war or any gods and goddesses. Where’s all the earth-moving, ocean-splitting, thunder-cracking power?”

  He throws his head back and laughs. It takes him a second to compose himself. “You have spunk, I’ll give you that.”

  I keep my eyes forward because I have a feeling if he sees them, he’ll know I’m terrified. If I took off down or up these steps, I’m pretty sure this man could catch me.

  “Soon you will have to pick a side,” he says.

  I raise an eyebrow at him, but keep quiet and let him continue.

  “You see, there are those who want to kill you. Others, to use you. I want to make you an offer. Give you all that you desire.”

  Now I’m pushing my eyebrows together. “An offer? I don’t have anything for you.” A quick glance down the stairs and I spot Marek balancing two to-go coffee cups and a bulging white pastry bag.

  I want to call out and warn him not to come up here, but then I’d just expose him to this man.

  “Oh, but you do.” His eyes go to where mine went. “Be careful of your travel mate. His grandfather wasn’t your ally. On the contrary, he held your fate in his hands.” He pushes up to his feet. “I will tell you more the next time we meet. When you know who you are. For now, I’ll let you and the boy play Adam’s game. There’s something precious at the end of the hunt. Something you’ll willingly give me.”

  “Leave the girl alone, Ares,” a heavily accented male voice says from my other side. A leather satchel drops on the step, and the owner sits on top of it. He’s a young guy, light brown hair, blue eyes, wearing all white, except for a tan leather belt and shoes. “You do not have to listen to his rubbish.”

  Ares smiles, but his eyes narrow. “What are you doing here, Jarilo? Don’t you have enough to worry about in Russia without concerning yourself with these matters? And where are your other six heads?”

  Jarilo? A Slavic god of war and protector.

  The guy’s gaze travels to a group of four men and two women wearing all white a few steps down from us.

  “Of course,” Ares says, and there’s amusement in his voice. “You wouldn’t confront me alone.”

  “There’s no ignoring the energy.” Jarilo has an innocent-looking face, but he can match Ares glare for glare. “Immortals flock to Rome. They thirst for power, and soon they realize, a side they must pick.”

  “Be careful of wolves in sheep’s clothing, Analiese.” Ares stands and reaches a business card out to Jarilo. “When you’re ready to choose a side, call me.” His black boots thump up the concrete steps as he climbs, putting distance between us.

  I turn to ask Jarilo about the energy he mentioned, but he’s gone, and so are his friends.

  It’s as if spiders skitter across my skin. Ares said some people wanted to kill me. I stand and spin around. My gaze goes from face to face. How can I tell if any are murderers? They all look harmless to me. The warmth leaves my body, my hands shake, and even though I’m outside, I can hardly breathe.

  “Who was that man?” Marek asks when he reaches me.

  I shake my head.

  “Are you okay?” He places the cups and bag on the concrete, then puts an arm around me and guides me back down on the step. “You’re shaking.”

  “He—he said his name’s Ares, and he’s a war god. And the other one is Jarilo.”

  Marek scans the stairs above us. “Who? Where did they go?”

  “They’re gone,” I say. “Ares went up the steps, but Jarilo just disappeared.”

  He sits beside me, and his eyes go to my face. “What did they want with you?”

  “I don’t know what Jarilo wanted. Ares told me the same thing Sid had. Something about me being in the middle of a war between gods and that I should pick his side. Why would he want me?”

  “Not sure,” Marek says. “Maybe it has to do with what Inanna said you did. We need answers. All we have are bits and pieces of things. And we’re carrying a bone around that could be from a murder.”

  “But we’re at a dead end.” I rub my clammy hands across my jeggings, hands still shaking.

  He passes me one of the coffees, then opens the white bag. “Let’s eat.”

  “What about Ares and Jarilo?”

  He looks over his shoulder again. “I don’t think they want to hurt you. Not Ares, anyway. Not if he was recruiting you for his side.”

  “I like how we’re talking about this like he’s recruiting me to work at Hotdog World or something. I keep thinking we’re going to wake up any minute from this nightmare.”

  “Hey.” He bumps my shoulder. “After you finish that, we’ll search for that address in the box.”

  My gaze drops to my coffee. “Yeah, okay.”

  The cup is warm in my trembling hand, and I take a careful sip. My mind wanders as I eat my second cream-stuffed sfogliatella. The pastry with its many flaky layers melts in my mouth. I’m not hungry, but I’m a stress-eater, and this stuff is a stress-eater’s dream. The pressure between my eyes loosens, and I’m feeling less scared.

  “We need to hide better.” I lick the cream from my lips. “Sid says they’re sensing some sort of energy coming off one of us.”

  There’s a deep swallow before he answers me. “I thought we did. Maybe we have a stalker.” His eyes scan the steps and square below. “Someone who’s with Ares. Or that other person. Jar-what’s his name.”

  “Ares was in our hotel lobby last night. He was alone. So maybe he just felt us there.” I finish the last bit of my coffee. “If only we knew what this energy we’re supposedly emitting is.”

  “Maybe it’s like a dog whistle. Only gods can sense it.” He crumples up his napkin and stuffs it into the bag.

  “If we ever see Sid again, we need to get more details from him.” I ball-up my leftovers.

  Our eyes meet, and I can see the worry in his. He smiles to cover it up, but I can still see it. I can feel it, too. Deep in the pit of my stomach. The same fear. It grows inside me like an unwanted weed, strangling.

  “We need to find whatever your grandfather left at that address,” I say, omitting my suspicion that it’ll be a dead body.

  He turns away, gathering up our cups and trash. “Okay,
I’ve got the address programmed in the GPS. But first, we have to make sure no one’s following us. My grandfather taught me how to ditch a tail. He started teaching me survival techniques when I was six.”

  “Mine taught me how to tie my shoes,” I say, a little salty, but not toward Marek—toward his grandfather, who obviously kept Marek in the dark. “He was definitely preparing you for this. I wonder why he didn’t tell you about whatever all this is.”

  “He had to have his reasons.” His eyes dart around to the people passing us. “You ready?”

  “Just a sec.” I pick up my purse and remove the meager contents from the main compartment—passport, wallet, pillbox, and lip balm—and slip them into the pockets of my jacket and zip them up. Traveling light seems like a good idea.

  I retrieve my cell phone from the side pocket and I’m about to put it in my jacket when Marek stops me.

  “I did a lot of thinking last night,” he says. “Replayed things in my head. I recalled my grandfather’s instructions. We don’t stop long enough for them to catch up to us. Keep moving. Only use cash. Get rid of our phones. We have the GPS I bought for directions.”

  “I haven’t been using my phone.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “They might be able to trace them still. I say we dump them.”

  “You want me to throw away my phone?”

  “Sorry,” he says, an apologetic look on his face. “But it has to be done. I think that’s how that Ares guy found us. Not some bullshit energy Sid wants us to believe.”

  He’s right, but I worry what Dalton will do if he can’t get a hold of me. He’d break down and tell Jane, fearing something terrible happened.

  “Okay, but I have to send a message to my brother first.”

  “All right.”

  He waits as I type up an explanation and send it to Dalton.

  After dropping my purse and our cell phones in a nearby trash barrel, I throw on my jacket and bound down the steps, catching up to Marek.

  “So how do we ditch a tail?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Tourists pack the shops on the cobblestone streets, searching the expensive, cheaply made souvenirs for the perfect gifts to bring back home. So many delicious smells fill the air surrounding the restaurants and bakeries we pass.

  I can almost forget why we’re here in Rome.

  Almost.

  Marek pulls me to a stop. We’re in front of a shop’s window displaying plaster Colosseums lined up on staggered shelves.

  He points at them. “Pretend we’re interested in the souvenirs. Someone’s trailing us. I don’t want him to suspect we know he is.”

  “Okay.” It takes all my willpower to act normal.

  “Do you see him?” Marek aims his index finger at one of the figurines.

  I squint and try not to look suspicious. “No. Where is he?”

  “Left of those statue heads of Caesar.”

  My focus shifts to where he indicated. “Is it the short man with the long nose?”

  “No. He just got there. The Spanish man to his right.”

  Whoa. He’s too perfect to be real. His hair thick and falling just under his chin, tall, and big muscles. But there’s an edge to him. He’s probably as dangerous as he is hot.

  Marek slides a look at me. “Now, do you?”

  “Um. Yeah, I see him.”

  “We need to stay in a crowded area. We’ll shop. Eat. Then shop some more, keeping an eye on him through store windows. When he lets down his guard, we make our move and ditch him. Follow my lead, respond to my movements.” He points at another figurine, and I nod, feigning a response that I like it.

  “Good,” he says. “We should act like a couple. It’ll be less threatening. He’ll see we’re relaxed and have no idea he’s following us. That way there’s no fear we’ll run from him.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “Guess so,” I say. “Let’s do this.”

  Marek and I put on the facade of a couple, shopping for gifts to bring home to all our imaginary relatives. And he’s good at faking it. I’m starting to think we are more than co-conspirators.

  I know his touches don’t mean anything. That we’re pretending to be into each other as we browse the souvenirs. But each brush of his hand against my arm or back and every smile directed at me makes my heart tug toward him.

  He checks the GPS. “Via delle Muratte is a few blocks away.”

  Every so often, we spy our stalker through a window made into a mirror by the afternoon sun. Marek was right. The man is getting careless. His eyes roam, checking out two women who definitely look American by their colorful clothes. We move along the sidewalk, and it takes him a few beats to notice and follow us, always keeping what he believes is a safe distance.

  Leaning closer to Marek, I whisper, “I wonder if he’s a god?”

  “He definitely fits the part.” He glances over his shoulder at the man. “Or he’s one of those book cover models on my grams’s romance novels.”

  A chuckle bursts from my lips. I should be scared. There’s possibly a dangerous man following us, but I’m not afraid. Something in the depths of my soul tells me that the man doing a horrible job at being inconspicuous behind us isn’t one of the bad ones. I catch a glimpse of him as we cross the street.

  The man stops to pick up something a baby in a woman’s arms dropped. I can barely make out the tiny stuffed elephant.

  Marek points at a small shop as we approach it. “This is it.”

  I glance back to get the location of the man following us. He’s still preoccupied with the baby. When I face forward, I almost collide with a postcard stand.

  “Watch out.” Marek snatches me into his arms before I make contact.

  Our eyes connect, and we hold each other’s stare for several electric beats of my heart. His gaze switches to my lips, and I suck in a breath, holding it until I can’t any longer, then releasing it. He backs up. The expression on his face is serious. He tilts his head slightly to the side and brushes my hair behind my ear.

  A smile raises one side of his lips. “You should be more careful,” he says and lets me go. He picks up a postcard and holds it up for me to see. “How about this one, babe?”

  I shake my head, fake-rejecting it as a contender, and commence my own search for the perfect postcard. My heart is still bucking in my chest. What just happened? Did he feel it, too? I peer at him through the stack of cards. He catches me and smiles. I quickly grab one of the cards and show him, covering up the fact I was just checking him out.

  He shakes his head and mouths “no,” and I find myself concentrating on how his bottom lip is fuller than the top while he’s forming that word.

  Marek searches a case filled with figurines.

  “What are we looking for?” I ask.

  “Not sure,” he says, picking up a statue of the Pope. “Something to do with bones?”

  “Right.” I return to browsing the stand.

  He lifts a decorative plate with tombstones and the title Cimitero Acattolico painted on it. “Possibly a graveyard?”

  “Maybe.” I search for postcards of them, but only find tourist spots. So many of them are beautiful, I want to buy them—the Trevi Fountain, Ponte Sant’Angelo, and the Mouth of Truth. My hand hovers over the next one on the stand.

  Marek comes up behind me and looks over my shoulder. “You okay? What is it?”

  I snatch up the postcard and stare at it. Four pictures make up the front. One is an image of a chapel, the other three are of walls decorated with hundreds of human remains. The bottom left photo is a cross made out of skulls, just like on the metal box in Marek’s pocket. I flip the card over and read the caption. Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini; Crypt of the Skulls; Crypt of the Leg Bones; Crypt of the Pelvises. And at the top is the saying
, “What you are now, we once were; what we are now, you shall be.”

  “This is it,” I say.

  He leans farther over my shoulder, his chest pressing against my back and his hand going to my waist for balance. I am breathless, and it could be a combination of the excitement of solving the clue and the connection of our bodies. My thoughts and feelings are scrambled with fear, curiosity, wonder, and confusion.

  Marek takes the postcard from me, as well as the other three in my hand. “I’m going to buy these. It’s time we make our move and get rid of our Spanish god back there.”

  While he pays for the cards, I inspect colorful scarves knotted to a circular rack in front of the door to the shop. I sneak a glimpse of the man who’s been tracking us. His attention is on a woman with long red curly hair and tanned skin. By the way the woman smiles at our stalker, she’s into him, and by the way he can’t take his eyes off her, we have our opportunity to ditch him.

  As soon as Marek steps out of the shop, I point out the situation. We dart up the street and turn the first corner we reach. We cut across the road and go up another one.

  “We need directions,” I say, panting. The GPS is good for when you have an address to enter, not so good when you need a map to search. “Why didn’t we think to buy or rent one of those international cell phones?”

  Marek crosses the street and approaches a man. I join him. The man points down the road and waves at the buildings as if Marek is Superman and can see through bricks. Marek shakes the man’s hand and says, “Grazie,” and I echo him.

  From what the man said in his broken English, the Capuchin Crypt closes at seven and isn’t too far away. We stay on this street and do a few more checks in windows to make sure that man isn’t following us. We come to a building with a wall blocking steps leading up to an apartment on the second floor. Marek snatches my hand and storms up the stairs, towing me along with him.

  “What are we doing?” I ask when we stop at the top.

  Marek steals a glance over the wall. “It’s the next phase in ditching a stalker. Once you think you’ve outsmarted him, verify it by getting someplace where he can’t see you, but you can see him.”