Painted Blind

by Michelle Hansen

  I turned off the phone, so he couldn’t call back.

  Chapter 13

  I typed the coordinates of Aphrodite’s island into a search engine. After scrolling through a bunch of garbage travel sites offering tours of Italy, I found a site dedicated to the island known as “The Fortress of the Goddess.” Photographs of the island showed high stone cliffs surrounding most of the island. In the background were white, marble-like cliffs. If I hadn’t been to Eros’s palace, I would not have realized that the cliffs were more than they seemed. They were the exterior walls of Aphrodite’s palace, so well set into the background of the island as to become part of the landscape. Plus, to the record of mortals, the island had always looked that way. The website reported that references to the Fortress of the Goddess were found in buried Pompeii.

  Legends claimed the island was inhabited by gods. No mortal could step foot on the island uninvited, though a few sailors reported they had delivered goods to its shores. Three small vessels over the past hundred years reported making deliveries to the Fortress. All agreed on their means of delivery. They were directed to the northernmost shore of the island, where there was a small strip of beach. They dropped their goods on the beach at night and left immediately. In his journal one sailor recorded that he received payment in cash by post, and it came with instructions about how to deliver the items wanted by the gods. If he stayed at the beach past the delivery hour, he would be struck dead. If he ventured off the beach onto the island, he would be struck dead. He was instructed never to tell anyone about the delivery. Over fifty years he kept the secret. After he died, his children found the account. He wrote that he kept the secret out of gratitude because the gods paid him more than two years’ wages for one night’s work.

  I clicked off the Internet and went downstairs to the front desk. The clerk, a man in his mid-thirties with wavy hair and a five o’clock shadow, smiled widely at the sight of me. “What can I do for the beautiful lady?” he offered.

  “I need to go somewhere tomorrow night…” I looked at the clock on the wall. It was three o’clock in the morning here in Naples. I awoke sweating and disoriented a few hours ago. “I mean, tonight, and I don’t have a dress to wear. I’m looking for something very specific—a white silk or satin dress like the goddess Venus would wear. Do you know where I might find such a dress?”

  “Something very nice, yes?”

  “Yes, high quality and it must look like the goddess. Understand?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  From my pocket I took a hundred dollar bill and laid it on the counter. “If you find me this dress, I will be very happy.” I slid the bill across the counter and smiled.

  “As soon as it is morning I will call the best shops.” His English had the most charming accent. He was probably used to American women swooning over him.

  “Size four. Have it sent here and charge it to my room?”

  “Yes. I will call when it arrives.”

  From the desk beside him, I pulled a city bus brochure. “I want to go to the docks before the fishing boats go out for the day. Will the bus on this route take me there?”

  “Oh, no.” He shook his head furiously. “I mean, yes, the bus would take you there, but a beautiful woman should not be roaming the streets alone before dawn. I will call a cab.”

  After thanking him I waited with the doorman. The air was warm. Fall here was temperate compared to home. It gave me hope that Aphrodite would understand I made a mistake and I really loved Eros. She would give me a chance to apologize to him. With optimism brewing in my chest I went to hire a ship to the Fortress.

  None of the fishing vessels wanted to take me to the Fortress, and my efforts to bribe them failed. A few of the fishermen didn’t speak English at all. Most of the others got the gist of what I was saying and adamantly refused, even with a handful of green-backs in front of them. Frustrated and nursing a splitting headache, I sank onto a bench near the pier at war with myself. The rational part of me said to catch a cab back to the hotel, sleep off the headache, then take the next flight home. The stubborn, love-sick part of me wouldn’t move and kept gazing across the water wondering if redemption waited in the serenity of the sea. The turquoise water reminded me of Eros’s kingdom and made me ache. I hauled myself up, not knowing what else to do but admit defeat.

  From down the pier came a trill, someone whistling with skill. A man sauntered along the planks, coffee cup in one hand and a set of keys in the other. He wore khaki shorts, a dark T-shirt and loafers.

  I moved toward him unnoticed until I was standing at the edge of his vessel. He balanced the coffee on a ledge and unlocked the cabin. The boat bore Italian words on the bow. “You’re not a fisherman?” I said.

  He spun around, then stared at me while I squinted into the sun.

  “And, you’re not Italian?”

  “Swiss,” he said finally. “I run a shuttle.”

  “How much to hire your boat for the next twenty-four hours?”

  He sipped his coffee and stowed the keys into his shorts pocket. “That depends on how far you want to go.”

  “Twenty-four miles.”

  Moving toward me and really studying my face, he replied, “It won’t take all day to travel twenty-four miles.” A month ago this close study would have creeped me out, but I saw in him curiosity more than longing. Eros taught me that most men were cowards. I needed to be cautious, but not afraid of everyone.

  “I need to make two trips, one this morning and one tonight. I want the assurance that the boat will be available.” He nodded and quoted me a reasonable price, so I agreed without haggling. “You’ll accept US dollars instead of Euros?”

  “Of course,” he answered.

  He might have been forty, but his unkempt hair and casual clothes gave him a more youthful appearance. I supposed he was handsome. It was hard to say anymore. My sight was tainted. “You have GPS?”

  He set his hands on his hips and grinned at my checklist as I rattled it off. “Yes.”

  “Binoculars?”

  “Yes.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  “No,” he answered with a chuckle.

  I stepped aboard. “Well, that’s good, because I want you to take me to the Fortress of the Goddess. A fisherman told me that seven men have gone missing near its shores in the past two years.” Handing over the coordinates, I continued, “This morning I want to see it from a distance. Tonight I’ll have you take a crate ashore for me. By the way, do you know where we can find a large delivery crate?”

  “What will be in the crate?”

  Now it was my turn to smile. “Does it matter?”

  We circled the island but kept our distance. The photos on the website were accurate. There was only one way onto the island, and it was the small strip of beach on the north shore. The west, sea-facing side of the island had large caves cut into the cliffs, but there was no way to explore them without being seen. From a quarter of a mile off shore I studied the beach with binoculars. There was too much foliage to clearly see how the cliff tapered down, but I was willing to bet there was a trail leading to the white, marble walls.

  I handed the binoculars to my shipmate and asked, “If you were guarding that island, where would you put your look-outs?”

  He threw me an incredulous look.

  “Humor me,” I insisted.

  After a long study of the north shore, he answered, “You could place men anywhere along the upper cliff, but they would be seen. If you wanted to guard it without being seen, you’d have to place them in the trees along the ridge.”

  “We wouldn’t be able to see them. Don’t you know? The gods can make themselves invisible.” I told him about the accounts of deliveries to the island, the strict protocol followed on each sailor’s delivery. “The thing is, this is not an expected delivery. There won’t be someone waiting on the beach. It’s a scout from above you’ll have to worry about.”

  “You th
ink they’ll shoot me?”

  “Not with bullets. Plus, you’re simply delivering a crate. It will catch them by surprise. Hopefully, it’ll make them curious instead of angry.”

  “Are you coming with me for this delivery?”

  “Yes.” I didn’t say more. If all went well, I would leave the island another way. If things didn’t go well, I wouldn’t be leaving at all.

  Two dresses waited for me at the hotel. The desk clerk was just heading out the door at the end of his shift when he saw me and ushered me with enthusiasm toward a closet in the office. “They are very nice. Yes?”

  Both dresses were white. One had a halter bodice similar to the one I’d worn in Eros’s kingdom. The fabric was white satin, and the waistline was fitted with a back zipper.

  The second dress had a drape neckline that was set with sequins and rhinestones. At the waist was a gaudy gold belt. I handed it to the clerk. “Send this one back. I’ll take the satin one.”

  He agreed, and I took the elevator upstairs, where I immediately tried on the dress. The label was a designer I recognized. I wore his clothes on the runway, and without standing in front of the mirror, I knew the fit was perfect. He was a lesser known designer whose line focused mostly on the Italian market, so the dress cost a fraction of what the Valentino had.

  Though I tried to sleep, I couldn’t. I thought of ordering room service, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to eat. In the early afternoon I ventured out to buy sandals to wear with my dress. It was fall, and the shops were pushing leather boots for winter, but I found some strappy, gold sandals on a clearance rack.

  The breeze lifted my hair. The smell of coffee and baking bread floated in the air. Of all the places for me to seek Aphrodite, I was glad it was Italy to which I’d come. Though the city was different, and I didn’t speak much Italian, it felt familiar. I didn’t realize until now how much I enjoyed Milan. Italy was my home away from home, and I found some solace here.

  I probably could have used a strong cappuccino, but I ordered a pastry and herbal tea at a café. I didn’t want to be any more jittery than I already was. While I waited for my order, I wrote a short letter to my dad explaining why I came to Italy. I apologized for running away, told him I loved him, and asked that he not hold a public funeral for me if I never returned.

  Nightfall came slowly. I stood at the window of my hotel room and wished I could reach out and push the sun down. I was dressed in jeans, a black T-shirt, and tennis shoes. My duffle bag lay at my feet. The clothes I’d packed for the trip were strewn on the bed, and now the bag held only the white dress, sandals and Eros’s gifts. I left instructions at the front desk to mail the letter to Dad if I didn’t return by tomorrow night.

  The Swiss was waiting on the shuttle, also dressed in dark clothes and probably hoping it would make him a more difficult target, not that he believed there was really anyone on the island. A large wooden crate sat on the bow of the boat. The print on the side said it contained furniture. After checking that it was secure, I tossed the duffle bag inside. “How do you plan to unload this?”

  The man shrugged. “I can run aground on the beach and drop it off the front. The cargo isn’t breakable is it?”

  “No, that will be fine.”

  The engine’s roar drowned the lap of the water on the pier and the music wafting from a bistro down the street. I stood near the steering column taking calming breaths while he drove. The trip to the Fortress took just under a quarter of an hour. When the shadow of the island came into view, I told him to cut the engine. It was time to load the crate. He watched dumbfounded as I climbed inside.

  “Oh, come on. You had to have guessed I was the package?” When he didn’t answer, I continued. “Just make sure you get me onto the beach. Don’t dump me in the water. Then get the heck out of there.” I paid him the rest of his fee.

  He looked down at the bills and shook his head. Then he stowed the cash in his pants pocket and pressed the lid down on the crate. A moment later the engine roared to life again.

  My heart pounded a hurried rhythm as the motor softened. Shards of moonlight slanted through the lid of the crate. The bright moon made the boat easier to see. We glided slowly to the beach. I felt a sudden jerk as the bow struck sand. We were there.

  Chapter 14

  He grunted and heaved the crate. I tumbled backward. The crate rolled twice and landed on the lid. I rocked hard to the side so I wouldn’t be trapped. Then I waited. The boat’s engine rumbled low until it cleared the shallow water near the beach, then jumped full throttle in the distance. That was my cue. If someone watched from above, now he would leave his post to inspect the crate. I had only seconds to move.

  I kicked the crate open, crouched low and ran into the shadow of the cliff. There I stripped down to my underwear and pulled on the white dress. In my hurry, the zipper gave me trouble, but I managed to get it up and the neck tied. I slid into the sandals while pulling on the belt and arm cuff. The bracelet was too difficult to clasp in the dark, so I put the pendant on first. It was the most important part of this costume. As I fastened it on my forehead, I heard voices above. They were coming. I threw my clothes and the bracelet into the duffle bag and hid it in the bushes. Then I stumbled onto the beach, where I could be seen, glowing like an apparition all in white.

  I hoped they weren’t veiled, or my ruse was off. I went toward the voices, and just as they broke from the trees, I reached out to them and let myself collapse on the sand.

  With an exclamation in Eros’s language, the two young men ran toward me. I let my eyes flutter open and saw their concerned faces. Like Eros’s servants they were in their late teens. One shook me, asking me questions. I closed my eyes and let my head fall limply. He took the bait. He gathered me into his arms and carried me toward the palace.

  The entrance to the palace was hidden in the foliage. We entered a cave, crossed through a doorway, then climbed a circular stairwell before breaking into the light of the palace foyer. Once inside, the other man shouted, “Theron! Theron!”

  We passed through the foyer into a great, round room. Though my head dangled against the man’s shoulder, I kept my eyes half-open. Eight pillars held up the frescoed ceiling. White chairs and lounge benches stood in clusters around the room. Onto one of these benches I was laid. The guy who carried me shook me gently, then took my face into his hands until I opened my eyes fully. I blinked at the brightness of the room.

  He asked me something, probably, “Are you all right?” or “What’s your name?”

  I did not speak.

  A man in his late twenties came to see the cause of all the commotion. He wore mortal clothes like he had been on the mainland. With light hair that fell in unruly waves around his forehead, he would have been inhumanly handsome if it hadn’t been for his menacing eyes. This was Theron, the bodyguard Gina warned me about.

  At his approach, the others offered brief, muttered explanations before retreating halfway across the room. Theron knelt before me, looked closely at my face, then reached out with one flawless hand. He caught me by the throat and squeezed just hard enough to threaten without cutting off the air. He rocked back on his heels, rose and took me with him.

  Now that I stood before him, he released my throat and inspected me. His eyes took in the belt, the arm cuff, skittered over the pendant but settled onto the bodice of my dress. He walked a circle around me, touching my shoulder as he passed, then drew his finger across my back to the zipper. I was caught. The immortals didn’t use zippers.

  “Which part of ‘No Trespassing’ don’t you understand?” he whispered. His English was as flawless as his beauty.

  “Please,” I answered softly, “I came to see Aphrodite.”

  At the mention of her name, he spun me around, threw me against a massive column, and held me there with a forearm across my chest. He pulled a knife from his belt and brought it near my cheek. He glared into my eyes. “How dare you come here and further insult the goddess? I have every right to kil
l you.” Over his shoulder he called to the other servants, “You fools brought a mortal into the palace.”

  When one protested, Theron grabbed my hand and sliced the blade across my palm. I yelped in pain as the cut erupted angry red. “Immortal blood is clear,” he told me. “Aphrodite will have nothing to do with you.”

  Pain flared my temper. I shoved him hard and freed myself from the pillar. “I would have told them what I was if you’d given me the chance!” I squeezed my hand into a fist, trying to slow the bleeding. “I’m Eros’s betrothed,” I said, “and I seek an audience with the goddess, Aphrodite.”

  Theron looked more closely at the pendant. His eyes twitched slightly as he recognized the signature. Then his jaw set in frustration. Apparently the pendant carried more sway than he let on. “This way.”

  He pressed the knife against my back as we passed through the vast rooms. The windows were shuttered so they gave no light to the exterior. The mansion was very old, but electric lighting and indoor plumbing had been added. The pipes and conduits showed along the ceilings and walls, but these were the only things that dated the interior. The furnishings were lavish and new. The hallway floor was marble. Hammered bronze chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and matching sconces lit the hallway.

  On the upper level we stood before double doors, and Theron told me to open them. White wall-to-wall carpet spread between the pale blue walls. A woman rose from a pillowed chair with her back to us. “Did you get rid of the trespasser?”

  “I thought you might want to see her,” Theron replied.

  She turned, and he motioned to the pendant. Her mouth flattened into a line as she approached.

  “Did you know they were one and the same?” Theron asked.