Rampant

by Diana Peterfreund

  Finally, someone who showed interest in actually seeing the city. But…“I don’t know if we’re supposed to leave.” On the one hand, they did let me come in from the airport on my own. But on the other, Cory balked every time I started talking about taking in some of the tourist sites. “We should ask Neil.”

  “That adorable British dude from downstairs?” Phil giggled. “Ten euros says as soon as he’s tucked you girls into bed, he heads out to the clubs himself. That guy is the most gorgeous chaperone I’ve ever given the slip to.”

  Now I laughed for what felt like the first time since Brandt had been attacked.

  “Come on, Cuz. It’s my first night in Rome, and we’re going to see the town. I left you alone for too long back home, and look what happened. You started dating Brandt, of all people. Have I taught you nothing?” She reached over and fluffed my hair. “Not going to let it happen again. First, we get some quality cappuccinos. Then we hang out with some quality guys. You’ll see. We’re going to have a great time.”

  Looking at Phil’s smiling face, listening to her sunny voice, like a breath from my pre-unicorn past, I could almost believe it.

  Then Bonegrinder burped, and I smelled blood.

  It took a bit of maneuvering to escape the Cloisters without alerting Cory to our plans. I felt a little bad about leaving her behind—if anyone needed a night off, it was Cornelia Bartoli—but I also wanted some alone time with Phil. We’d barely seen each other since she went off to college, and I was dying for a chance to talk about something other than unicorns.

  Phil, however, did not share my desire.

  “How crazy was it when you just tackled Bonegrinder like that?” she asked, as we boarded one of the city’s orange public buses and slid into our molded plastic seats. “I’ve never seen you move so fast before. Practically a blur. Did you join the track team or something after I left?”

  I shrugged, because the only answer I could think of sounded too bizarre to contemplate. I’d caught Bonegrinder because I had special unicorn hunting powers. But was it any crazier than what I’d already seen? Bones that moved on their own, a unicorn that could shake off a two-story drop to a stone floor, the way Brandt’s wound knit together before my eyes?

  “I think it’s all connected,” I said aloud. “I bet you can do it, too.” Phil would probably be even better, since she was already a great athlete.

  Twenty minutes later, we were making our first circuit around the Piazza Navona, a vast, oblong plaza packed with tourists, Italians, cafés, and gelato stands. From our vantage point at the far end, it was easy to see the piazza’s origins as an ancient Roman racetrack. The buildings that had grown around the border maintained the outline of the field, and giant marble fountains were the only break in the flat, cobblestoned court.

  “This is gorgeous!” Phil exclaimed, holding her arms out wide. I tried to look inconspicuous, but two teenaged blond girls in Rome were apparently something to stare at. And harass. Every few seconds, a man approached me with a handful of withering roses, trying to make a sale. A few feet ahead, swathed in wraps despite the afternoon sun, a Gypsy woman hobbled along, bent nearly double with osteoporosis. Near the fountain stood a knot of children in dirty T-shirts and shorts with pieces of cardboard in their hands. While Phil brushed off the latest flower guy, I observed the kids, wondering what they were doing out here alone.

  It was a mistake. As soon as they noticed me staring, they converged upon me, chattering away in a language that didn’t quite sound like Italian, holding their cardboard panels up like serving trays as they pushed against me.

  “Stop it!” Phil cried. “Astrid, get away from them!” But I wasn’t going to shove a child out of my way. In another second it was over and the kids scurried off.

  With my purse.

  “No!” Each one was going in a different direction. “No! They’re pickpockets!”

  “You think?” Phil said drily, but I’d already taken off after the nearest one.

  “Stop, thief!” I cried. I sprinted past the fountain, leaped over the legs of a few people sitting on the edge, and kept running. The boy ahead of me dodged and ducked through the crowd with practiced ease, and I started falling behind. Unlike my earlier pursuit of Bonegrinder, here there was no supernatural speed, no strange narrowing of the universe. Here I was just a girl. Not a hunter.

  “Stop!” I gasped.

  Another figure flew by, shouting in Italian. “Fermate il ladro!”

  I caught a glimpse of jeans and a faded red shirt rushing past, arms and legs scissoring in perfect runner’s form. I puffed and tried my best to keep up as the three of us barreled toward the end of the piazza, where the ancient planes of the racecourse gave way to buildings and shadowed alleyways.

  The thief had picked his alley well. So narrow I could touch both sides with my fingertips, it was also blocked by a Dumpster and parked motorbikes. I jumped over a concrete post, banging my shin, and limped on.

  I overtook them just as the runner in red grabbed hold of the little boy by the back of his T-shirt. The child squealed and for a second I thought he’d wriggle right out of his clothes. But then the runner closed his hand around the boy’s matchstick arm and started issuing orders in a tone I didn’t need to know Italian to understand.

  Give it back to her.

  “What did he take?” The runner asked me. There were traces of sweat on his temple, and his black curls stuck to the dark skin of his forehead. His English held no trace of an accent.

  “My purse,” I said, still out of breath. I wasn’t sure I liked the way my helper’s hand completely encircled the child’s upper arm, thief or no. “Be careful with him.”

  The guy looked at the little boy in his grip, then at me. “I hate to break it to you, but this kid doesn’t have a purse on him.” He let him go, and the kid scampered off almost as quickly as a unicorn.

  “No!” I yelled. “He was in a gang. He knows which one of them has it.”

  “Make up your mind.” The guy shook his head. “Besides, your purse is long gone. They’re very organized. If you don’t have your eye on the actual item being stolen, it’ll get passed among them and you’ll never find it again.”

  I growled in frustration and thumped my fist against the lid of the Dumpster. “But we could have made him lead us to it.” Maybe.

  “No, we couldn’t. It’s just one of those things. I’m so sorry, but welcome to Rome.” He looked me over, and in the dim light of the alley, his eyes were almost black. “You’re American, right? Me, too. Giovanni Cole.”

  I shook his hand. “Astrid Llewelyn. I can’t believe it’s gone, just like that.”

  “Astrid. That’s an unusual name for an American.”

  “So’s Giovanni,” I snapped, but he just raised his eyebrows, so I took a deep breath. After all, he hadn’t been the one to steal my purse. “My mom’s a little…. hard-core. She wanted to give me the name of a warrior.”

  “My mom’s Italian,” Giovanni said. “Mine just means John.” He was silent for a moment, and I still seethed. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear it right now, but the next time a bunch of Gypsy kids come at you like that, don’t be afraid to just shove them off.”

  “You can forget that,” said a voice behind me. Phil had arrived at the entrance to the alley, along with another young man. “Astrid would cut off her hand before she’d lay a finger on a child.”

  “So it seems.” Giovanni was still looking at me, which made it really hard for me to check him out in return. I took what I could from quick glances in his direction. Slim build, dark, close-cropped hair, high cheekbones, really nice skin.

  “I told you we’d find them together,” the other guy said.

  Phil put her hand on my shoulder. “You didn’t have anything valuable in there, did you? Your passport?”

  My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh no!”

  “It’s okay, honey. This happens all the time. The embassy can get you a new one.” They’d better! I wanted to b
e able to leave as soon as I could.

  “But what will we tell Neil?” I slumped against the nearest stoop. Maybe this was why Cory refused to leave the Cloisters. “We’re not even supposed to be here.”

  “Who’s Neil?” the second boy asked.

  “Our chaperone.” Phil smoothed my hair. “Come on, Asteroid, buck up. This isn’t a big deal.” She tugged a few strands entirely harder than necessary and whispered, “Why don’t you introduce me to your new friend? And his friend?”

  Oh. I looked up, but I was too late. “His friend” was already doing the honors.

  “I’m Seth Gavriel.” This one had an accent, though it was a soft, lilting, Southern one. His hair was light brown, his eyes an unusual kelly green. Freckles dotted his nose.

  “Phil Llewelyn. So what brings you boys to Rome?” She nudged me again and I stood.

  “We’re supposed to be in a language immersion program,” Seth said. “Don’t we look immersed to you?”

  “Totally.”

  “My mom decided it was high time that I embrace my heritage,” Giovanni said to me. “And since it meant coming to Rome, I didn’t argue.”

  “That sounds familiar,” Phil said. She had taken similar advantage of the situation.

  “What are y’all here for?” Seth asked.

  “Medicine,” I said at the same time Phil came out with “History.”

  “Wow,” said Seth, turning to me for the first time. “Aren’t you a bit young for that?”

  Translated: You’re not even in college, are you? “It’s a unique program,” I said, and Phil stuck her tongue out at me, then whipped it back in as soon as Seth directed those green eyes of his back at her. “But very advanced.”

  “It’s our first night out in Rome,” Phil prompted with a pout. “And look what happened! Maybe we should just pack it in, don’t you think, Astrid?”

  I did indeed, but clearly Phil had other ideas.

  “Don’t do that!” Seth said, in a tone as tempting as molasses. “I’m sure we can salvage the evening, even if we are down a few euros and a passport.”

  “And a bus pass,” I grumbled.

  Seth looked at me. “Tell you what. I’ll spot you your first gelato.”

  “How chivalrous.” Phil beamed at him. “Looks like we fell in with a couple of white knights, Cuz.”

  Knights and maidens. Perfect. And Giovanni was still watching me in silence. As Phil and her new conquest wandered back down the alley, he spoke.

  “I am sorry about your purse. Maybe I should have let you deal with that pickpocket in your own way.”

  “Right, the way where I wouldn’t have laid a finger on him? Think that would have gotten me any farther?”

  “No. You’re an unusual warrior.”

  “You have no idea.” If he thought I was fast running after a pickpocket, he should see me chasing unicorns.

  Giovanni’s lips quirked the tiniest bit, but it was enough to open up his whole face. He wasn’t as tall as Seth, nor as broadly built, but I liked the look of him. “You’re not really in med school, are you?”

  I lowered my head. So much for that. “Try high school. I’m sixteen.”

  “I just turned eighteen.” He pursed his lips and nodded. “That’s not too bad.”

  Now I met his eyes in challenge. “Too bad for what?”

  “To do this.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and offered me his elbow, and as I took it, thrills radiated out to the ends of my hair and down to my toes. “Come on, Astrid the Warrior.”

  6

  WHEREIN ASTRID MAKES THE LEAP

  SETH TOOK US TO TESTACCIO, a neighborhood filled with nightclubs and street performers along the edge of the river. I’d never been much for clubbing, but after the silent darkness of the bone-strewn Cloisters, pounding techno music and flashing lights were a welcome change. The place was packed with young people, they didn’t ask for ID at the door, and women in tight tops wandered the place passing out brightly colored shots in test tubes. Seth took an assortment and passed them around. Mine was yellow and lemon flavored, and Phil had both a red and a green. Giovanni took an orange one during the first round, then laughed and passed his purple follow-up tube back to Seth.

  We soon got separated from Phil and Seth in the crowd, which didn’t surprise me, though it did mean Giovanni had no one to dance with but me. Unfortunate, since Phil is a much better dancer than I am. She does this move where her hair swings in syncopation with her hips that I have never been able to replicate. Giovanni was a good dancer, too, but a few moments after we lost the others, he grabbed my hand and pulled me off the dance floor.

  “It’s too loud in here,” he shouted in my ear. “Want to go someplace more quiet and talk?”

  I knew what those code words meant. Talk means make out. “I shouldn’t leave Phil,” I shouted back.

  “Good point.”

  We stood there for a few moments, watching the crowd gyrate. Was I really that bad at dancing that he wouldn’t be seen with me out there? I looked at him and he leaned in again.

  “I have to leave,” he said. “Please come with me. I don’t want to leave you here alone. We can just go outside, or I think there’s a café next door.” He turned and started for the exit, and I followed him, baffled.

  As soon as we were beyond the pounding of the music, he stopped and looked at me, his jaw set. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. He didn’t look like he wanted to make a move on me at all. “What’s wrong?”

  “Headache. I hope you don’t mind.”

  I shook my head. “Not at all. Want to get some water or something? Maybe you’re dehydrated.”

  He looked away. “Sure.”

  We bought a bottled still water and an orange Fanta from a vendor on the corner, then sat on a stone wall near the nightclub, close enough so that Phil and Seth would see us if they looked out.

  “Do you want to know why this place is called Testaccio?” he asked me abruptly and pointed at a hill rising in the distance. “That’s Monte Testaccio. It means the mountain of potsherds.”

  “Potsherds?”

  “Broken pottery. That hill is made entirely of bits of vases and amphoras from ancient Rome. Traders would bring in shipments up the Tiber River and then dump the empty containers here.” He shrugged. “It’s like an ancient Tupperware cemetery.”

  And I was living in the ancient unicorn graveyard. I think I’d prefer broken clay pots. “You know a lot about ancient Rome.”

  “I was majoring in art history.” He took a long drink and stared out at the hill.

  “No wonder you were happy about coming to Rome, then.” It was official: he really just wanted to talk.

  “Yeah.”

  Though he wasn’t talking much.

  “I haven’t been out much since I got here,” I tried, channeling Phil’s easy way with boys. “What do you think I shouldn’t miss around here—aside from mountains made of pottery?”

  “The Colosseum, of course,” he said. “They light it up at night. It’s amazing.”

  “That’s actually right near where we’re staying.”

  “Really?” He turned back to me. “That’s a cool neighborhood.” And he began telling me of ancient churches and holy relics, of vast, underground excavations that uncovered a new era of history with every layer they dug beneath the city. He talked of historical popes who threatened to knock down Rome’s most famous landmark, the Colosseum, to give themselves straight shots from the Vatican to the Cathedral of Rome, and how the ancient Roman Forum was once half-buried under a cow pasture in the middle of the city. I imagined cattle picking their way among bits of columns and arches that stuck up above the earth, chewing their cuds over the tombs of Caesar and Romulus, dropping steaming patties in the once sacred Temple of Vesta.

  His smile came more easily now, and he told me gruesome stories of gladiators and gladiator schools, of how they used to divert the Tiber to flood the Colosseum and hold mock sea battl
es, of how there hadn’t actually been all that many Christians thrown to the lions after all. I wondered if they’d ever held unicorn hunting exhibitions.

  “I should take you to the Borghese Gallery,” he went on. “There was this Cardinal, Scipio Borghese, back in the Renaissance, and he used his power in the church to bully other patrons of the arts into handing over their stuff. ‘Give me your Michelangelo or face the Inquisition.’ It’s the best collection.”

  “That sounds fun,” I said.

  “What sounds fun?” Phil and Seth joined us, holding hands and glistening with sweat.

  “Giovanni says there’s this great museum—”

  “Oh no,” Seth groaned. “No more museums, Jo.” He turned to Phil. “He’s been torturing me with them for weeks.”

  Giovanni took another drink from his water bottle and didn’t respond, but the light had gone out of his face. I looked down at the space between us, at his hand resting on the stone wall, a few inches from my own. I slid my pinky over until it grazed against his.

  His eyes met mine.

  And there, in the space between heartbeats, I sensed it. Not a sound, not a sight, not a feeling, but some combination of all three. Was it the whisper of a breath or a flash of dark on dark in the shadows under the hill? Was the air tinged with the scent of embers and decay? Was it that feeling of the night in the forest back home, where I knew something was watching me, had ignored it, and had paid the price?

  Giovanni frowned. “Astrid?”

  I was on my feet, scanning the hill, but the moment had passed. The hair on my arms stood at attention, and adrenaline flooded my system, but there was nothing there. Nothing to chase, either human or monster. Nothing but my paranoia.

  “Let’s go,” I said. “It’s getting pretty late, and we’re on the far side of town.” I practically pushed Phil away from the hill, away from the wall, and powered across the square. Giovanni gathered up our empty bottles and hurried after us, and Seth caught up on Phil’s side.