Marcus met first Vali’s eyes, then Sandra’s, nodding once to each of them, before releasing my hand and turning to face me fully. He stepped as close as possible without actually touching me, and leaned in until his lips were a hairsbreadth from my ear. “You’re right. I will interrogate the Accademia’s security personnel, I will confiscate their video footage, and I will track down the offending party.” He paused, inhaled, held his breath. I did the same. “But you’re wrong about one thing; the only person I desire to have kneeling before me, Little Ivanov, is you, and I promise you that it is for a reason that has nothing to do with pain.”
Suddenly parched, I swallowed. Several times. “Oh, well …” I cleared my throat. “I see.”
Marcus pulled away, his eyes glinting wickedly. “Now, may we continue?”
At a loss for words and unable to look away from those golden pools of sin, I nodded and let Marcus lead me forward once more.
A short way from the bridge, the street widened and the crowd thinned noticeably. We passed shop fronts in the bottom floors of antiquated four-and five-story buildings, carrying everything from shoes, hats, and dresses to sunglasses and jewelry, as well as cafés, gelaterias, banks, and even a pharmacy. An enormous open-air building came into view on the left side of the street, hosting a bustling outdoor market that looked like it could provide hours of enjoyment.
My steps slowed as I imagined wandering from stall to stall, looking at scarves and trinkets and leather bags. It wasn’t that I wanted to buy anything. I already had everything I needed, and I’d never been prone to excess; I didn’t even have a car back in Seattle, and I had one, maybe two really nice dresses. But I wanted the experience, the memory, something I could keep with me forever. I just wanted to feel like I was actually here.
“The Loggia del Porcellino,” Marcus said, catching my line of sight and what was probably a ridiculous look of longing. “Perhaps we’ll stop by when we’re finished, if we have time,” he added as we headed away from the haggling hubbub. “I forget that this is your first time in Firenze, and that you’ve spent most of it locked up inside the palazzo.” He apologized with a smile and a squeeze of my hand. “Most would have complained by now.”
I met his eyes and returned his smile. “I enjoy the gardens. They’re peaceful, which is surprising given how close they are to all of this.” I gestured to the seemingly endless sea of pedestrians.
“You’re mastering the art of deflection, Little Ivanov.” He sent me an approving glance. “An important skill if you’re to be a successful leader among our people. But that is aside from the point—until we leave for Cairo, I shall show you as much as I can of the city, and we’ll begin tonight, after we finish with the Sotheby’s agent. How does that sound?”
I beamed at him. “It sounds fantastic, Marcus.”
CHAPTER THREE
Within & Without
The entrance to the Galleria dell’Accademia, where Michelangelo’s notorious Statue of David was on display, was remarkably unassuming. The simple, oversized wooden door in the stucco wall was one in an intermittent line of others just like it, and it lent the Accademia an air of humility that seemed at odds with the long column of people milling along the exterior of the museum, waiting to enter. We neither waited nor milled.
Marcus guided me through a break in the crowd and straight into the Accademia through the exit, Sandra and Vali flanking us. Embarrassment heated my cheeks as I imagined being one of the hundreds of people waiting in line, watching someone else barge in through the back door.
“Hey!” a woman shouted. “You can’t do that. Harry, they can’t just do that! It’s not fair!”
Pausing, I glanced over my shoulder and spotted the woman; she was poking a rather apathetic-looking man with one hand and pointing at us with the other. My flush burned hotter, and I offered her a tight-lipped smile.
Marcus gave my hand a squeeze before releasing it, and I looked away from the outraged woman.
“Ah … Signor Bahur, my name is Giovanni. I was sent to wait for you.” Our greeter was a young man with a head of curly, dark hair and pleasant, wide-set features. He shook Marcus’s hand with gusto.
“I was expecting Superintendent Pietro Gaspari to meet me,” Marcus said as Giovanni released his hand.
“Ah, yes, Signor Gaspari is very sorry he cannot be here; he was called away for family business … very important …”
“I hope everything is alright.” Though Marcus’s words displayed a polite level of concern, his voice was bland.
Giovanni bowed his head. “Yes, yes, I believe so, but do not worry. Signor Gaspari called in a replacement to handle the situation for him, and we already moved La Donna Triste to a restricted area upstairs as soon as we noticed … it.”
“I’m pleased to hear it,” Marcus said, sounding about as far from pleased as someone could be. He extended his arm toward a pair of fogged glass doors. “May we proceed?”
But Giovanni didn’t see Marcus’s gesture; he was too busy staring at me, his lips parted and his eyes wide. “Madonna … la somiglianza …” He looked like he’d seen a ghost.
Marcus cleared his throat, and I glanced at him in time to see him giving Giovanni his equivalent of a death stare. “Una coincidenza, niente di piú.”
Though Italian wasn’t one of the languages I’d studied as an archaeologist specializing in ancient Egypt, I was familiar with enough of it that I could catch the gist of the exchange. Something about my appearance was shocking to Giovanni, and Marcus was claiming there was some sort of a “coincidence.”
Eyebrows raised, I looked from Marcus to the young man and back and cleared my throat, loudly. It was practically a cough.
Marcus’s eyes flicked to mine for the briefest moment.
“I apologize, signora,” Giovanni rushed to say. “Your beauty stunned me for a moment, is all.”
I sent Marcus a sidelong glance, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I’m sure …”
“Come, come … I take you to La Donna.” Giovanni ushered Marcus and me toward the doors, Sandra and Vali following close behind us.
We entered a long, high-ceilinged gallery filled with people, most concentrated near a rotunda at the far end, where the David held court, towering over them. Others stood in clusters all along the gallery’s walls, staring up at the few enormous paintings, which practically dripped religious iconography, or resting on the built-in mahogany benches below the Renaissance masterpieces. I stared around as Giovanni guided us through the mass of people, heading straight for the David.
But impressive as the famous statue of the giant-killer was, it didn’t hold my attention for long. The handful of huge, unfinished marble sculptures scattered along the sides of the gallery captivated me completely. Each depicted a nude man, and though each was utterly unique, they all shared a sense of being trapped within the stone. It was like their creator had been attempting to set them free, but he’d given up, and now they were stuck, encased in stone … forever. When I said as much to Marcus, he called ahead to Giovanni in Italian and drew me closer to the nearest partially revealed male form, which displayed only a pair of rough-hewn legs, a muscular torso, and part of an arm.
“Which is precisely why they are known as The Prisoners to many,” Marcus said as he laced our fingers together.
I glanced down at the placard. “Atlas.” It seemed a fitting name for the slightly hunched over figure, though rather than holding the world, it appeared that the world was holding the poor, trapped soul. “They’re beautiful …” I looked at Marcus, then continued studying the unfinished sculpture. “And a little disturbing.”
Marcus nodded. “An accurate assessment, in my opinion.” Only when I felt him tug on my hand did I realize he’d started walking away.
I resisted, feeling an uncomfortable kinship with this half-formed stone man.
“Come on, Little Ivanov.” Marcus gave my hand another tug. “The crowd has thinned.”
As I walked away, I continued to st
are at Atlas for a few more heartbeats before turning my attention to the sole statue in the rotunda ahead. There was only a scattering of people around him now, as though a guided tour group had just moved on.
Marcus stopped near the low glass barrier surrounding the David and said something else to Giovanni, who was waiting partway down the narrower gallery to the left of the rotunda.
I stepped in front of Marcus, moving as close to the barrier as possible to get a better look at the sculpture. I stared at the David for minutes, studying the precision and delicacy with which he’d been formed and finished. He was so perfect, so lifelike, but at the same time, subtle things were off about him. His lowered hand was in my direct line of sight, and once my eyes latched onto it, I couldn’t tear them away.
“What do you think?” Marcus asked from behind me.
“His hand …” I shook my head. “It’s so big—compared to the rest of him, I mean. It’s really big.” Distractingly so.
Marcus moved closer to me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his check against my hair. “It was for perspective.”
I relaxed against him, no longer so distracted … at least, not by the David’s huge hand. “Is that so?”
“David, here, was originally intended to decorate the roofline of the Duomo; from so far below, he would have appeared quite proportionate.” Marcus paused, taking a long, slow inhale. He exhaled with a groan and tightened his hold around my waist. “It’s not uncommon knowledge. I’m surprised you didn’t already know.”
I sighed and leaned my head back against his shoulder. “This is what I know about Michelangelo—” I held up my hand to tick points off with my fingers and said, “Renaissance, the Statue of David, the Sistine Chapel … and that’s about it.” I dropped my hand. “I never really studied the Renaissance, not after high school,” I added, wrinkling my nose. “It just felt too recent.”
“Your preference for the ancient world has left you ignorant of the more recent past, Little Ivanov.” He chuckled. “Though I must admit that I appreciate your preference for the ancient—it’s benefitted me greatly…and often.”
I closed my eyes in an effort to shield myself from the truth behind his words: that he was as ancient as the people I loved to study. It was useless. I could no more ignore the fact that Marcus was over four thousand years old than I could avoid the possibility that one day, I might be just as ancient.
Marcus must have caught a glimpse of my expression, because he moved his lips closer to my ear and whispered, “Let go of what you were, Lex. Embrace what you are.”
Were and are … that was the problem. I opened my eyes and craned my neck so I could see his face. “Why can’t I be both?” I wanted to hold on to my humanity, to continue to appreciate each moment for what it was—unique and precious. Each moment would only happen once, each second would only pass once, no matter how many times I ventured into the At to watch a replay. I wanted to live my life, not watch it. An echo wasn’t the same; it wasn’t real. And above all, I wanted to avoid the ennui that seemed to infect so many Nejerets over time.
A slight frown touched Marcus’s lips, and there was a tightness around his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment before, but he didn’t respond to my question. Instead, he nodded to my two bodyguards, who were standing on opposite sides of the domed chamber, their eyes assessing everything. “Stay out here with Vali and Sandra while I take care of this business. I’ll only be a moment.”
“But—”
Marcus turned me around to face him fully and pressed his lips to mine, kissing me deeply. A child giggled, the sound reverberating within the rotunda, and I broke the kiss. My cheeks were on fire.
“Go,” Marcus said. “Spend some more time with Atlas and the other Prisoners. We won’t be able to linger afterward …”
Biting my lip, I glanced over Marcus’s shoulder at the unfinished statues and nodded. There was just something so enthralling about them.
Marcus pressed another, chaste kiss to my lips before turning and striding away with Giovanni. I watched them walk up the gallery until they passed through a doorway into another area and were out of sight.
I wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Vali approaching as I made my way back toward Atlas. When neither Marcus nor Dominic was by my side, Vali was always there. His sheer size, all clearly muscle mass, worked as an excellent deterrent for anyone who was even considering approaching me with the intent to harm, while Sandra could just as easily hang back, blend in, look harmless … and catch anyone intending to harm me from afar.
I met Vali’s ice-blue eyes as he fell in step beside me, matching my meandering pace. “Have you been here before?”
“Yes, Meswett. I served as a Council guard for years; it’s what I was doing before I swore my oath to protect you.”
“Hmmm,” I said, glancing at him with a thoughtful frown. Vali was a gentle giant, at least where I was concerned, but he was also a man of few words. Despite the amount of time we spent in each other’s presence, I didn’t know much about him.
“And whenever Heru was in town for Council business, he would make a point to come here to visit La Donna, which makes more sense now”—his eyes touched my face, sliding away quickly—“and I was his usual companion.”
My frown deepened as we took up a position off to the side of Atlas, me studying Vali’s pale, stony face, and Vali scowling as he scanned the museum-goers around us. “Why does it make more sense now?” I asked him.
“It isn’t my place to say, Meswett. You’ll have to ask Heru.”
I crossed my arms and shook my head, cursing myself for being a pushover and staying behind when I should have insisted on going with Marcus. I was getting the rather clear impression that he didn’t want me to see this sculpture of his, this “sad woman,” and I was tempted to march after him and Giovanni to shed some light on the mystery. Thanks to my Nejerette senses, I could still hear them exchanging words as they moved further away; it wouldn’t be hard to find them. Or, I realized, I could always slip into the At and take a peek that way …
I cleared my throat and uncrossed my arms. I definitely wasn’t ready to risk another trip into the At. Not yet, not so soon after … everything.
Looking back up at Vali, I let the subject of La Donna drop. It wasn’t his fault Marcus was being, well, Marcus. “Do you have a favorite Prisoner, Vali?”
He blinked, like he was surprised by my question. After a moment, he nodded to the sculpture opposite Atlas, a more fully formed but still rough-hewn man whose neck was bent in an uncomfortable-looking angle. “The Bearded Slave,” he said. “He reminds me of my grandfather—my mother’s human father, not Heru. He was a great Viking explorer, an excellent warrior.” His lips curved into the tiniest possible smile as he allowed himself a stolen moment of nostalgia.
A few seconds later, he was back to scanning the people around us. A new wave was filling the gallery, and I figured it was just another guided tour group. I noticed the woman who’d been so outraged when we’d slipped in through the exit, five policemen trailing behind her. When our eyes met, she grinned.
I was about to mention her odd reaction to Vali when my ears picked up on a familiar, unwelcome voice coming from the direction Marcus and Giovanni had gone, just barely audible over the crowd: Sara, a woman who knew Marcus with intimate familiarity.
“… be here, I made special arrangements to be the one to assist you.” She sounded just as sultry and overtly provocative as she had when I’d eavesdropped on her and Marcus meeting in his tent months ago. It was the same tone that had launched me into an instinctive Nejerette reaction, resulting in me threatening her life if she ever came near Marcus again—and claiming him as the Nejeret equivalent of my husband.
Narrowing my eyes, I scowled. That same instinct was kicking in again, making me hunger for Sara’s terror, thirst for her tears. Oblivious to my immediate surroundings, I spun on my heel and started to head back up the gallery to track them down, but the crowd had
thickened to the point that I had to push between people to get anywhere.
“I thought you returned to London,” I heard Marcus say. He had to know I could hear them, had to suspect I was on my way to them. “You should have stayed there.”
“Oh, I did go to London—and I made a very interesting new friend who, coincidentally, knew a bit about our little falling out and your new woman. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, and …”
I’d made my way through most of the rotunda when a large hand wrapped around my upper arm, jerking me to a halt. I turned to tell Vali to let me go.
And snapped my mouth shut almost as soon as I’d opened it. Instead of Vali’s pale blue eyes, I was staring into the hazel eyes of a stranger. A large, leering, male stranger. A heartbeat later, I recognized him; he was the bored man the outraged woman had been poking just outside.
He yanked me backward, into the edge of the crowd, and leaned in closer. “I told Set this would be easy …”
CHAPTER FOUR
Try & Fail
I twisted, trying to yank my arm out of Bored Man’s grip. He was human—which gave me an advantage, since my Nejerette regenerative abilities kept me in prime shape—but he was also far bigger and stronger than me.
But strength and size weren’t everything.
I gritted my teeth. “If you don’t let go right now—”
Bored Man sneered and pulled me closer. “You’ll what? Scream? I wouldn’t—Heru’s in a bit of a scuffle at the moment, and a distraction could prove fatal. And blondie?” He exhaled a harsh laugh and nodded back toward the main gallery without looking that way. “Don’t hold your breath, sweetheart … he’s been detained.”
My captor started to turn, likely intending to drag me down the corridor and out some back door, but he stopped short. Sandra was standing so close to him, and the area around the David was still so crowded with museum-goers, that nobody but me could see the needlelike blade she’d slipped between his ribs. My attempted abductor gasped and stiffened, and his legs buckled. With a groan, he collapsed to his knees on the tile floor, and his hand fell away from my arm.
Resonance: An Echo Trilogy Novella (Echo Trilogy, #1.5) Page 2