The Wishing Hour

by J. Adams

  He presses his hand against my cheek. “Rest, caro,” I hear him whisper as his soft lips touch my brow.

  I hear nothing else.

  * * *

  He sits and silently watches her drift into a peaceful slumber. He takes in her fluttering eyelids and watches the slow rise and fall of her chest. He again leans over her and feels the soft exhale of her breath on his face. It is a most sweet sensation. How he loves just looking at her! He could spend forever just gazing at her. He wishes this moment could last, that she could always be safe. If he could shelter her from what will undoubtedly come, he would.

  The Urchin had been close to finding her. He could feel it in his bones and knew it had been time to take her into hiding. He could not take any chances. She is too important and her survival is vital.

  He watches the pulse beat at the base of her neck and finds the beat of his own heart is keeping in time with hers. In all the many years of his life, he has never felt for anyone the smallest measure of what he feels for her. He never could, because his heart had already been claimed by her.

  He had known when he began his training that he would have a part in the prophecy, and now, having come to know with absolute certainty the full extent of what his part will be, he experiences renewed awe and is again overwhelmed.

  He will see this through. For it is no longer just his duty to protect Celine. It is his destiny. She is his destiny.

  Four

  The sound of the plane's wheels touching down on the runway jolts me awake. I open my eyes, squinting against the sunlight shining through the window. I can't believe I slept through the whole trip. I turn to find him looking at me intently. I wonder if he has slept at all, or if he even needs sleep.

  “Yes, I do,” he replies to my unvoiced question. “I just don't need as much sleep as the average human.”

  “There is definitely nothing average about you,” I say, giving him a tired smile.

  His hand covers mine. “Nothing at all.” He opens the yellow envelope and takes out a passport. “This is for you.”

  I open it and look at my photo a moment before flipping through it. It is even stamped already. There is no point in me asking how he managed it, so I don't.

  He gestures out the window. “This is a privately owned airstrip. We are half an hour away from Venice.”

  I look out the window again. The whole area is paved and there are a few small planes parked a short distance away, and they all look expensive. It seems all his connections are very affluent. Looking out the opposite window I can see a small white building with a control tower on top.

  “Since there are no cars in Venice, we will take the train into St. Marks Square, then take a water bus from there.”

  I've seen photos of Venice in travel magazines and I know the through streets are canals, but that is all I know. At this moment, and despite not knowing what I am heading into, I am excited and eagerly anticipating seeing the city, myself.

  When we get off the plane, a black Mercedes sedan is waiting to take us to the train station. The driver's face is expressionless as he opens the door for us. He and my protector nod at each other before we get in and we are immediately on our way.

  * * *

  No words my brain can come up with will ever do justice to the sight before me. Venice is incredible! Coming out of the train station and entering St. Mark's square, my eyes dart everywhere at once as I try to take everything in.

  The huge, old buildings are various colors of stucco and old brick. The palaces along the canal boast elegant arched windows and some have colorful flower boxes lining them. Shops line the walkways, heavy with the traffic of tourists as they bustle in and out of doorways carrying bags of souvenirs.

  But the crowing glory of the square is St. Mark's Basilica, the most famous church in Venice. The granite and stone building is a glorious work of art, covered in arches and topped with dozens of steeples. I stop and stare in wonder.

  Feeling the warm squeeze of my hand, I turn my awefilled gaze to him, and the feeling inside me is magnified as his adamant gaze produces in me the same wonder.

  Gripping the straps of both our bags in one hand, he keeps his other firmly wrapped around mine as we walk down to the docks to hire a water bus, attracting a few stares from tourists along the way, which cannot be helped. It is not everyday that you see a gorgeous eight-foot god.

  There is a boat already waiting. Evidently he knows the driver because when we are seated, the man heads out and it is apparent that he already knows where to take us.

  We ride in silence as the hum of the boat engine fills our ears. I relish the breeze whipping through my hair as I take in the passing scenery. Since it is still tourist season, the walkways are packed and I find myself glad that we don't have to walk the distance and shovel through the hoards of people.

  After another moment, we exit the canal and head out to a small island in the distance.

  “It is called the Lidoro,” he tells me. “The island is completely private. There is a boat there as well, so we will not need the water bus to get back and forth. Not that we would anyway.”

  “A whole island to ourselves?” I am incredulous.

  “It is necessary.”

  My brow furrows. “Am I really in that much danger?”

  His turns his blue gaze to mine. “You are, caro,” he answers softly.

  I swallow hard at the nervousness suddenly rising

  inside me. Up until now I've somehow remained calm, and it is only now that I truly begin to understand how real this all is. And I still don't fully understand.

  “I know you don't understand,” he says. “But you will–

  soon.”

  Again, I choose to trust him and let it go for the moment.

  When we reach the dock, the driver helps me off the boat. My protector grabs our bags and turns to the driver. “Are all the precautions in place?”

  “Si. Everything is taken care of. No one will get near the island.”

  “Bene. Grazie.”

  As the driver steers away, he takes my hand and we begin walking up a wide cobbled path through a grove of trees. They form a tunnel, curving over the path and meeting each other, and sunlight softly filters through the leafy limbs. I feel its warmth on my face as I lift my gaze upward.

  “This is so beautiful,” I whisper.

  “It is. And it only gets better.”

  As we exit the trees, I see how true his words are.

  The villa is breathtaking. The outside is beige stucco and brick. The top of each window is rounded and the bottom of several are lined with flower boxes. There is a large granite fountain in the middle of the wide circular walkway. The wooden door is a deep mahogany with a black iron ring attached.

  “Wow!” is all I manage to get out and he smiles, then pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks the door.

  The elegant entryway is tiled in tan and is lit by a massive iron and crystal chandelier. He gives me a tour of the house, having to duck through each doorway. The furnishings are a mix of antique upholstered and modern Italian leather pieces. The decor is also a combination of modern and baroque. Everything is spotless and the house smells of cinnamon apple. The kitchen is completely updated with metallic graphite appliances, including a large subzero refrigerator. The fridge and the cupboards are completely stocked. The cellar beneath the kitchen floor holds a year's food supply. As I take all of this in, I imagine a team of people combing the house, getting everything in order for our arrival.

  He takes my hand and leads me upstairs. There are five bedrooms and four bathrooms on the middle floor and another five bedrooms and three bathrooms on the third floor. Each is elegant and uniquely designed. Walking back down to the second floor, he turns to me.

  “I would tell you to pick any room you would like, but I prefer having you closer to me, so I have chosen the room across the hall from mine for you. I chose the middle floor because it is the most convenient for me.”

  I am both comf
orted and disturbed, if a person can really feel both at the same time. I know I will feel more secure being so close to him, but the feelings I carry inside will most likely make it next to impossible to sleep with him right across the hall.

  “This will be fine,” I say, quickly pushing the thoughts from my mind. With his telepathic abilities enabling him to read my thoughts so easily, I will have to be more careful in controlling them. My gaze moves around the room. The high, queen-size bed is covered in rich beige and green linens. A flat screen television is mounted to the wall over a cozy fireplace, and a brown leather couch with corded pillows sits in front of it. It is absolutely beautiful.

  “You will find everything you need in the dresser and closet.”

  I walk over to the ivory dresser and open the top drawer, then another, and another. They are completely filled with clothes. Everything still has the tags attached and they are all exactly my size. I can't believe it.

  “How did you do all this?” I ask, completely astonished.

  “I have had a long time to plan.”

  I silently ponder this as I walk through the spacious bathroom, stopping for a moment in front of the ivory marbled granite vanity. I take in all the treasures atop it. An exquisite wooden comb and brush set sits on a mirrored silver tray along with a silver box containing a variety of hair accessories. A basket of new cosmetics sits to the right of the tray. I stare in renewed wonder another moment before entering the walk-in closet. I gasp softly. The whole back wall is lined with clothes and the shelves are filled with designer shoes and handbags, all Italian made.

  “Well, I guess I won't need to shop after all.”

  “I know you want to tour the city, but for now, it is imperative that you remain on the island, for your own protection. I need to keep you as safe as possible.”

  I sigh deeply, disappointed. I figured if I had to be in Venice, at least I could do some sightseeing. I was mistaken.

  “There are many sights to see right here on the island,” he says, taking my hand, the warmth of his voice seeping into my emotions, again soothing me. “I promise you will not be bored.”

  I smile. “I could never be bored with you.” He squeezes my hand and I know he believes me, and somehow, everything will be okay.

  * * *

  On the mainland in a dark alleyway, the Urchin stands over the boatman's lifeless body. It had followed the man three days before and had watched as he took the two passengers out to the secluded island. Then it had waited for his return, planning to corner him alone somewhere.

  The Urchin-kind must not be seen by humans. This is the law of the Underground, the Urchin's home. They are not allowed to be seen because the knowledge of their existence would hinder their goal of stopping the prophecy from coming to pass. The Urchin-kind exist for one reason and one reason only: to fulfill this mission. They will see the mission through and be successful, even if their lives are lost in the process. Lord Derth, their leader, would have it no other way.

  Hearing a light noise, the Urchin crouches and scans its surroundings for a moment. The source of the sound is only a small food wrapper being blown to and fro by the wind. It relaxes again. The creature hadn't been able to catch the man alone that first night. So it waited for another opportunity to arise. Tonight it had. The Urchin had spotted the boatman exiting a bar, staggering as he made his way down the dark alley, and right into its hands. It had been so easy to take his life. A quick snap of the neck and the man was no more.

  Humans are fragile weaklings, it thinks as it lowers itself to the man's body. Closing it's claws, it squeezes tight and a sharp blade emerges from a small hole with a tube attached. Most of its kind dislike this procedure because it causes a great deal of pain, but the creature isn't like the others. It has done this so many times, it has become immune to the pain.

  The creature sticks the blade in the man's neck and extracts some blood through the tube. Then it stands and waits for the blood to take effect. After a couple of moments, the deed is complete.

  Five

  I smile across the table at him as we begin eating dinner. Thanks to the shelf of Italian cookbooks in the pantry and the amazing kitchen I've been able to work in, I do pretty well at cooking some of the native dishes. Tonight we are dining on field greens salad, chicken marsala with garlic potatoes, and sauteed mixed vegetables. For dessert there is raspberry gelato. Since neither of us drink, we sip chilled sparkling grape juice.

  The past three days have been full of wonder and more enjoyable than I imagined they could be. It isn't that we've done anything all that exciting, it's just that I have shared the experiences with him. He makes everything grander. I'm becoming addicted to his very presence.

  Moonlit walks around the grounds and through the olive groves. A picnic by a tree-secluded pond. Long and pleasant conversations at an iron bistro table in the tiled courtyard, sipping cold lemonade, as we share personal things about ourselves–things like our likes and dislikes, what makes us happy or sad, what touches us deep inside. Watching a movie from the large collection of dvds on the massive flat screen television in the media room. Taking a long walk to the other side of the island and getting caught in the rain, then running back to the house, completely soaked to the skin when we reach it. Laughing and shivering at the same time as we track water through the house to go and change, though I am the only one shivering since he is immune to the cold. Lacing hot chocolate with extra chocolate to go with the marshmallows we roast over the fire pit out back, which we sandwich between two chocolate-covered biscotti for our Italian version of smores. It has been a very full two days. And he has been true to his word. I have not been bored.

  I smile as I think of this. As of right now, I would have to say Italy is the most perfect place in the world. So what if I haven't seen anything except this island. For right now it is enough. I look across the table at him and he is smiling as well. I can feel him in my thoughts. My branded palm begins to tingle. When it does, I can briefly hear his thoughts, and what I hear warms me to the core.

  He takes another bite of his chicken. “Another week and you will be a master Italian chef.”

  I laugh. “I highly doubt that, but I have enjoyed learning to cook different things. I usually have microwave oven dinners because it is no fun just cooking for myself.”

  “I'm glad I am able to contribute in your culinary enjoyment.”

  “I am as well.” I can't help glancing over at him every now and again. Before meeting him, the only faces I ever saw across the dinner table on a regular basis were the elderly residents at work. Despite the situation, it feels good to not be alone. However, I do miss Henry from time to time.

  “We will get you another cat one day.”

  “I look forward to that. I was never much of a pet person until Henry was given to me. As soon as I saw him I fell in love with him and we became completely inseparable. He was a good friend.”

  “I don't have many feline tendencies, but I hope I am a okay replacement.” He smiles widely and I snort. “Well, what did he do that I can't?”

  “Hmmm, let's see. He always liked to snuggle in my lap and let me scratch behind his ears. He followed me around the house and brushed up against my leg when he wanted attention. And he curled up next to me in bed each night and purred softly before falling asleep.”

  He contemplates this a moment and gives me a slow smile. “Well, I could snuggle in your lap, but you would no longer have a lap if I did because your legs would probably be crushed.” When I giggle he says, “I'm serious. However, I will allow you to scratch behind my ears if you would like, and I can get down on all fours occasionally and brush up against your leg, though that might be a little embarrassing.”

  He sends me a mental picture of the scene and I laugh out loud. “A cat the size of a great Dane, huh?”

  “Exactly. But sadly, I can't curl up beside you at night right now.” He stares into my eyes a moment. “Maybe one day.”

  My face grows hot and flu
shed. I try to say something else to keep up the bantering, but my mind is completely blank. So I just smile and put another bite of food in my mouth as his comment brands a place in my thoughts, leaving his personal mark on my heart, a mark that I know will never go away.

  We finish eating and I begin to clear everything away, looking forward to sitting in front of the fireplace with him and enjoy more relaxing conversation. He begins helping me load the dishwasher, then stops suddenly. A small growl escapes him, completely startling me.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He stands as still as a statue for another moment and closes his eyes. “I sense something on the island.”

  It is only six words, but they are enough to cause my heart to pound violently. “What is it?” My voice is barely a whisper.

  He turns to me and takes my shaking hands in his. “I am going to find out. I need you to lock all the doors, and do not open them or come out no matter what you hear.”

  I nod, gripping his hands tightly. “Please be careful.” I would not be able to forgive myself it anything happened to him, especially while protecting me. I would never get over the loss.

  He cups my face. “I will come back to you. I promise.” When I nod again, he reluctantly pulls his hands from mine and leaves. I quickly run and lock all the doors.

  * * *

  He silently walks through the trees. His feet do not make a sound, so light are his steps. Being stealth is as natural to him as breathing. His cat-like gaze scans his surroundings, looking for the smallest movement, his ears tuned to pick up the smallest sound. With each step, the evil presence he senses grows stronger. It is so tangible he can taste its familiar bitterness sinking into his surroundings, polluting the atmosphere of the island.

  His eyes zero in on a lone figure moving through the trees.

  “Ciao, my friend,” the boatman calls and stops walking.

  “Ciao.” He eyes the man a moment. “Why are you here?”