by A. L. Knorr
I rocked Isaia until he began to drift off. Elda left and returned with a dry bedsheet and a light knee-length bathrobe. She handed the bathrobe to me and I pulled it on over my wet clothes as Elda tucked Isaia into bed.
I followed Elda into the kitchen. Her shoulders were slumped. Her eyes were puffy from crying and her short hair, usually perfect, was a mess. She couldn't look me in the eye. She was processing, and I could practically see the gears turning in her head.
"You look exhausted. Want some tea?" I gestured to a stool.
She wiped her bangs away from her forehead and nodded, giving me a tense smile. "Thank you."
I was trying to think of a way to get her to talk about Isaia's fire. I filled the kettle and turned it on, then pulled down two mugs. "Chamomile? Peppermint?"
"Chamomile, please. After tonight I think I'm going to need something calming."
I looked at her plainly. "May I ask you something?"
She looked me in the eye for the first time since we'd left Isaia's room. Fear was written in her features. "Okay," she said, slowly.
"Did you ever call a doctor about his fevers?" I tried to keep accusation out of my tone, but it was difficult. "I don't understand how such a loving mother wouldn't call a doctor when her child's fever goes way past the danger point. And especially when it happens regularly."
She sighed. "No doctor knows how to help him. What he's got..."
"What?"
She propped her elbows on the counter and covered her forehead with her hand. Her chin wobbled. Dropping her hand, she looked me in the eyes, her own shining with tears. "What he's got will eventually kill him. He knows it, and I know it. And now he's having nightmares about it. What they have to do with you, I'm still trying to figure out."
I put down the box of tea. "Does Pietro know?"
She shook her head. "Oh God," she said, taking a juddering breath. She wiped at her eyes.
"Elda, it won't," I said.
She looked up at me. Anguish contorted her features. "It won't what?"
"It won't kill him."
"How do you know that?" she nearly wailed. She lowered her voice and whispered fiercely, "You don't know that."
"I do." I lifted my hands. My palms glowed white hot, my fingertips glowed red. "Because he gave it to me."
Chapter 20
She gasped and her hand clamped over her mouth. The light of my palms reflected in her face and glowed in her pupils, like the flashbulb of a powerful camera. She looked from my hands to my face and back again.
Pulling her hand from her mouth, she whispered in a strangled voice, "When? How?"
"I'll tell you everything," I said. "But you need to talk first. Because you knew about this. Whatever it is, you knew that Isaia had a fire inside him. And now I have it. Your son won't die, which is wonderful. But now I have to figure out a way to live with this." I lit a blue flame in my palm. "I can barely control it, and it hurts, Elda." I needed her to understand what it was costing me. "It hurts every minute of every day."
She sniffed and grabbed a tissue from the box on the island. She blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes. She said something behind the tissue but it came out in a tight breath of air and I couldn't make it out.
"Pardon?" I lowered my hand and snuffed the flame. The heat traveled up my arms, converged in my spine, and dropped into my belly.
She cleared her throat. "I know," she said. "I know it hurts."
"How do you know?"
"I know because he told me. He explained everything to me, after I got pregnant. And I know because I have watched it torture my son since the day of his birth."
"He?"
"Nicodemo."
I gave a start of surprise. His name, twice in the same night from two different sets of lips. "Why did he have to explain it to you after you got pregnant? Why wasn't Pietro there, too?"
"Because Pietro isn't Isaia's father," she whispered. Her eyes darted down the hallway.
Understanding finally dawned. "Nicodemo is Isaia's father? And Pietro doesn't know?"
"That's right." She balled the tissue up in her hand. "I've never told anyone. I was never intending to tell a soul. But, well…" She waved a hand toward me. "I didn't expect this and neither did you, I'll wager."
I gave a humorless laugh. "You can say that again."
The kettle was boiling. I shut it off and poured two mugs of tea.
Elda came around the island and pulled me into a hug, surprising me. "I'm so sorry, Saxony. I lost my temper with you. I accused you of putting my son in danger. I was so angry and scared, and none of it was your fault. I know that."
She pulled back and looked at me, her eyes shining.
"Thank you. I needed to hear all that," I said softly. I handed her the mug of tea. "I need to know everything, Elda. I know it's your private business, and I'll keep your secret, but it involves me now. I didn't ask for this, but I sure need some help figuring out what to do with it."
An image of pushing the fire into Dante's belly the way Isaia had pushed it into mine came unbidden to my mind. If he wanted it so badly, maybe I could give it to him—although I still didn't know how Isaia had managed to do it without killing me. I shoved the idea away. I needed to know more. Dante had behaved like a real jerk tonight. What would this kind of power do in the wrong hands?
Elda nodded. "Let’s move into the living room."
I followed her to the couch under the window and we set our mugs on the coffee table. I tucked my feet up under me on the couch.
She took a breath and let it out slowly. "Seven years ago, Pietro and I went through a really hard time. I was just starting my business and it was a financial struggle. We had to dig into our savings further than we anticipated, and because of that, Pietro worked even harder than he does now."
I gaped. "I don't even see how that is possible. He works twelve-hour days and flies to London every week. I've barely seen the man since I got here."
She nodded. "Yes, he works a lot now too, but back then it was even worse. Now, Pietro's work is going well, he doesn't have to work this hard. He does it because he wants to do it while he's young so we can retire early. In spite of how it looks to you, it's actually a lot better than it was. Back then, he had a huge client out of Dubai. He was gone for up to six weeks at a time."
"So you were lonely."
"I was, but that is no excuse. And it's more complicated than that. During one of these long stretches where I was alone, Cristiano was kidnapped."
I lost the grip on my tea and splashed hot liquid onto my bare leg. I swore under my breath and put the mug on the coaster. I dried my leg with the corner of the bathrobe. The hot tea should have burned me, but it didn't.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"I'm fine, sorry. You just startled me. Please go on. Cristiano was kidnapped? Um, holy crap."
"Yes, it was terrifying. Someone had snatched him from the schoolyard. He wasn't even in school yet; he was too little. He was just playing in the yard. He was taken right out from under my nose. I was there with a bunch of other moms and distracted by all the gossip." She shuddered at the memory. "I was so stupid."
"What did you do?"
"I went to a powerful man for help. A powerful man, but not really a good man."
"Why didn't you go to the police?"
She gave me a look of reproach—a look that said it was naive of me not to know better. "Going to Enzo Barberini is going to the polizia."
"Oh." I chewed my lip. "Did you tell Pietro?"
She shook her head. "Pietro would never have agreed to go to Enzo, but I knew it was my best chance to get Cristiano back. Nothing happens in Venice that Enzo doesn't know about. I went that very same day, immediately, without even thinking about alternatives. In my mind, there weren't any."
"You must have been a basket-case."
She laughed. "Basket-case? It's a kind of slang?"
"I guess." I smiled. "Then what happened?"
"A couple of hours after I got h
ome, there was a knock at my door. It was Nicodemo, and he was carrying Cristiano. Cristiano was unharmed, just asleep. I was so grateful and relieved, all I could do was cry like a baby. Nicodemo wouldn't tell me who took him or how he'd been retrieved, but I do know that the bodies of two men were recovered from a marina in Chioggia the following week, both of them had their throats burned out."
"My God." My stomach churned.
"I didn't associate Nicodemo with those bodies. At the time, I didn't know what he was. I assumed that Nic was just a delivery man. He was gentle and sweet and really good with Cristiano."
"He came back again after that?"
"Yes, he came to check on us. At first, he was just being kind. He knew that Pietro was out of town. I think he knew that I needed someone strong to lean on, and he could fill that need. And then, well, we fell in love."
Silence.
"And you got pregnant?"
She nodded.
"So what about the fire stuff?"
"I didn't know that Nicodemo was a magus until after I got pregnant. If it wasn't for Isaia, I never would have found out. Nic and I ended our affair before Pietro got back, but by then it was too late. When I told Nic I was pregnant, he was anguished. He said that he'd never planned on having kids. He was angry with me and himself for not being more careful. Then he showed me what he was. If I had been frightened before, I was really terrified then. He explained that he was a fire magus, a sort of supernatural being. He called the fire a curse. It was why he'd never wanted to father a child. He said that the ability either made you stronger, or it killed you. If a magus made it past childhood, it meant that they'd survive. But he warned me that if my baby inherited the curse, and if he or she was weak..." She swallowed. "They wouldn't live very long."
A lot of questions crowded together in my brain, fighting to be the first asked. "Nicodemo, he worked for Enzo?"
"That's right. Enzo paid him well in exchange for his service."
"I'm guessing Enzo didn't help you out of the goodness of his heart?" I was starting to wise up to the ways of life here.
"You got it, absolutely. I offered him shares in my company as payment but he didn't want that. He said that he'd hold the favor in check until he'd decided what he wanted. I'm still waiting. Every time there's a knock on the door I'm sure it's going to be one of Enzo's men, ready to tell me what he wants."
A horrible thought sprang up. "Does Enzo know that Isaia is Nicodemo's son?"
"I don't know. I'd like to think Nic never told anyone, but who can say what happens behind closed doors."
"This Enzo guy, does he have kids?" I already knew the answer, but I needed to learn whatever Elda could tell me.
"Why do you ask?" Elda set her mug on the coffee table and gave me a suspicious look.
"I might have met one."
Elda shook her head at me, a warning on her face. "Stay away from that family, Saxony. I mean it. I'm not your mother and I know you're a smart girl, but trust me. A young woman like you would be catnip for Enzo's son."
"What do you mean, catnip?"
She began to count the reasons off on her fingers. "You're young, beautiful, a foreigner, an English-speaking native. You're fresh blood for that family. Someone who hasn't been tainted by their rivals. Gone are the days of marrying for alliances. Nowadays, these powerful families want foreign blood. Enzo only has one son -- Dante. Is that who you met?"
I nodded. "That's him."
"Don't see him again if you can help it," Elda said. "And whatever you do, he must never ever find out that you're a magus. Never."
Too late.
Chapter 21
"I need to meet him," I said.
"Who? Enzo? No way, are you crazy?" Elda shook her head emphatically.
"No, Nicodemo. I need to talk to him."
Her face fell. "You can't. He's dead. The day he died was the day Isaia stopped talking.”
"That's why Isaia stopped talking?" My jaw dropped.
She nodded. "Nic and Isaia never met. When we split, we promised it would be for good. No contact. Nicodemo wanted me to abort." Her voice broke. "But I could never do that. I have never told Isaia where he came from. I haven't wanted to upset him unnecessarily. The pain is the worst for him when he's emotional. Somehow they were connected, though, because Isaia was never the same after the day Nic died."
My hopes for first-hand information crashed to floor as this puzzle piece fell into place. "I'm sorry to hear that. What happened?"
"I don't know. I received a package in the mail containing legal documents. A letter from a lawyer explained that the package was only to be mailed if Nicodemo had passed away and that I was to consider its delivery as official notice of his death. The package contained a will. Nicodemo left all of his worldly goods to Isaia. I never found out what happened to him, but I'm sure that it happened while he was doing a job for Enzo. Enzo always gave Nic the most dangerous work because he was the most powerful man in his employ. I have wanted to go to Enzo or the lawyer and ask what happened, but I've been too afraid. I don't really want to remind Enzo that I exist. And I think it might be better to let the dead rest anyway."
I wasn't sure if I agreed with her. "What did Nicodemo tell you about being a magus? He must have given you some knowledge that would help you understand what Isaia had to deal with?" My eyelids were beginning to feel heavy and I stifled a yawn.
"Yes, I've been getting to that part. One of the first things he told me was to keep Isaia well-hydrated, that it helps with the pain. Also, if you're dehydrated, the fire gets difficult to control. Think of dry tissues like dry grass. It can rip around inside you like a wildfire."
"Great," I said with an eye roll. "But I'm not so much interested in learning how to control it as I am of getting rid of it all together. Did he explain how that might be possible?"
She looked at me with pity. "There are only two ways to get rid of it. It will go out when you die, or you can give it away without killing the other person when you're dying. The fire wants to live. It knows when its host is dying and only at that time will it jump ship without killing the receiver. Otherwise, I'm afraid you're stuck with it for the rest of your life."
I digested this. The fire sitting in my belly flickered. Get used to me. I'm here for good. I thought back to the moment when Isaia had pushed it into me. Isaia must have known he was dying, it was the only way he would have been able to do what he did. Would he have still given it to me if we hadn't been trapped in a building that was on fire? He must have known that once he passed it to me, I would be able to stop the fire from killing all three of us.
"How and when did Isaia give it to you?" Elda asked.
"When we were trapped inside the tabacchi shop." I looked at her. "What you say makes sense because he really was dying. You could have lost your son that day," I said softly.
Her mouth wavered. She put her mug on the table and reached for a tissue. Covering her face, she began to cry. Her body shook with heaving sobs and I moved over and put an arm around her.
"He's going to live," I reminded her.
She nodded, swallowing her sobs. "Thanks to you." She blew her nose and crumpled up her tissue. "Also, you and Isaia might have single-handedly saved Venice, or at least a portion of it. It might not seem like it, but this place is extremely flammable."
"I know," I said, and thought of the presentation I’d been to with Raf. He'd be back from Milan next week.
Elda got up and retrieved her purse from the island. She rummaged in it and pulled out her phone.
"There was a USB stick in the package that we received. I downloaded the files onto my phone and encrypted them. I keep the stick in a lock box at the bank," she said as she scrolled through her apps. She opened one and punched in a code. "I didn't think I'd ever be showing them to anyone. I almost deleted them already because it stresses me out that I even have them. But now I'm glad I kept them." She pulled up a video and handed me her phone. "Nic recorded these for Isaia."
; My heart leaped with hope. The still on the screen displayed a blond man with thinning hair and a closely trimmed beard. He had a small silver hoop in his ear, and his eyes were black, just like Isaia's. I could see Isaia in the set of his mouth and jaw.
I hit play and the man started talking.
"Ciao Isaia, e Nicodemo. Se stai guardando questo, allora la tua mamma ti ha detto..."
I hit pause and looked at Elda. "You've got to be kidding me."
She put up a hand. "Don't worry, I'll translate everything for you."
"Well, thank goodness."
She was staring at me.
"What?"
"Don't do that thing with your eyes, it makes me a basket-case."
I couldn't help but laugh at how she'd used her new slang, but I didn't know what she meant. "What thing?"
"The red, when they glow red. Don't do that."
"Oh, sorry." I hadn't realized my eyes had glowed. "I hope there's a clip for that because I don't know when I'm doing it."
"There is."
"Okay, well, let's start at the beginning?"
She hit play and we watched the first video together. I understood almost nothing, but when Nicodemo lifted his arm and showed a small mark on the outside of his wrist to the camera, I recognized it. It was the same shape and in the same place as Dante's tattoo. I suddenly remembered where I'd seen it before—Isaia had been doodling the shape over and over in his sketchbook.
The clip finished and Elda turned to me. "Nicodemo is introducing himself to Isaia, basically saying that I would have told him by now that he's Isaia's father and so on, and also that we know now that Isaia is a magus. He explains that all magi have this mark somewhere on their bodies. They aren't necessarily born with it, so you don't know right away if a child has the fire, but eventually it comes out. Have you seen a mark by the way?"
I held up my wrists for her to see, but she shook her head. "It's not always in the same place. It can appear anywhere. Isaia's is on the back of his right leg, high up almost on his bum."
"Oh, then no. I haven't seen a mark, but I haven't looked either."