Raven stopped. “When?”
“The night you had dinner with Gina and me.”
“Agent Savola,” she whispered.
“That’s right. That was his name.”
Shakily, she leaned against the wardrobe door.
She had no idea that it was Agent Savola who’d popped out of the shadows the night the feral appeared. That he was the man who’d given his life trying to save her.
Her stomach heaved.
“Are you okay?” Patrick peered at her face.
“I think so. Why did the inspector tell you that?”
“I have no idea. I saw him talking to Dottor Vitali a few minutes ago. Neither of them looked happy.”
Patrick jerked his chin at her wrist. “For the love of God, hide that. You don’t want to be conspicuous with the inspector walking around.”
Raven pulled her cardigan over the bracelet, hiding it.
“Thanks, Patrick. I’ll be careful.”
Slowly but surely, she made her way across the room and down the hall to the restoration lab, wondering what Batelli and Vitali had been talking about.
Just as she was about to put her hand on the door, she stopped.
Probably there were witnesses who’d seen her, along with Agent Savola and the feral.
Raven didn’t know what to do with the realization. It was bad enough having captured Batelli’s interest in connection with the theft of the illustrations; she didn’t want his attention in connection with Savola’s murder.
And there was also the matter of Bruno’s attack, which William said he had handled. But had he?
She contemplated telephoning Ambrogio with a message for William, but decided against it. She was going to be late for work and didn’t want to upset Professor Urbano.
William was probably resting somewhere, anyway, out of the sunlight.
Raven spent the morning in Botticelli’s world, painstakingly applying a coat of varnish to the Birth of Venus.
Professor Urbano had decided that Anja, her replacement, had not progressed at an acceptable pace. There was also some question about the quality of her work. Urbano simply replaced her, assigning her to another project.
Raven was sympathetic with Anja’s plight and moderated her joy at being able to return to the lab. But it was with undisguised delight that she sat on a high stool, slowly and carefully restoring one of the greatest works of art in the world.
“Dottoressa Wood.”
Raven heard the voice but dimly. She was working on the figure of Zephyr, marveling at the way his face differed from the Zephyr who appeared in William’s version of Primavera.
She heard footsteps and the slight clearing of a throat.
She turned to her left and saw Professor Urbano standing there. He was smiling.
“Can I look?” He gestured to the patch she’d been working on.
“Of course.” Raven put her supplies in order and obligingly climbed down. She pointed out what she’d accomplished and where she’d left off.
She removed her glasses and waited nervously for him to pass judgment.
He took her place and used a series of magnifying glasses and other instruments to check her progress. When he descended from the stool, he was smiling.
“Very fine work. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
“I think now is a good time for lunch.”
She looked around, noticing that their colleagues had already left.
“Before I go, Professor Urbano, could I ask you a few questions?”
“Certo.” He gestured to a nearby set of chairs and they sat down.
“When you worked on the restoration of Primavera, did you ever notice anything about Mercury’s hair?”
Urbano looked puzzled. “Such as?”
“Such as evidence of changes in color or length.”
Urbano looked off into space for a moment, as if he were regarding the painting in his mind’s eye.
“There was some slight change around the edges of the hair, as I recall, but nothing about the color or the overall length. Why do you ask?”
“I thought I saw something in one of the radiographs that suggested Botticelli changed the hair color.”
Urbano smiled. “Impossible. We went over the radiographs very, very carefully. Everything we found was documented and published.”
“Oh.” Raven nodded. “I have a couple of other questions, if you don’t mind.”
He gestured to her to continue.
“Did you know of any other version of Primavera that was painted by Botticelli, perhaps prior to the one upstairs?”
Urbano stroked his chin. “There were studies for the figures and drawings.”
“But not a painting?”
“No. Why?”
“Uh, when I thought I saw something about Mercury’s hair, I wondered if Botticelli had painted a previous version.” She lifted her new glasses. “It was just a thought.”
“Of course.” Professor Urbano gave her a patient smile and excused himself for lunch.
Raven watched him leave, mulling over their conversation.
She considered William’s account of how he’d acquired his Primavera, wondering if that was why no one had ever heard of it.
What she couldn’t understand was why no one seemed to have noticed the change in Mercury’s hair in the Uffizi’s version. She knew evidence of the change was visible. She knew she hadn’t made a mistake.
Your memory hasn’t been that great lately. You can’t even remember what happened the night of the accident.
It occurred to her that William might be the one behind Urbano’s lack of awareness, as he was behind so many odd events. Since Urbano had worked on the restoration of Primavera, he should have seen the change. Perhaps William had adjusted his memory during the restoration.
But why didn’t he delete the records?
Raven didn’t have an answer to that question, but she was determined to ask him. Her need to speak to him reminded her of what Patrick had said earlier about Agent Savola and Ispettor Batelli.
Raven walked with her cane to her knapsack and picked up her new phone. She called Ambrogio.
“Good afternoon, Signorina Wood.” He greeted her in English. “How may I help you?”
Raven grew flustered. “Um, hello, Ambrogio. Can I speak with William?”
“I’m afraid his lordship cannot be disturbed. How may I assist you?”
“Can you give him a message for me? It’s urgent.”
“Of course.”
She paused, feeling awkward. “Can you tell him that, um, the man I saw being attacked in Santo Spirito was an Interpol agent named Savola, who was working with the Carabinieri to investigate the robbery at the Uffizi?”
Raven’s tone grew urgent. “William needs to know this right away. The police haven’t approached me, but one of the officers is here and he spoke to one of my colleagues. Because the agent was attacked in front of my apartment, I’m worried they’ll put it together and come looking for me.”
“Please don’t worry, signorina. I will see that your message reaches his lordship. Is Luka with you?”
“I think he’s outside the gallery, waiting.”
“If there are any problems, go to Luka. He will bring you here.”
“Yes. Yes, thank you.”
“May I help you in any other way?”
Raven sighed. “No. Thank you, Ambrogio. That’s everything.”
“Then good-bye, signorina.”
“Good-bye.”
She ended the call, staring at her cell phone.
She’d passed along the information, but felt far from comforted. At that moment, however, there was nothing she could do.
She lifted her knapsack and began walking toward the door, leaning heavily on her cane.
That was when she saw Ispettor Batelli striding toward her.
“You saw Agent Savola being attacked?” he asked, in Italian.
“What?” She stalled.
br /> “You just said that you saw him. What did you see?”
Raven frowned. “You misunderstood my English. I didn’t say that.”
Batelli swore. “I heard what you said. And my English is perfect. Savola’s Vespa was found outside your apartment.”
“Really? That’s strange.” She forced a smile. “I’m afraid I’m late for my lunch. If you’ll excuse me . . .”
“Who is William?” he asked, intercepting her.
“I have no idea.”
“Your telephone call. You wanted to speak with William. William who?”
“A family friend.” She smiled again. “Now I really have to go.”
She tried to move past him but he stood in front of her.
“William York?”
Raven attempted to hide her recognition, but she suspected she failed based on Batelli’s triumphant expression.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She skirted him and limped toward the door.
“Why didn’t you call the police? Why didn’t you report it?”
“Because I didn’t see anything.” She spoke over her shoulder.
“The investigating officers were told that Agent Savola was following you after hours. When they found his Vespa, they should have interviewed you as a matter of procedure. Why didn’t they?”
Raven didn’t turn around. “You’re harassing me. If you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to Dottor Vitali.”
“And tell him what? I overheard you confess to having witnessed a crime.”
“I didn’t witness anything.”
Batelli brought his body in front of hers. “I saw the police reports. Your name doesn’t appear. Why is that?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She continued her way to the door, desperate to get away from him.
“Someone is protecting you,” he called. “I’m going to find out who. You’re going to be questioned.”
Raven increased her pace.
“This time it will be with the public prosecutor!”
She exited the lab, ducking into the women’s bathroom. Leaning against the wall, she screwed her eyes shut and tried to calm herself.
She was in trouble.
Raven didn’t see Batelli when she exited the bathroom. In fact, he seemed to have disappeared.
She sent a text to Ambrogio, not wishing to court disaster by speaking to him on the telephone again.
He texted back five words:
His lordship will address it.
Raven took only a small measure of comfort from that text.
She was too agitated to eat lunch and so she wandered the second floor of the gallery, moving past the Botticelli room to look at Michelangelo’s Doni Tondo.
She hung back, allowing the visitors to admire the work.
She forced herself to stop worrying and simply focus on the great artist’s depiction of the holy family. Her eyes traced the figures, the folds in the fabric, and the men in the background.
By the time she was finished, her lunch break was almost over. She felt much, much better. Great art had the ability to soothe as well as nurture the heart.
Having taken what amounted to a mental vacation, Raven returned to the lab. She was pleased to be able to lose herself in the restoration work, finding a comforting rhythm in every brushstroke.
Soon it was time to go home. She deposited her lab coat in the office wardrobe and slowly made her way outside to where Luka was waiting.
He drove her to Santo Spirito and accompanied her up the stairs to her apartment. He searched her rooms before he allowed her to enter, then nodded at her and descended the stairs.
Clearly he was still a man of few words.
Raven checked her phone for messages, e-mails, or texts, but there weren’t any. It seemed as if everyone she knew was busy with other things.
Her apartment seemed small and maybe even a little sad. She’d spent a glorious day working on a beautiful piece of art, but now she felt unaccountably lonely. It was as if her world had transformed from a brightly colored Renaissance painting to the dark, somber work of a Dutch master.
She switched on her laptop and began playing Mumford and Sons, finding the music a pleasant distraction. She changed into a black T-shirt and jeans, placed her gold bracelet on her nightstand, and ate a modest supper.
After a solitary glass of wine, she retired to her bed, putting on her glasses and picking up The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
In chapter eight, one of the characters warned the others about beings who used to be human or should be human but weren’t, suggesting when they met such a creature they should reach for their hatchets.
She’d read the passage before. She’d read the entire book before. Now the passage took on a new meaning.
The hunters made it their mission to kill vampyres and harvest their blood. If they’d been hunting humans, the world would have cried out to stop them.
Genocide.
Ethnic cleansing.
Raven wondered if such moral prohibitions applied only to human beings or whether they could be applied to other species.
And what of William? If he needed human blood to survive but did not kill those he fed from, should he be destroyed? Or denied his only source of food?
She was attracted to him. He’d rescued her on more than one occasion. Raven was not used to being protected, at least, not since her father died. Her mother hadn’t protected her or her sister.
The fact that a mysterious vampyre would protect her, at great risk to himself, and that her mother would not, pierced her.
Even now, as she looked around her empty apartment, she wished he were there. She wished she could communicate how important his care had been. She’d been alone and self-sufficient for so long. It was nice to have someone to approach with her problems.
He was gentle when he touched her. And he kissed with tremendous passion. Raven pondered the vagaries of sex with a vampyre and, more improbably, love.
The song “Awake My Soul” began playing. Raven put her glasses and book on the nightstand and focused on the lyrics, staring at the ceiling.
William believed in souls. She wondered if there really were such things.
She wondered if vampyres had souls.
“Why the long face?”
“Ah!” Raven screamed, scrambling toward the window.
William was leaning against the doorpost, wearing a black dress shirt and black jeans, his arms crossed over his chest.
He was chuckling.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Raven clutched at her heart, willing it to slow. “You scared the hell out of me. What are you doing?”
He frowned. “I came to see you, of course.”
She leaned back against the pillow and closed her eyes. “Can’t you use the doorbell? You gave me a heart attack.”
William stood by the bed and leaned over her, bringing his ear close to her chest. “Your heart sounds fine—strong and healthy.”
“Very funny. How did you get in?”
“Magic.”
She turned on her side, facing him, her head resting on an upturned hand. “Just knock next time. Okay?”
His grin faded.
“That reminds me. Don’t let anyone into your apartment, especially if they ask to be invited.”
“Why?”
“Vampyres have to be invited into a home; otherwise, they can’t cross the threshold.”
“You must have entered uninvited when you brought me back the first time.”
“You invited me; you just don’t remember.” He gave her a knowing smile. “And the rules are somewhat flexible when it comes to me.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t know.”
She lifted her eyebrows.
He shrugged. “It’s true. I don’t know the reason. It’s possible there are others, but so far I’m the only one I’m aware of who’s a
ble to skirt the rules.”
“There must be an explanation.”
“Naturally.” He spread his arms wide and turned around. “Perhaps you’d like to examine me? Come up with a scientific explanation?”
She rolled her eyes, trying not to examine his very attractive backside. “Why are you here?”
He lowered his arms. “Am I not welcome?”
“You’re welcome; just unexpected.”
He approached the bed. “I came to give you something.”
“What?”
“This.” William placed a fist on either side of her hips and brought his mouth to hers.
Like his presence, his kiss came without warning.
He kissed her lightly at first, becoming more insistent as she responded.
She brought her hand to his chest and up to his shoulders, reveling in the strength beneath her touch. She could feel his muscles, his lean power, and the attraction that flared between them.
When she opened to him, his tongue slid against hers. He growled appreciatively, angling his head.
He toyed with her for a moment before withdrawing, making her follow him into his mouth.
She enjoyed his taste and the way he moved in an unhurried fashion, focusing only on the interplay of mouth, tongue, and lips.
She rolled to her back and he followed, bringing his body to cover hers.
It had been a long time since Raven had been in such a compromising position. Her hands slid up and down his back, pressing their chests together.
She could feel his arousal hard against her thigh.
Suddenly he lifted himself on his forearms.
He kissed the corner of her mouth. His eyes glittered and he seemed very pleased with himself.
But Raven also saw regret.
“I can’t stay,” he rasped, sliding his nose along hers.
“Why not?”
He kissed her again, a searing, toe-curling kiss. “Do you want me to stay?”
She turned her head from the burning intensity of his eyes.
“When you ask me to stay, I’ll stay.” He shifted to his side and placed his hand on her abdomen.
“We’re still searching for the hunters. The patrols need my help.”
She looked at him askance. “You left the search so you could kiss me?”
William lifted the hem of her T-shirt and slid his hand over her bare skin, back and forth, back and forth. “Is that an objection?”