The Shadow

  Chapter Twenty

  On Thursday evening after work, as Raven climbed the steps to her apartment, she was surprised to see Bruno on the landing.

  She hadn’t seen him since she’d visited him in the hospital after he’d been attacked by the large, bearlike vampyre William called Max. Raven shivered at the recollection. It had been her fault he’d been hurt, since she’d foolishly gone out without wearing the relic William had provided for her protection. Bruno had almost died and she’d had to beg William to help him.

  Looking at him, impeccably dressed as he was in a suit and tie and with a tall, thin blonde on his arm, he looked healthy.

  Raven limped to the top of the stairs, pausing in front of her door to smile in Bruno’s direction.

  The woman on his arm was the sole focus of his attention. They stood in front of his grandmother’s apartment and embraced, their mouths fusing in a passionate kiss. Raven blushed and turned away, fumbling for her keys.

  “Hello.” Bruno greeted her.

  The sound of her key and the scraping of the lock must have distracted him. Raven turned and smiled. “Hello, Bruno.”

  “This is Delfina.” He gestured to the woman at his side, then looked back at Raven and blinked. It took a few seconds for her to realize he didn’t remember her name.

  She stifled a wince. “I’m Raven, Delfina. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Delfina smiled and returned her greeting.

  “How is your grandmother?” Raven turned to Bruno once again.

  “The chemotherapy is helping but she isn’t eating. We just brought a dinner that my mother made, and she won’t touch it.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Raven paused, looking at her door. “Would she like some company? I haven’t eaten yet and I could bring my dinner over and sit with her.”

  “That would be generous, thank you. We have dinner reservations so we can’t stay.”

  Delfina murmured something that Raven couldn’t hear and Bruno laughed. He placed his hand on the doorknob to his grandmother’s apartment. “But, please, my mother made enough for both of you. Don’t bother bringing over anything.”

  “Are you sure?” Raven asked, watching his reaction carefully.

  “Please.” He extricated himself from Delfina and opened the door to the apartment, disappearing inside.

  Raven could hear the dull murmur of voices. In a moment, Bruno returned.

  “She’s eager to see you.” He stood to the side and gestured for Raven to enter. She quickly locked her apartment and made her away across the landing, nodding at Delfina as she passed.

  “Have a good night.” She gave Bruno a small, awkward wave.

  “Thank you.” He took Delfina’s hand and they disappeared down the staircase.

  Raven sighed. How interesting it was that a creature such as William, who was far more intelligent and handsome than Bruno, could find her beautiful, while a human like Bruno couldn’t even remember her name.

  William was the only one who’d ever looked at her with longing.

  She closed the door.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Raven turned her head to find William staring at her unblinkingly, like a gray-eyed cat.

  They were standing at the Piazzale Michelangelo, looking down at the radiant skyline of the city the following evening. They’d dined together, but on different food, at William’s villa before walking hand in hand to the place that offered one of the best vistas of Florence.

  Raven had put her cane aside and was leaning against a low stone wall that framed the piazzale. She’d been admiring the various landmarks and the way they were illuminated. The Ponte Vecchio and the Arno reflected the lights from the buildings that lined its banks.

  It was so beautiful it made her heart hurt. She hoped she would always be able to live there and enjoy its beauty. She glanced at William and found his gaze intent on her.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “You.”

  She turned back to the view. “There are more beautiful things you could be looking at.”

  He rubbed his thumb across his lower lip. “I wish I had your talent for drawing. I’d sketch you like this, in profile, looking down over the city.”

  “I noticed you framed the sketch I did of you.”

  “I framed it not for the subject matter, but for the artist.”

  “You hung it next to your Botticelli.” Her tone was slightly accusing.

  “Great artists are best displayed in the company of other great artists.”

  She shook her head, but her smile remained in place.

  He moved nearer. “Would you ever consider drawing a self-portrait, for me?”

  Raven lifted her eyebrows. “Really?”

  “I should like to have it.”

  “Then, yes, I suppose.” She leaned against the railing, taking her weight off her disabled leg.

  “I thought you were beautiful, even on the night I found you.” William lowered his voice. “It was your scent that drew me to you—it bespoke a beautiful soul. But I was captivated by your eyes.”

  Raven’s smile blossomed and she returned to look at the Arno.

  Beyond the Ponte Vecchio, near the Ponte Santa Trinita, was the place where William had rescued her. Now when she drove over the bridge from Santo Spirito and into that area, she experienced anxiety and a feeling of dread. She wondered if she was guilty of suppressing memories of the night she was attacked, or if the memory loss had been the result of a head injury and vampyre blood, as William suggested.

  She sighed and thought of Cara.

  “Why the deep sigh?” William moved nearer, but didn’t touch her.

  “I was thinking about my sister.”

  “I’ve thought about mine over the years.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “My sisters, as well as my brothers, married and had children. I didn’t trace their descendants, but I’m sure some of them live in England still. Some of them probably went to America or Canada.”

  “Do you miss them?”

  “Not really. I’d already severed ties with my family before I became a vampyre. After the change, I had little interest in them.” He pressed his forearms against the railing. “Vampyres are egoists—only concerned with themselves and whatever pleases them. That doesn’t leave much room for familial attachment.”

  Normally, Raven would have argued with him, pointing out that the general principles that applied to vampyres did not apply to him. But at that moment, she simply didn’t have it in her to argue, so she was silent.

  “What was your father like?”

  “He was tall—taller than you—and big. He worked construction. He had dark hair and green eyes.” Raven pointed to her face. “I look like him. He was funny. He liked to laugh. He liked to take me and my sister to the park and run around with us.”

  “If I had the power of resurrection, I’d give him back to you.”

  Tears filled Raven’s eyes. She nodded, too overcome to speak.

  “What were you thinking about your sister?”

  Raven flexed her hands against the stone, finding the cool roughness against her skin a pleasant distraction. “I love her. She’s my best friend.” Raven lowered her head. “She hates me.”

  “If she hates you, she’s clearly lacking in perception.”

  “William,” Raven reproved him. “Since we couldn’t rely on our mother, I became Cara’s mother in a lot of ways. Having her break off contact with me is devastating.”

  William placed his hand over hers. “She still won’t speak to you?”

  “I’ve tried calling, I’ve tried e-mails. She won’t answer.”

  “I’m sorry. I . . .” William shook his head.

  Raven remarked his worried expression. “What is it?”

  He redirected his gaze to the Palazzo Vecchio. “I see your suffering and I don’t know how to end it. I’d like to give you your father back. I’d like to give you your mother and your sister. But I c
an’t. It makes me . . .” He paused abruptly. “I don’t like feeling powerless.”

  She rested her head against his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  “Why are you thanking me? I haven’t done anything.”

  “You’re here.”

  Ever so softly, the edge of his finger feathered over the hinge of her jaw.

  A long look passed between them.

  “I wish I’d found you seven hundred years ago.”

  She entwined their fingers together. “We wouldn’t have one another now if that had happened.”

  Raven had the impression he wanted to say something but was choosing his words carefully.

  “Is being a mother something you want?”

  That was a question she had not expected.

  She studied the skyline intently. “I didn’t expect to find someone to love. Marriage and children weren’t part of my aspirations. I wanted a life filled with beauty and friends and I was determined to be content with those things.”

  “You volunteer at an orphanage.”

  “Yes.”

  “Will that be enough?”

  “I don’t know. I’m thirty, William. I probably have ten years left in which to have a child. Maybe I’ll want a biological child someday, but right now I find the thought daunting. The idea of creating a child with someone other than the man I love is repugnant.”

  William lifted his arm and curled it around her waist, bringing her into his side.

  “Enough about me, William. I should be asking about your burdens. I’m sorry I’ve been so focused on myself.”

  He squeezed her waist. “You don’t even realize how unselfish you are. You’ve been asking me about my troubles with the principalities and worrying along with me for days. You’ve done more than enough.”

  “I think all this deep conversation is because of the view,” she blurted out. “The beauty of the city makes people reflect on life and time and secret desires.”

  William chuckled and pressed a kiss to her temple. “What do you desire, little bird?”

  “The steadfast love of a good man.”

  His arm about her tightened. “I am not a good man. I’m not a man at all. But I love you and my love is certainly steadfast.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned against him.

  “I admire you.” He spoke into her hair.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re principled and you hold fast to those principles even when it’s difficult. You’re noble.”

  “I feel awkward and overwhelmed more than anything.”

  “That is not how you appear to me.” He lifted her chin. “Knowing what I know about your character and your heart, I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.”

  She turned away. “Stop.”

  “I love you.” He kissed her cheek, the way a shy boy kisses a girl he cannot help but kiss.

  “I love you, too.”

  William relaxed in her arms. Raven hadn’t realized he was holding himself tensely until she felt the change.

  “What’s wrong?” She touched his face.

  “I will never have your nobility of spirit, or your protective nature, but as long as I have your love, I can be content.”

  Moisture pricked the corners of Raven’s eyes. “You’re giving me a toothache.”

  He pulled back. “How is that possible?”

  She laughed. “It’s a figure of speech. It means you’re being too sweet. Say something awful.”

  William’s expression changed and he brought his lips to her ear. “I want to take you back to the house, so I can spread you on my bed and do all kinds of wicked things to you.”

  She nuzzled his chin with her nose. “My toothache is gone.”

  With another laugh, he took her hand and led her back to the villa.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Two weeks later, Ispettor Batelli watched the black Mercedes pull away from Santo Spirito. He pulled lazily on his cigarette, leaning in a doorway across the piazza from Signorina Wood’s apartment.

  Detective work could be reduced to one maxim—follow the money. This line of inquiry was frequently augmented by another maxim—follow the ragazza. He’d been doing both relentlessly for some time.

  Batelli meditated momentarily on the ragazza’s vulgar linguistic counterpart, as he watched the lights go on in Raven Wood’s apartment. She was the point at which the paths of William York, the dead Interpol agent Savola, and the robbery of the Uffizi converged.

  Professor Emerson had tried to persuade him to stop the investigation, suggesting that the stolen Botticelli illustrations might emerge on the black market once the intense police scrutiny abated. His observation had merit, but Batelli would not admit defeat.

  He was convinced the thieves who’d targeted the Uffizi did so already having a buyer. He suspected the artwork was still in the area, but hidden. Further, he suspected the theft was in some way connected with the mysterious William York.

  He didn’t know the name of the man Raven was seeing. He’d taken photos stealthily, but his attempts at identifying her lover had been thwarted. The man seemed to appear only after dark and he usually kept his face hidden, as if he suspected he was under surveillance.

  From what Batelli observed, the man roughly matched Emerson’s physical description of William York. But without a photograph of the man’s face, the description was useless.

  The Interpol databases yielded nothing about anyone called William York. An attempt to lift fingerprints from the back door of Signorina Wood’s building yielded nothing, because none of the prints could be linked to anyone matching his description.

  The license plates of the Mercedes were also a dead end. The car was registered to a Swiss diplomat who did not match her lover’s description.

  Batelli’s intuition told him he’d run into a crime lord. He couldn’t identify the nature or ethnicity of the organization, but it wasn’t the Mafia and it wasn’t the Russian mob. He began asking questions of a friend of his who worked on an anti–organized crime task force, but his friend was as puzzled as he was.

  Which was why Batelli continued to watch Raven and her patron, hoping for some kind of clue as to his identity.

  Batelli had no idea that even as he shadowed Raven, a vampyre shadowed him.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Aoibhe fixed her dark eyes on the Prince and wrinkled her nose. “You smell of pet.”

  The Prince ignored her, striding in the direction of the training hall.

  He’d had precious little time with Raven that day. She’d worked her normal hours at the gallery before beginning her volunteer shift at the orphanage. He had had to content himself with petting in the Mercedes on the way from the orphanage to her apartment, after which she was supposed to spend the evening with Lidia, her neighbor.

  The Prince begrudgingly bade her good night before descending into the underworld. He was bored, restless, and eager for a diversion. As always, Teatro held little interest for him, and although he was in a mood to feed, he was not inclined to drink from anyone other than her.

  He’d agreed they should spend the night apart, so Raven could attend to Lidia, who was receiving chemotherapy, and so he could attend to the principality. But the separation made him irritable.

  An irritable vampyre is someone all creatures should avoid. Alas, Aoibhe was not conscious of this maxim.

  She trotted after him, her green velvet dress billowing behind her. “Did she rub herself over your entire body? I can hardly breathe for the stench.”

  The Prince turned on her, his face a mask of anger. The truth was that Raven had, indeed, rubbed against him. They’d enjoyed one another in the backseat of the Mercedes in a way that was both decadent and heady.

  The Prince didn’t want Aoibhe to know the depth of his attachment to Raven—for her sake.

  At the sight of his anger, Aoibhe retreated backward. She curtsied. “I beg pardon, my lord.”

  “There was a time when you found the fragrance of m
y pet to be most desirable. If that opinion has changed, I recommend you keep your mouth shut.” He turned on his heel and continued on his path.

  Something that looked a good deal like triumph flashed across her face, but only for a moment. She followed. “The Bacchanalia will begin in a week’s time. All is ready.”

  “Good.”

  She spoke at his elbow. “In celebration of the coming festival, perhaps I could procure a drink for you. Something young? Something fresh?”

  “I am well fed.”

  “Then perhaps another diversion?” She paused in front of a heavy wooden door. The Prince stared at the door, contemplating her suggestion.

  She opened the door and held it, allowing the Prince to see inside the gymnasium. The space was very large and had an upper gallery. Vampyres young and old prepared for battle, practicing with various weapons.

  He entered the gymnasium and, once again, Aoibhe followed, closing the door behind them.

  At the sight of the Prince, a hush fell over the crowd. Citizens bowed their respect, pausing their sparring.

  “I’m sorry Max isn’t here. He could do with a lesson,” Aoibhe commented.

  The Prince said nothing.

  She moved to whisper in his ear. “We haven’t had news of Max and Pierre. I would have thought they’d have completed their mission by now.”

  He growled his frustration.

  “Let’s find you a worthy opponent.” She gazed around the room quickly. “Alas, I’m the oldest one here, except for you.”

  “Niccolò and Lorenzo need to spend more time training.”

  “Undoubtedly. A youngling could probably best them.”

  The Prince walked to the cache of weapons and chose a large, heavy broadsword. He walked to the center of the gymnasium, tossing the sword from hand to hand. Aoibhe sought a weapon that roughly matched his and followed.

  The other vampyres quickly retreated, moving to the perimeter of the hall.