Giacomo moved to his right, following the sound. The staccato notes got faster. He turned left, and the noises slowed again. It was a game of hot and cold. The closer he got to his goal, the faster his Genius chirruped.
Chi-chi-chi—
He reached his arm out and touched the edge of the table.
Chichichichichichi—
He dragged his palm across the rough wood surface, wincing as a splinter pierced his skin.
Chiiiiiiiiiiiiii—
The shrill note told him he was right on top of the charcoal. Why can’t I feel it? He patted the table for what felt like an eternity, until his fingers grazed the stick of charcoal.
“Found it!” Giacomo announced triumphantly.
“Not bad,” Pietro said. “But try to make it to the easel a little faster.”
Giacomo’s Genius started the game again, beginning with slow, even chirps. Charcoal in hand, Giacomo felt his way around the corner of the table. The chirps sped up. He held his arm straight out in front of him until it contacted the edge of the wooden easel. Clipped to a board were sheets of rough-edged paper. Giacomo carefully sketched the outline of a circle, but without being able to see what he was drawing, he kept losing his place on the page. Somewhere behind him, Savino snickered. Giacomo guessed his circle wasn’t looking so good.
His arm finished its loop. “All done. Can I take the blindfold off and see how it looks?”
Savino didn’t even try to hold back his laughter. “Don’t bother. It looks terrible.”
Giacomo lifted the bottom edge of the black silk and his heart sank. The start and end points of his line didn’t come close to meeting. His circle looked like a long, hairy worm that curled in on itself.
Pietro’s cane clacked against the easel’s leg. He ran his fingers across the paper, leaving behind smudged trails of charcoal. “Keep the blindfold on,” Pietro ordered. He tore down Giacomo’s first attempt, revealing a fresh piece of paper. “Try again.”
Giacomo lowered the blindfold and raised the charcoal. He was about to start drawing, when Pietro grabbed his wrist. “To draw a circle, you must first center yourself. Relax.”
“I can’t when everyone’s watching me,” Giacomo said.
“Don’t concern yourself with what others think. This is between you, your Genius, and that piece of paper.” Pietro let go of his wrist. “All circles begin with a single point. Visualize that point on the paper.”
Giacomo concentrated, imagining a single shining star. “I see it.”
“Good. That point is going to become the center of your circle. Use it as your anchor. And this time, I want you to draw the shape with a continuous stroke.”
Giacomo held the imaginary point of light in his mind and put his hand directly above it. He moved the charcoal in one long loop. As he drew, he began to see a bright red line cut through the darkness, forming the circumference of a circle.
“Giacomo, look at your Genius!” Aaminah said with awe.
He peeled up the blindfold. His Genius hovered over his right shoulder, shining a red beam from its crown. It projected a glowing ring on the paper, matching his charcoal circle exactly.
“How did I…? How did my Genius…?”
The light from his Genius’s gem dimmed and the red circle faded away.
“What was different for you that time?” Pietro asked.
“I could see the circle as I was drawing it.”
“Good. It means you’re getting better at picturing a shape.”
“No, I mean I could actually see it,” Giacomo said. “It was like I was looking through the blindfold.”
“Fascinating…” Pietro murmured.
“I thought you said you only got your Genius the other night?” Milena said accusingly.
“I did.”
“Then how did he help you create a sacred geometry shape already?”
“Sacred geometry?” Giacomo replied, puzzled.
“It was probably just a fluke.” Savino crossed his arms and challenged Giacomo. “Bet you can’t do it again.”
Even though Giacomo had triggered his Genius’s power the other night to escape the soldiers, and again to draw the circle, he had no idea how he had done it or whether he could repeat it. But his desire to prove Savino wrong outweighed his self-doubt. “Bet you I can.”
He ripped the paper away and began fresh. With the blindfold covering his eyes, he visualized the pinpoint of light, then put charcoal to paper, moving his hand with a bold confidence. His Genius chirped in his right ear, then he heard the faint hum of energy. The same red light appeared in the blindfold’s blackness, matching the movement of his hand.
“Unbelievable,” Milena said softly.
“You’re a natural!” Aaminah burst out.
Excited, Giacomo pulled down his blindfold, letting it hang around his neck. He’d drawn a perfect circle.
Savino scowled. “You’re such a liar. How long have you really had your Genius?”
“I told you, he showed up the night before you guys found me.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Pietro said. “Otherwise, Tito would have sensed his Genius sooner.”
The glowing circle faded away and Giacomo’s Genius flew to his shoulder. Milena and Savino glared at him as if he’d just pickpocketed them. At least Pietro believed his story.
“Giacomo, usually an artist has to work for many years with a Genius to be able to use sacred geometry like you did.” Pietro showed no emotion, but Giacomo sensed a hint of surprise in his voice. “Clearly, I was wrong about your age being a problem.”
“But how am I using sacred geometry when I don’t even know what it is?”
Pietro felt for the wine bottle and refilled his glass. “Can you count to ten?”
Giacomo rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course.”
“And you’re familiar with different shapes—the circle, the triangle, the square, and so forth?”
“Yes.”
“Then you already have a basic understanding of what sacred geometry is. Different numbers correspond to different shapes. It’s like a language the Creator invented to tell us about the underlying patterns that make up all existence.”
Giacomo stared at the circle he’d drawn. “So that red circle my Genius projected … That’s the Creator talking to me?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“So what’s he saying?”
“That’s between you and the Creator.”
Frustrated, Giacomo threw down his charcoal. “You’re really not helping.”
“Maybe I can.” Milena stepped to Giacomo’s side. “Shapes are like numbers you can see. Sort of how the written word makes speech visible. You can’t see the words I’m saying unless you write them down. And you can’t see numbers until you draw them as shapes.”
Pietro smiled proudly. “Couldn’t have made it any clearer myself. Giacomo, the circle you drew is a symbol of the number one, also known as the monad. It represents creation, unity, and perfection.”
Milena nodded knowingly. “The numbers one to ten and their corresponding shapes are the original patterns for everything that exists. Sort of like an architect’s model for a building.”
“Precisely,” Pietro said. “Sacred geometry can be found in mathematics, art, and music. Anyone can recognize the patterns, but only an artist or a musician with a Genius can transform those patterns into energy.”
“Is that why Savino and Milena got knocked down when their hexagons smashed into each other?” Giacomo asked.
“For the record, hers ran into mine,” Savino interjected. “But yes, sacred geometry can cause some serious damage if you’re not careful.”
Like when I shot the light at the soldiers and the stones exploded, Giacomo recalled.
He turned to Aaminah. “But it seems like it can repair damage too, like when you fixed that cut on my arm.” It might also explain how his knife wound had healed so quickly.
“That’s right,” Aaminah said. “It’s taken me
a lot of practice, but I’ve figured out how to use music to release healing energy. It all depends on what notes I play, and in what order.”
“Sacred geometry can be used to create or destroy,” Pietro said. “It rests on the artist’s intentions.”
Everything was starting to make some sense. Sacred geometry must be the blueprint the Creator had used to build the universe. Now, with the help of his Genius, Giacomo had the key to that blueprint—and to the energy that could affect the world around him.
“But how come Milena and Savino were able to draw their shapes in the air, and I had to use paper?” Giacomo asked.
“Because we’ve been down here studying for years,” Savino said bitterly.
“You have to learn to crawl before you’re ready to walk. So for the time being, you will need the aid of drawing on paper,” Pietro explained. “But over time, you’ll get better at picturing sacred geometry in your mind. And once its shapes become second nature, you won’t need the paper anymore.”
“Is that why you blindfolded me?”
Pietro nodded. “Sometimes our eyes deceive us. The blindfold removes distractions so you can focus on visualizing the shape. I want you to learn to trust your own inner vision. Learning sacred geometry is a way to tap into your deepest nature and unlock the knowledge within.”
* * *
Giacomo stayed in Pietro’s studio all day, drawing circle after circle until his hand felt permanently stuck in a clawlike grip and every piece of charcoal was worn to a nub. He even skipped dinner, which his Genius wasn’t too happy about. But if he wanted to catch up to Milena’s and Savino’s level, some sacrifices had to be made; Fabiana’s mouthwatering fennel and ricotta lasagna was one of them.
At some point, Giacomo realized he had lost all track of time. Pietro was snoring on the bench and Giacomo could barely keep his eyes open, so he guessed it must have been long past dark. Calling it quits, he trudged up the stairs, his tired Genius swaying behind him.
He passed through the kitchen and took a plump pear from a basket on the counter, devouring it on the way to his room. From down the hall came the soothing sounds of harp music.
He followed the melody to a parlor, where Aaminah sat holding a tall golden harp between her knees, her eyes closed. Each time she plucked a string with her tiny fingers, a luminous yellow circle sprang from her Genius’s crown. The circle wiggled and vibrated in the air. Each dancing shape floated up, then faded away as the next note took its place. Giacomo’s Genius perked up and flitted around his head, delighted. As the notes washed over Giacomo, the cramp in his hand eased and his grip relaxed.
“You play beautifully,” he said. Aaminah’s eyes snapped open and she stopped. The wiggly circles of light popped like soap bubbles. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He backed out of the room.
“It’s okay. Stay.” Aaminah waved him over. “I didn’t hear you come in. Sometimes I get lost in the music and it’s like the world around me disappears.”
Giacomo nodded. He knew what that was like. Sometimes he became so absorbed in drawing that hours felt like minutes.
He plopped down on a long cushioned bench across from Aaminah, not expecting to slide down the silky fabric. He caught himself before falling on the floor. Aaminah giggled.
“What’s the point of a seat you can’t sit on?” Giacomo complained.
“I know. I grew up in a tiny farmhouse in the countryside, playing in mud and running through fields. I’ve been here three years and I’m still not used to all the fanciness.”
A silence filled the room. Aaminah looked at Giacomo expectantly. He sat on his hands and stared at the floor, suddenly uncomfortable with talking.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Aaminah continued. “I’m so grateful to Signor Barrolo for taking me in, but sometimes I wish I could go into the city and play for people on the streets and let my Genius fly free. You ever feel like that?”
“Uh-huh,” Giacomo answered, then fell silent. In the sewers, the only conversations he had were with his own reflection. Giacomo looked at his Genius, hoping it would inspire him with something smart to say. But it was busy cleaning its feathers. Aaminah picked up on his awkwardness and tried another question.
“Did you figure out a name for your Genius?”
Giacomo forced himself to open his mouth. “No. Not yet.”
“Maybe I can help. I’m really good at naming things. I used to have a doll I named Serafina Santorini, the Mermaid Princess of Acquarone.”
“That’s an impressive title for a doll.”
“She was a princess, but also a mermaid who fought pirates,” Aaminah said proudly. “So what’s your favorite thing about your Genius?”
Giacomo looked at his Genius, curled up on a pillow with his eyes closed. “He’s really cute when he sleeps.”
“Sleepy!” Aaminah burst out. “No, that’s a terrible name, sorry.”
Giacomo laughed. “I thought you said you were good at this?”
“I need to work through the bad names to find gold. Don’t make fun of my process.” Aaminah squinted in concentration and tapped her finger to her pursed lips. “What’s your Genius’s personality like?”
“Hmmm … He’s annoying, loud, never listens to what I tell him, and always wants to eat.”
“Buzzer? No. Munchie? Aw, forget it.” Aaminah shot down the names before Giacomo had a chance to respond.
“He’s loyal too. I feel like he’s always going to have my back, so I want his name to sound respectable.” Giacomo scratched the tuft of hair on his Genius’s head, then raised his finger, proclaiming, “I’ve got it! Signor Ludovico Aurelius Francesco the Third!”
Aaminah stared at him flatly. “It’s a bit of a mouthful.”
“Well, Serafina Santorini, the Mermaid Princess of Acqua-whatever doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”
Aaminah shrugged. “I’m just giving you my opinion.”
Giacomo let his arm drop. He slumped back into the cushion. “You’re right. This is hard.”
“Keep thinking about it. It’ll come to you.”
While Giacomo mulled over other possible names, Aaminah put aside the harp and picked up a viol and a bow. She propped the long-necked instrument between her legs and gently ran the bow across one of its six strings, creating a low, mellow note that resonated through the room.
“How many instruments can you play?” Giacomo asked.
“Let’s see … harp, flute, bass viol, treble viol, harpsichord, dulcimer, the drum, lute, and recorder.”
“That’s all?” Giacomo teased. “Seriously, who taught you to play all those?”
“No one. I taught myself. I only had a flute growing up, but once Signor Barrolo took me in, he gave me every instrument I could imagine, and some I’d never seen. You ever hear anyone play the bladder pipe?”
“No. What does it sound like?”
They walked to the back of the room, where Aaminah picked up a long, wooden instrument with a translucent bag attached to it. She blew on a pipe sticking out of the top. A horrid sound escaped and her Genius projected erratic waves of light that bounced around the room, then coursed through Giacomo. It felt like his eyeballs were vibrating and he was overcome by dizziness.
“All right, enough!” he shouted, bracing himself against the wall.
Mercifully, Aaminah stopped. Giacomo’s Genius poked out from under a pillow, squawking its disapproval.
“It sounded like a sheep and a cow yelling at each other,” Giacomo complained. “My vision was all blurry. I thought I was going to pass out.”
“Whoops,” Aaminah said. “Certain harmonics have that effect. Sorry.”
Giacomo and his Genius weren’t the only ones put off by the bladder pipe’s cry. Enzio glared at Aaminah from the doorway, hands covering his ears. “I’m going to bed. Music time’s over.”
“If you have a problem with it, talk to your father,” Aaminah said. “He told me I could practice whenever I want.”
Enzio pu
lled the doors shut with a slam. Giacomo flinched, as did his Genius. “What’s his deal? He seems to hate everyone.”
“I’ve tried to be nice to him, but after a while, I gave up. He’s not interested in making friends.”
Aaminah seemed so nice and caring. If she couldn’t find a way to get along with Enzio, Giacomo didn’t stand a chance.
“Well, it is late,” Aaminah said. “I guess it’s time for—”
“Mico!” he declared out of nowhere.
She jumped back. “What do you mean, ‘time for Mico’?”
“No, the name. For my Genius. You were right, it just sort of came to me.”
Aaminah said the name slowly. “Mee-coh. I love it!”
Mico chirruped and hopped onto Giacomo’s lap. Giacomo smiled. “He seems to like it too.”
* * *
The next morning, Giacomo rose before the sun. Sketchbook in hand, he hurried down to Pietro’s studio, itching to try out all the new art supplies and get in some extra drawing time before the day’s lesson. As Pietro’s snoring echoed from somewhere in the back of the cellar, Giacomo lit the candles and stared in wonder at all the different drawing tools lying on the table. Living in the aqueducts, he had been limited to whatever rough chunks of charcoal he could scrounge up. They were imprecise and smudged with the slightest touch. But now he had his pick of graphite pencils and powder; sticks of red, white, and black chalk; quill pens and bottles of ink; and jars of colored pigments. Plus countless pieces of paper and sheets of canvas. It was an artist’s paradise and Giacomo and Mico had the run of the place.
He tested each material, getting a feel for it on the paper. The pencil was a revelation to him. He’d never been able to control his lines so easily. The chalk had a nice smooth feel, and the pens would be perfect for detailed work.
Mico was hardly the perfect model. He was always twitching his head from side to side and hopping around. But Giacomo got a few sketches he was happy with.
“Good morning,” Pietro said from the shadows.
Startled, Giacomo jumped, dropping the pen. “I was just trying out all your amazing supplies,” he said, picking up the pen.
Pietro shuffled toward him, his cane sliding on the floor in front of him. “Experimentation. That’s good. But remember, it’s your vision, not your tools, that will make you a great artist.”