The Shades of Time (2 page)

All I need is a clue. Let me in,
mia
puttana
deliziosa
. There. A single
thought, hidden—
Stefano,
message
.

The Medici brat?
Caro dio.
This
is what she shelters?
Why him? The boy-man was an idiot, his family beyond dangerous.
Surely Cosimo's youngest was not more than he seemed—a court
wastrel, destined to be married off to cement the family lineage in
whatever propitious manner the Papacy and the trade mogul
determined.

What if he, and the Council, were wrong? What if the Monsignor
was right, for all the wrong reasons? He did not believe in
co-incidence. The woman, Veluria, had calculated the probabilities,
just as he had. Obviously her answer had a different
solution.
That
was
a metric worth investigating. Now, more than ever, he needed her
talents. Withdrawing, he argued with his inner desires, urging
control and patience. As enticing as penetrating her mental
defenses was, it was nothing compared to the promise of burying
himself in her slick tight core. That thought alone was worth a few
Hail Marys. He grinned mirthlessly.

The shuffle of
boots on cold stone reverbed down the tunnel—solid, confident and
long-strided. Andreas melted into the shadows, drawing his cloak
over the energy shield, annoyed that he'd failed to pay attention
to his surroundings. Buffered from outside stimuli, he had felt
secure enough to wander through the woman's inner thoughts, but the
journey had so captivated him that he'd lost his awareness of
everything but for the sensual caress of her mind.

Stupid.
Dangerously so.

The huge figure
passed, brushing lightly against him with stray fingers of
energy—probing, then spinning off into nothingness. Cautious, and
not a little spooked by the fleeting encounter, he reached out for
some recognition, some sense of familiarity.

That was more than odd. The stranger gave him nothing. A
blank, impenetrable, nameless
nothing
.

What in God's
name was going on?

The man paused
at the crumpled heap and glanced about quickly before scooping the
woman into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all. So tall he
had to bend away from the curved ceiling, he staggered slightly as
he carried his burden toward the dimly lit opening.

Andreas shifted awkwardly, his gut roiling. Of one thing he
was certain, no matter that the woman stalked the serpentine
passage expecting to meet her paramour, this creature was
not
Stefano. Nor did she
recognize him—her audible intake of breath and stab of dismay
betrayed her inner awareness of the otherness of the creature.
Fear, soul-numbing fear followed. An urge to coddle and sooth her
distress rose unbidden.

Sweet Mother,
but she was delectable.

Why had the
Monsignor failed to apprise him of other potential interests in the
woman? Or did he even know? He doubted it. His Holiness was
hampered by an antiquated surveillance system and lack of
resources. Unlike others of his ilk, he harbored boundless ambition
without having familial ties with the Medicis. That simple quirk of
fate set him permanently outside the ring of influence—something
that aggravated and made the man amenable to manipulation.

Andreas smiled
grimly. Now was not the time to dwell on the petty concerns of the
age. The stranger approached the opening to the canal at a
leisurely pace, hesitating now and then, listening. Andreas
feathered his breathing, fearful the man would realize he was being
observed. It made him lightheaded but sensitive to energies
bubbling along the damp conduits.

The woman,
Veluria, controlled her own energies, of this he was certain. Yet
when he stole through her defenses, her mind had screamed out, a
pulse-pounding screech of pure terror that had cut him, nay seared
him, and branded his soul, binding him to her. She could reach out
if she willed it. Reach out for help … reach out to him.

And he would
have her for himself…

He keyed on the
softer shuffling now, movement receding, as if the stranger had
foregone his leather boots in favor of soft slippers. His burden
was a slip of a woman, but richly gowned, layers upon layers of
lush silk fabrics that had swished along the uneven mosaic tiles in
her heedless attempt to evade detection. Though the giant's
silhouette implied brute strength, her boneless form and bulky togs
made transit through the low-ceilinged tunnel difficult and
slow.

The man's bulky
frame blocked out the weak light coming from the entrance to the
docks. With obvious relief he stretched to his full height and
turned right, the faint shush of fabric the only sound marking his
passage.

This nameless
stranger—how had he known to come to her rescue? Had he somehow
heard her silent scream of terror? Andreas had savaged her with
that first clarion blast, ramming against her defenses. He shook at
the shared memory and phantom aural ache and rued his lack of
finesse and control. She had finally opened to him long enough for
him to know that the only one she stole to meet was the Medici fop,
Stefano.

Andreas whispered, "No, this makes no sense." She'd been
summoned by the Medici boy clearly for a clandestine meeting.
The
why
echoed in
his head.

He'd sensed
only himself and the woman, certainly not that foolish boy. And
where had the stranger hidden? Why had he not intuited that
presence? He stroked his Crucifix, then slid a finger along the
hilt of the stiletto, assuring himself of God's protection and his
own resolve.

Silently he
slipped through shadows, keying on her energies, now restful, as if
she felt safe. He knew that to be a lie.

"
Dammi la forza, mio
Dio
. I do not understand the face of this
evil." Andreas prayed his God would reveal the nature of the forces
allayed against the Council, against him. He feared only that which
claimed no name.

He hastened
toward the canal, anxious not to lose her energy signature, then
stopped abruptly. Panicked, he scanned in every direction. The
fetid waters lapped rhythmically with the creak of gondolas; his
pulse pounded until the sound became a roar, drowning out all but
his fury and despair—her essence severed.

Gone.

Chapter
Two

"Stay back,
Brother. She is fine." The tall man carefully shouldered his way
into the narrow cubicle, mindful of his burden. He set the woman on
a makeshift cot and turned to his sibling.

"Tonio,"
Stefano whispered, "she should not be here. This was a mistake. I
never would have written that note," he paused, his face a mask of
fear and concern, "had I realized how much danger..."

Tonio glowered
at his brother, cutting him off. The young man had no idea of the
stakes in this particular game. As always, his infatuations and
conquests occupied him to the exclusion of all other
considerations, a fact he and Nico secretly admired but their
father no longer found amusing.

Whatever Cosimo
had divined from his spies, the woman's elevation to person of
interest had been swift and surprising, brooking no hesitation on
Tonio's part when tasked with drawing the woman away from the
court, forcing her into a vulnerable position. His father's
preternatural instincts, bordering on prescience, had so far fueled
considerable success in manipulating events in the family's favor.
If this woman, and her supposed French connections, had merit in
the old man's plans … well, who was he to argue the point. Politics
seldom concerned him. Exercising directives did. This one had
gotten interesting the minute he'd detected the interplay of
energies in the tunnel.

As did the fact
they had apparently picked up what amounted to a parade of
stalkers. He'd lost the shadowy figure in the tunnel, but
apparently not the hive of frustrated Papàl Guards who'd been
dogging his heels for days. He tolerated their interference most
times. This was not going to be one of them.

Stefano
continued to fuss over the prone woman, mindlessly adjusting her
gown until the tiny cubicle filled with an irritating high pitched
rustle as the lengthwise grain of the silk resisted his frantic
strokes.

Tonio hissed, "
Uncle Giovanni's guards
approach. Be quiet. It would be best if they did not discover all
of us together. I have made other arrangements that do not include
the family's incessant meddling."

His younger
brother whined, "But why are they here?"

"Because Father
or Uncle could not be sure you would follow through." His thoughts
skipped a beat, logic dictating that there might be some question
about his own commitment in this matter. His fondness for Stefano
was no secret. Ignoring the implied complication he assured the
young man, "You have nothing to fear, little brother, nothing but
your unseemly attachment to this strange woman."

Stefano hissed,
"I fear nothing, Brother, and I don't give a damn about unseemly.
Do you think having the Papàl Guards parading about in all their
finery will insure that I will—as you put it—'follow through'? If
you do, you are a bigger fool than our dearest uncle."

Tonio advanced
toward his younger brother, shoulders tense, long, elegant fingers
fondling the jeweled hilt of his cinquedea.

"I think
perhaps, dear Stefano, you should have more respect for Pope Leo.
Father worked his particular form of magic to ensure our family's
right to the succession. It would not do for anyone to think we are
not united in this matter."

Stefano sneered
at the older man, "Always the apologist, Brother. Whatever the old
man says, you are there to kiss his…"

Tonio moved
with uncanny speed, pinning his brother against the ancient
frescoed wall, his right arm pressed against the young man's
windpipe, his left gripping the short sword. Stefano's pupils
narrowed to slits as he succumbed to his brother's brief show of
mastery. Tonio recognized the capitulation with a brief nod, taking
a fractional step back to put some space between them. The young
man's slight intake of breath assured him he had his undivided
attention.

Tonio felt the
woman's mind probing, not yet fully functional. They had no time
for this useless bickering. If they did not leave soon, the bigger
threat would trail his, and the woman's, residual energies, leading
the unknown observer directly to this warren … and the courtesan
his besotted brother loved to distraction.

Disgusted,
Tonio released the smaller man, murmuring, "Go, now. Check the
corridor. We will take her to the palazzo. If it is as Father
suspects, we…" He let his words slide away, echoing after Stefano's
retreating form.

Tonio
whispered, "Don't worry, Brother. Your paramour will be safe. You
have my word on that."

The tall man
paced quietly to the unconscious form. He traced an index finger
over her full lips, surprisingly soft, yielding to his touch, an
inviting pout. He bent to inhale her subtle fragrance, floral—and
something more…

Dangerous, this
one. No wonder the man in the tunnel had followed so closely, all
of them like moths to the flame. She was compelling, unique—a true
adept. They would divine her secrets and if it were as Cosimo
suspected, he would take her back to Florence where he and his
family could protect their political investment.

Tonio placed a hand over Veluria's brow and intoned, "Sleep,
my Lady. You are safe.
Dormire il sonno dei
morti per Dio ti ha scelto per fare il nostro lavoro."

Stefano came up
behind his brother and whispered, "The man who followed you still
lurks, just inside the corridor. How he evades the Guards perplexes
me."

Tonio shrugged
and murmured to himself, "I think I know…"

****

Andreas cast
about the interior of the passageway but no energy signatures
lingered. How had they vanished so quickly? Where had the man and
his burden gotten to?

His gut
clenched at the remembered sweetness as she'd reeled in pain from
his probing. He should have slipped seamlessly through her mind but
there had been defenses and layers—barriers that undisciplined
minds should not be privy to. He'd launched an assault that had
unexpected consequences for both of them.

The channel lay
open, breeched with a chorus of yearnings and sensations long cast
aside. The Council must never know of this corruption for they
would cleanse and purify and leech his desires, removing this
delicious agony. Now, once tasted, he could not bear the loss.

He slid the
stiletto from its leather sheath and drew a thin slice across his
palm. Satisfied, he watched the beads form and dribble, lava-thick,
as time and motion stilled. The wound closed as he licked the thick
droplets, savoring the iron-rich tang of his essence. His tongue
tingled as a familiar sensation seeped through the layers of his
awareness.

Ah, there
. He had her. Somewhere
close, within reach. Whoever she was—whatever she was— her essence,
her energies, sank deeper into his consciousness. She was quiet
now, pain free, but that was not of his doing.

Something had
changed, altered the pattern. Had he the choice, he would have her
ache, her discomfort and anxiety as testament to his own painful
longing. For now he must determine how and why she floated in
stasis. That was a gift unique to their kind, not one he would have
expected from the undisciplined minds of this era.