The Immortal Greek (8 page)

“Who was she?” Alexander had both arms on the armrests, his hands wrapped around the metal frame of the chair.

“It was Margherita Salvatori. I’m so sorry, Alexander. I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.” Samuel dismounted from the ledge and sat at the chair behind the desk.

Alexander leaned forward and shook his head. “Margherita? No, it can’t be. She isn’t into that kind of stuff.”

“We positively identified her.” Samuel’s mouth closed on a thin line. “She drowned two days ago.”

Alexander’s eyes watered. “I must beg your pardon.” He stood and left the room.

Ravenna’s first impulse was to follow him, but she remembered in time that she was there on official matters and tried to act accordingly. After composing her usual, professional mask on her face, she passed her hands over her skirt, and turned her attention toward the angel. “Who was this girl?” She omitted the words “to him” from her question.

“She was one of the few protégées Alexander has ever had.”

“Please, Messer Drako, save my daughter. If you have ever felt a shred of affection for me, don’t let Margherita die.” Caterina had been begging him for hours. He had tried to reason with her, but she kept crying at his feet.

Caterina knew of him. He should have never told her, but she had been such a sweet girl in her youth and he had cared for her. One night, the pillow talk had taken a different direction. She had seen him around from when she was but a child, and she wasn’t stupid. On the contrary, she had noticed things and started asking questions. He knew her life span would be short and felt compelled to gift her with a truth so few knew about him.

Years later, she reminded him of how foolish his act had been.

“Some consider living a life like mine a curse.” His resolution to negate her request was getting weaker, but he had to try to convince her through his friend Marcus’s words. “Once you’re changed, you’re changed. There’s no going back to your life.”

“Margherita’s dying. She’s the only one I’ve got left. The plague has stolen everything I care for in this world. Please.” Caterina could barely talk by now. Her voice was but a whisper. She had been sick for four days and she had outlived, by only twenty-eight hours, four of her children and her husband, who had died first. She had sent her remaining daughter to the nearby convent, hoping she wouldn’t be infected, but it had been in vain.

“The goddess might not grant my plea to turn Margherita. Minerva doesn’t listen to me anymore.” He looked around. Despite the open window, the bedroom was dark, the wooden beams weighed down the ceiling, and the hearth was cold. Outside, the sun hung low in the sky and it was covered by the billowing smoke fueled by the wet pyres. The city of Bologna was dying along with its citizens, the churches’ bells stroked mournfully, and priests demanded the last ones standing to repent. The sweet and sickly smell of death permeated the air. Frigid rain driven inside by the winter winds pelted the terracotta floor.

“But you must try.” Caterina’s eyes had cried all the tears she had already. She shook her head and slid to the floor, her tattered gown fanning over the straws now soggy and giving off an unpleasant smell. “I can’t die without knowing you at least tried.” She raised her chin to look at him, and even that small gesture caused her pain, but she didn’t complain.

Alexander leaned over her and took her frail body in his arms. Caterina weighed less than a child; she was all skin and bones. Even in her old age, she had been beautiful. In less than a week, the bubonic plague had ravaged her. “I’ll try.” He kissed her forehead and rocked her against him.

Caterina mustered the strength to thank him, then smiled, and closed her eyes. He put her to rest on her wedding bed, and waited until the gravediggers arrived to claim her body. He didn’t let them touch her and toss her like garbage as he had seen them doing all over Bologna, but wrapped Caterina in a white linen and gently lowered her on the gravediggers’ cart. He paid them good coins to transport her to the burial site he had chosen for her and her family, and followed the cart to make sure they didn’t drop her in the communal grave.

The Black Death had taken millions of lives all over Europe, but Alexander saved one. On a frigid morning in February, in the year thirteen-forty-eight, at the age of nineteen, Margherita Salvatori became an immortal. She hadn’t asked for it.

Alexander walked the whole length of the fourth floor hallway of the Immortal Council headquarters, and reached the men’s bathroom. Once inside, he locked the door and fell to the marble tiles. The floor was polished to a shine and he could see his misery reflected beneath him. Samuel had said Margherita had drowned. He saw her immersed in the water, bubbles coming out of her mouth, straining her lungs to get air. Images of the last time he had seen her mixed with the images he was fabricating about her death. A pitch black veil was lowered over his head, suffocating him, while happy memories were shuffled with the most horrifying visions. He let the moment pass, then pushed himself up, walked to the sink, and splashed some water on his eyes. He dried his face with a wad of paper towels, dabbed the water that had fallen on his shirt, and left the bathroom.

When he reentered Samuel’s office, two sets of concerned eyes welcomed him, but neither Ravenna nor Samuel asked anything. He walked to the chair, pulled it farther away from the desk and angled it to face both of them, then sat.

“I was telling Ravenna I decided to extend the detail at her house for the entire length of this investigation so we can all sleep at night knowing she is safe.” Samuel sipped tea from one of the porcelain sets he had bought in China.

Alexander had a vivid memory of the merchant Samuel had haggled with for hours over a silk rug, that particular porcelain set, and a chess board made of mother of pearl. Funny how he could remember insignificant details from several centuries back, but if he tried, he couldn’t remember Margherita’s eye color and he had seen her only a few years ago.

Samuel was talking. “A were-panther will join the investigation. Since the Immortal Death kills your species, but doesn’t reflect well on others, especially given the fact that our major suspect is a vampire of Claudius’s caliber, the Council has been asked to keep the investigation accessible and transparent.”

Alexander shrugged. “It only makes sense.” Even in his distraught state, he didn’t fail to notice Ravenna’s sudden tension.

“She’s already at the crime scene—”

Ravenna interrupted the angel. “Who’s this shifter?” She sat primly, her back straight, but not touching the chair. Her legs lay united at the ankles in her signature sitting position, but her right heel was hitting the floor in a staccato rhythm.

“She told me she knows you—”

As Samuel spoke, Ravenna’s upper body stilled even more, if possible, but she crossed and uncrossed her ankles under the protection of the desk.

“—Malina Rotari. She is a Peace Pact enforcer.”

At the mention of the name, Ravenna’s whole body froze, but her lips curved up in a smile. “Of course, I know Malina. We go way back.” She passed her hands up and down the length of her skirt, applying pressure that created wrinkles on the black fabric, instead of flattening them. “If we’re done here, I suggest we go ask a few questions.” She turned toward Alexander. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to examine the place where the girl was found. I understand if you prefer to stay behind.”

“No, that’s perfectly fine. I’ll drive you there.” He put the chair back before the desk.

Samuel left his place and gave him a one-armed hug. “I’m here for you. If you need anything, call me.”

Alexander reciprocated the hug. “I will. Thank you.” The words and the gestures felt like déjà vu. When Cherry had died after a long, painful malady, he hadn’t wanted anyone near but Samuel and Marcus, but the angel was the only one around at the time. He patted the angel’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”

Samuel stepped back and gave him one of his small, sad smiles. He then tilted his head ever so slightly toward the enforcer, and his eyes lit with a different light. “I know you will,” he whispered only for Alexander to hear, then dictated the golf club’s address to Ravenna, who typed it on her phone with the tip of one of her immaculate fingers.

Alexander left his friend’s office wondering about Samuel’s parting words.

****

Ravenna was shaking. Nobody would ever know the depth of her rage, but she was furious. She let Alexander open the car door for her, and asked him if he could keep the top down. Had they been better acquainted, she would have asked him if she could drive. She needed a good run. Or a good fight. Or something else entirely. Her treacherous mind suggested all the ways she could get better acquainted with the athletic Greek sitting so close to her. Her eyes went to the swell of his bicep under the shirtsleeve he had carefully folded, leaving the forearm free. A vein ran from the inside of his bent elbow almost to his wrist. Short, blond hair covered his tan-freckled skin. Gods above, the man made her forget her own name.

Meanwhile, they had left the underground garage and Castel Sant’ Angelo behind. The sun was shining high in the sky and she raised her face heavenward to soak up the healing power of the rays.

They had left the Lungotevere Flaminio Boulevard to merge into Corso Francia Avenue, when Alexander abruptly asked her, “What’s the deal with you and this Peace Pact enforcer?” He had been driving for several minutes in silence, and seemingly engrossed in his own thoughts.

She should have asked by now if he had any telepathic power. “I don’t know what—”

“Pardon my reach.” He leaned over and outstretched his right arm—the one she had been studying until a moment ago—toward the glove compartment before her legs. “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine.” He pushed the button at the center of it, waited for the door to open halfway through, then rummaged inside. “Here they are.” He pulled out his hand, holding a pair of shades he put on. “Much better. Too much glare.” He hadn’t brushed her skin once. Not even by mistake.

Sitting sideways, she looked at him. “She stole my fiancé.”

He slightly angled his face toward her, while keeping an eye on the traffic. “That explains it.”

“That explains what?”

“You’re so angry it radiates off of you in waves. I couldn’t have closed the top even if I wanted.” The corner of his lip turned up.

“I didn’t think it was that obvious.” She hugged herself. The wind was wreaking havoc with her flimsy shirt and the top three buttons kept opening. She saw his eyes sliding up and down her chest and she felt exposed in more ways than one.

“If you know where to look, it is obvious you’re ready to kick someone.”

She shivered, although she felt warm. “Are you offering yourself?”

At the red light, he turned all the way toward her, seemed to think about it, and finally shrugged and smiled. “Maybe. If you’re a good girl.” He turned right onto Tor di Quinto road and left her thinking about his proposal for a few minutes. “There are a few places I know around here. Maybe we can grab something to eat later?”

Ravenna made a noncommittal sound. “Hang right at the next one or we’ll miss the exit for the Tiber Golf Club.”

He followed her direction and drove the Mercedes over a paved road that ended before the club’s entrance. The place, which had only been open for a month, had already been canvassed by the human police force. The yellow tape and sour faces were hard to ignore. As soon as Alexander stopped the car by the red line of the valet parking, an elegant man in his forties walked to meet them.

“Ravenna Del Sarto. Homicide, special unit.”
Ravenna, knowing the drill, didn’t let the man open a conversation. From her small purse she produced her human badge.

Paranormals had to work with humans all the time, and oftentimes they worked together without the humans suspecting anything. One of their own, an immortal who worked undercover at the Tiber precinct, had found out about Margherita Salvatori and activated the Council through Samuel.

The man, handsome and well dressed, offered her his hand in greeting, but the gesture was done by rote. The club’s door sported the sign “closed” and the sooner they reopened the better it would be for business. “Pleasure to meet you, Madam Del Sarto. Paolo Di Biasi, owner of the Tiber Club, at your service.” Then his eyes lit in recognition at Alexander. “Mister Drako, it’s such an honor to have you here. I would’ve hoped for your first visit to our establishment to be under better circumstances, but—”

Alexander took the man’s hand and gave it a vigorous shake. “I’m sure there will be other occasions to visit, but at the moment I’m here with Miss Del Sarto.”

Reluctantly, the man turned his attention toward Ravenna. “Sure, sure. How can I help you, madam?”

Ravenna was starting to realize why Samuel had wanted Alexander to work on the case. The man had the key to the whole city in his hands. “May I get a look at the exact spot where the body was found?”

“Of course. One of your colleagues is already there. Please, follow me.” Mister Di Biasi let them inside the clubhouse, asked them if they wanted coffee when they passed before the bar, which they both refused, then led them through a service door, and walked them to the pier. “The rowers found the girl over there.” He pointed at the end of the pier where a small army of policemen was standing. His cell phone rang. “I apologize, but I must take this call—”

“We can take it from here. Thank you.” Ravenna had already seen the tall woman commanding the attention of the police, and her blood froze in her veins.

Di Biasi excused himself one more time with Alexander and managed to give him his business card, then finally left to take his phone call. Unsure of how she would react before Malina, Ravenna almost went the man’s way as well.

“Let’s go take the bull by the horns.” Alexander’s hand circled her upper arm and gently propelled her forward. No sneer, no taunting, just the warmth of his support.

Her heart skipped a beat. “How do you do that?”

Instead of answering, he squeezed her arm and stepped closer. She could feel the heat emanating from his body, and for once she regretted having a reputation of coldness to defend. More than anything, she wanted to lean on him and let him soothe her nerves.

The pier was in need of extensive repair and the wooden boards under her shoes were full of holes and cracks. Her heels got stuck once or twice in the soft flooring and she swore under her breath. Alexander chuckled at her side.

Malina’s head snapped to their direction and locked eyes with her. Ravenna saw Malina’s face darken, but the cloud was soon gone, replaced by an expressionless slate. The were-panther parted the policemen by simply raising one hand and strolled toward them. “Ravenna.”

“Malina.” She took a good look at the woman who had destroyed her life, and all the memories she had caged at the back of her mind so long ago escaped from their prison. She hurt with the same pain she had once felt and had sworn she would never again experience. And here she was, looking at Malina, who was more beautiful and elegant than ever.