The Raven (18 page)

“That is a very good question.” He gave her a knowing look.

“Are you going to answer it?”

“Perhaps.”

Raven was about to say something insulting but she caught herself. She tried to adopt a conciliatory expression.

“The man you mentioned, Maximilian, he asked me who my master was. He said something about blood.”

“I can explain that,” William said quietly. “And if you were to ask me politely why you lost your memory, I’d tell you.”

He gave her an expectant look.

She took a step closer. “I’m asking politely—please tell me what happened. I’ve been going crazy trying to figure it out.”

“As you wish.” He thrust his hands in his pockets.

He paused, as if he were trying to figure out where to begin.

“A week ago, I was downtown after dark. I came upon a young woman who was being attacked by three men. They’d beaten her and dragged her into an alley in order to rape her.

“I’d come across similar scenes in the past. I always ignore them.”

Raven gave him a censorious look.

He returned her gaze. “It isn’t my job to rid the world of such animals.

“This was different. I knew she was good. I knew she hadn’t led an easy life, but she’d led a brave one. Later, I would discover that the reason she’d been attacked was because she’d seen a homeless man being beaten and she’d intervened.”

Raven felt a piercing pain at the back of her head. The pain was so great and its onset so sudden, she failed to notice the strangeness of William’s claim to have moral perception.

But she would notice it later.

Raven heard the sound of quick, sure footsteps, which stopped about two feet in front of her.

“Are you all right?”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “My head aches.”

“Here.” He took her by the elbow and led her to the chair. “Do you want a drink?”

“No.” She sat down heavily. “What happened to the girl?”

“She was dying. They’d smashed her head against a wall and caused a brain injury.”

Raven fought back bile.

“Did they rape her?” she whispered.

“I killed them before that happened.”

An expression of horror flashed across her face. “You killed them?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

“I have no use for police.”

“You didn’t have to kill them.” Her voice was unsteady.

William’s eyes glinted a cold, steel gray. “Would you have preferred I leave them to their next victim? Another woman? Another homeless man? Or a child?”

“No, but death is final.”

“In some cases.” He cast her a meaningful look.

Raven could see there was more, much more, that he wasn’t telling her. She felt her grasp on what she thought she knew begin to slip, like a lifeline being pulled out of her hands.

She gazed up at him, wide eyed. “How can death not be final?”

“Now is not the time for theological questions.”

William paced to her left and back again. “Faced as I was with a dying woman, I had to make a decision. I could let her die, I could hasten her death, or I could save her.

“I thought about ending her suffering.” He paused his pacing. “I couldn’t do it. She hadn’t done anything to deserve the attack. Her death would have been a tragedy.

“I brought her here, to my home. She nearly died in my arms. There wasn’t time to fetch a doctor, and in any case I doubted one could help her. So I did what I could.”

Raven shuddered. “And what was that?”

William turned to face the illustrations and she was treated to the sight of his back, his wide shoulders and narrow waist. He was quiet, as if he were reading the answer to her question in the drawings of Dante and Beatrice.

“I used—alchemy.”

Raven stared at his back. “Like turning metal into gold?”

“Not quite. It took time and care, but she recovered. She was now my guest. I’d taken care of her. I’d washed her, clothed her, fed her.” William turned toward Raven. “Do you understand guest friendship? The rules of hospitality?”

She looked down at her lap.

“Um, I think Homer describes it. Guest friendship is supposed to govern how a host treats the people in his house.” She clutched the sides of the chair, her knuckles whitening. “Since you’re my host, you’re supposed to protect me and keep me safe.”

William’s eyes seemed to glow in the darkness as they fixed on hers.

“Precisely.”

He ran his fingers through his blond hair, pushing the strands back from his forehead.

“What happened to your other guest?” Raven fidgeted in her chair.

William put his hands back in his pockets. “I returned her to her life. Because of her head injury, her memory was affected. I was confident she wouldn’t remember me or the attack and I thought that was for the best. Her body healed and her amnesia would allow her soul to heal.”

“There’s no such thing as souls.”

“Call it a mind, then,” he growled. “In any case, I hoped that, having been restored by my good deed, she’d live her life and that would be the end.”

“But it wasn’t,” Raven prompted, still gripping the armrests of the chair.

“No. The woman began to draw attention to herself—attention that would lead to me. I tried to put a stop to it, but she persisted.”

Raven blinked. “What kind of attention?”

“Going to the Palazzo Riccardi and asking for me by name.”

“But that was a coincidence! I learned your name from Professor Emerson. If I hadn’t been missing for a week, the police wouldn’t have questioned me. And I wouldn’t have gone looking for you, thinking you had something to do with the robbery.”

William’s eyes glinted angrily, but Raven ignored his look. “You robbed the Uffizi Gallery and stole priceless pieces of art. That’s what caused this mess. Not me.”

William lifted his gaze to the ceiling and proceeded to address it. “A perfect example of the young woman’s absolute intractability. She will not listen; she will not heed advice.”

He lifted his arms in frustration. “What shall I do? Tell me. Shall I kill her and violate the principle of guest friendship? Or shall I try to reason with her? Again.”

Raven’s breath caught in her chest.

He strode toward her, his face a mask of fury.

“I told you to leave the city. You refused.”

“You broke into my apartment. You wouldn’t tell me who you were. It would have been irrational for me to listen to you.”

He leaned over her, his gray eyes piercing hers.

“I gave you something to protect you, but you called it ‘shit.’ Tonight you came to the attention of two people who saw me with you after you were attacked. It’s only a matter of time before they realize I didn’t let you die. My good deed will be exposed, along with my weakness.”

“What weakness?” Raven whispered, unable to look away.

“You.” He lifted his hand and brought it to her cheek.

Raven ignored the feel of his touch and glanced in the direction of the door. She felt panicked, as if she stood on the edge of a precipice. At any moment, her host could push her over.

And she was unable to run.

Her mind raced, wondering what would happen if she reached over to grab the candle. Could she risk maiming him in order to make her escape? Would she have the nerve to throw the candlestick at one of the paintings, and destroy a priceless work of art?

William’s eyes took in her reaction and he dropped his hand.

“What shall I do with you, Jane?”

Her eyes met his again.

He was staring at her with a conflicted expression. “Shall I prove myself devoid of honor by killing a guest in my home?”

“You said I was your weakness.” Her voice broke on the last word, her body shaking.

“You are.”

She cleared her throat. “If you kill me, all your striving was for nothing.”

William’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

Raven lifted a finger and touched the scar on her forehead.

“You said you didn’t mean for this to happen.” She gave him a searching look. “You wiped away the blood with your handkerchief.”

His eyes moved to her scar.

“Please,” she begged, knowing that her life hung in the balance. “If your story is true, you saved me from being raped and killed. Would you kill me now, after all that?”

He closed his eyes for a moment.

“Cassita vulneratus,”
he whispered.

At the sound of those words, images crowded Raven’s mind. She saw William’s face, and the faces of the man and woman who’d chased her to the Duomo.

She saw herself in a dark alley, her hands covered in blood.

She saw herself in William’s room, lying on his bed while he stood over her, a tortured expression on his face.

She heard his voice, murmuring in English and in Latin.

“‘Wounded lark,’” she translated, lifting her eyes to him in wonder.

William’s lips curved into a half smile. “The wounded lark with the great green eyes and the maddening, courageous soul.”

Raven broke eye contact as she tried to come to terms with the images she’d just seen. Unless he was a hypnotist and a master of the power of suggestion, she was beginning to remember what had happened to her. Shockingly, the memories were consistent with the story he’d told.

She wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to manage the fear and wonder that coursed through her.

“I went to a party that night,” she mused aloud. “I couldn’t remember what happened after.”

“You had a brain injury.”

She looked up at him. “Is that why I found my sneakers in the closet upstairs?”

He nodded. “The rest of your clothes were ruined—stained with blood.”

Her stomach twisted.

“The homeless man you mentioned, was that Angelo? The man who stayed by the Ponte Santa Trinita?”

“I don’t know his name, but that’s where we found his body.”

Raven’s eyes filled with tears. “He never hurt anyone. All he did was draw pictures of angels and ask people for charity.”

William watched Raven’s reaction, an unfamiliar emotion rising in his chest.

“From what I’ve inferred, you saw the homeless man being attacked and intervened. That’s why they turned on you. You’re noble, but lack prudence.”

“What should I have done? Stood by and watched?” Her green eyes flashed.

He gestured to her knapsack. “You own a cell phone. Why didn’t you use it?”

“I don’t remember. Probably I thought there wasn’t time to wait for the police.”

“Precisely.” He gave her a look that was heavy with meaning.

She swiped at her eyes. “Will my memory return?”

“I don’t know.” His tone was sincere. “Perhaps it’s a mercy you don’t remember.”

She nodded absently.

After a moment, something occurred to her.

“You said earlier you could tell I was good and that’s why you intervened. How can you tell someone is good just by looking at her?”

“It’s a skill acquired over time, of which I have had a great deal.”

“I can’t be much older than you. Is it part of your alchemy?” She watched him carefully.

His posture was casual, too casual. “A kind of alchemy, perhaps. Mostly, the judgment is made based on perceptions. Your character was evident to me even as you lay dying.”

Raven turned away, her stomach churning.

“What did you give me to save my life?”

William opened his mouth to answer but stopped. He noted her tense posture, her still wet eyes, and the ferocity with which she held on to his chair.

“I think you’ve had enough for one evening.” His voice was quiet. “Go to bed. We’ll continue this conversation tomorrow.”

“I want to know about the alchemy. I want to know why my wound healed quickly.” She gestured to her forehead.

He reached out to trace the scar, his touch featherlight.

“This is a tragedy.” William’s tone was heavy with meaning.

Raven heard much more than a description of her scar in his voice. From his eyes, his face, the way he caressed her, she started to believe he didn’t want to hurt her.

He withdrew his hand. “I gave you something to heal your injuries, but the change in your leg is temporary. It’s already beginning to wear off.”

A look of horror flashed across Raven’s features. “Temporary?”

“Unless the treatment is repeated,” he qualified, searching her eyes.

“Will my head injury return? Will I die?” Raven’s heart thumped in her chest.

His hand slid underneath her hair to the back of her neck.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his gruff tone at odds with the lightness of his touch.

He brought his face close to hers.

“The mortal wounds were healed. But your appearance and the old injury of your leg will return to what they were before, perhaps with some small variations.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “How is that possible?”

“How is it that a relic deters a feral, and holy ground repels Maximilian and Aoibhe?”

“You’re a murderer.” She changed the subject.

He did not blink. “Yes.”

“And a thief.”

William released her neck and straightened.

“With respect to the illustrations, I merely repossessed them.”

“But you came to see if I was frightened after I saw the policeman being killed.”

He nodded once.

“And you came to me tonight, when you thought I was in danger. Now I discover you fought three men to save my life, even though you didn’t know me.” She gazed up at him in wonder.

He moved to cup her face.

“I know you.

“I know you live alone and have few friends. I know you walk with a cane because of your leg and ankle.

“I know you weep over a homeless man and risked your life to save him.

“I know that, despite the quiet and simplicity of your life, you’ve been happier in Florence than anywhere else.”

He drew a circle on her cheek with his thumb before dropping it to her jaw.

“You are my greatest virtue and my deepest vice.”

He leaned forward and pressed their lips together.

Anguish and desire flared in his chest as his mouth touched hers, his kiss becoming firm and insistent. His thumb traced a tempting trail down her beautiful neck and he groaned, the sound throaty and carnal.