Chapter 27
As Christmas approached, the usual excitement and preparations were noticeably subdued. The vibrant markets and festive decorations
that typically adorned the streets were scarce, replaced instead by masked pedestrians hurriedly collecting necessities before
returning to the safety of their homes.
Aida was deeply lonely: grieving for Erin; missing Luciano, who was only across the city center yet still so far away; and
yearning for the company of Yumi and Felix, who she could no longer meet freely. As the year drew to a close, Aida clung to
what little hope she had, her fingers often rubbing the spot where Pandora had kissed her forehead. The world was grappling
with an unprecedented crisis, but amid it all were moments of kindness, resilience, and the unyielding human spirit. She clung
to the promise of a new year, a fresh start, and the faint yet persistent hope that they would find Euphrosyne and fulfill
Pandora’s request, unlocking the happiness the world desperately needed.
On Capodanno—New Year’s Eve—Dante brought up what he said were some of the best wines in the cellar. He set the case on the
bar counter and pulled out a bottle. “This one is Trista’s favorite,” he said, waving it in the air.
“I heard my name,” Trista said from the doorway.
Aida took the bottle from Dante and read the label. “Monfortino Barolo Riserva.”
Trista nodded. “It’s exceptional. I came down for a glass of wine, and if you are opening that, I’ll have some.”
“We’ll pour you a glass, but since it’s Capodanno, you have to drink it with us,” Ilario said.
“Yes, please, Trista, celebrate with us,” Aida chimed in, studying her aide’s face.
Trista frowned, and for a moment, Aida thought she would decline, but to her surprise, her aide sat down at the bar.
Aida exchanged a glance with Dante. Trista loved a glass of wine, but she always took it back to her room alone. She had never
shared a drink with them. Not once in all the time Aida had known her. It was unsettling.
More and more often, Aida had been wondering whether Trista was an automaton. She never seemed to tire, never missed a detail,
and MODA’s automatons were apparently indistinguishable from mortals. But Vulcan had said they were fallible. Nearly human.
And humans broke down eventually.
Tonight, was that what was happening?
Ilario uncorked the wine and poured them each a glass. They toasted to the end of a terrible year and a hopeful start to the
new. The first glass went down fast, and another was poured. Then another. Trista, who had always seemed untouchable, let
her shoulders relax. The sharp efficient lines of her posture softened, just slightly. Aida kept an eye on her, curiosity
gnawing at her ribs.
Aida, seizing the opportunity to finally glean any information she could about Effie’s location, decided to introduce a game
of silly questions. Each had to pose a whimsical question to another, who had to answer as truthfully as possible.
As the game progressed, Pippa asked about the strangest animal they had ever seen, Ilario had them make up a movie they would watch, and Dante questioned what their guilty secret might be.
With each round, the wine flowed, the rich flavors of the thousand-euro Barolo warming them from inside.
Aida made it a point to keep Trista’s glass topped off, so she never knew exactly how much wine she consumed.
Aida had never seen Trista drink more than a glass or two before. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to. But Vulcan had said his creations
were nearly identical to humans. Which meant, if they could drink, they could also slip.
And tonight, Trista was slipping.
An hour or so into the game, it was again Aida’s turn. She looked around, making eye contact with each person before settling
her gaze on Trista.
“We’re in the middle of a pandemic, right? If there was a place on earth where all happiness would be most likely to die,
where do you think it might be?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light.
“Bloody hell! Way to dampen the mood, Aida,” Pippa said, socking her in the arm.
“No, no, I can . . . answer that . . .” Trista, visibly more affected by the wine than the others, leaned forward, her eyes
unfocused yet shining with a sudden clarity.
Aida’s breath caught.
Trista’s expression was unreadable. Had she even registered the question? Did she know what she was about to say?
“The Roman Catacombs,” Trista slurred slightly. “That’s where shadows swallow joy whole.”
Aida’s pulse kicked.
“Ci sono molte catacombe, Trista. Which one?” Ilario asked. Aida could have kissed him. Ilario was right. There were many dozens of catacombs in Rome,
let alone the rest of the world, and only a few were open to the public. If she was too pushy, she might arouse Trista’s suspicions,
but coming from Ilario, she would likely be none the wiser.
“Callix, callexess, cal, cal . . .”
Aida’s heart skipped a beat. Trista had to be referring to the Catacombs of Callixtus, an ancient burial ground in Rome.
Pippa suddenly stood. “To the roof!”
“Wha?” Trista looked up in alarm.
“It’s almost New Year’s, silly,” Aida said to her, with an affection that she had never expected to feel for Trista. “Come
on, I’ll help you.” She put her arm around her aide and helped her up.
Dante broke out the prosecco, and together with glasses in hand, they made their way to the roof and watched as Rome celebrated
the first minutes of 2021 from private rooftops, alleys, and yards. Because of the health risks, the mayor had canceled the
official fireworks displays and banned firecrackers and explosives with a hefty €500 fine to be imposed upon violators. But
that wasn’t going to stop the general populace. The flashes of colored light and the acrid smell of smoke brought tears to
Aida’s eyes.
“Look at all this,” Dante said, raising his glass to the sky. “It takes a lot to kill happiness. It might even be impossible.”
Aida looked back at Trista, who had passed out in one of the rooftop deck chairs.
She clinked her glass against his. “I hope you’re right, Dante.”
The next morning, Trista appeared at breakfast with slightly bloodshot eyes. “I need some water,” she told Ilario. “And coffee.”
“How are you feeling, Trista?” Aida asked. She hoped her aide didn’t remember the question about the catacombs. She didn’t
dare ask and raise suspicion.
“What do you say in America? Like I was hit by a truck.”
Pippa set a glass of water in front of her with a smirk.
“Do not say what you’re thinking,” Trista said.
Pippa only laughed and returned to her tasks.
Aida wondered if she had ever been drunk before. “Drink lots of water this morning. It will help.”
Trista downed the water in one gulp. When she set the glass down, the old Trista was back, serious and devoid of much emotion.
She sat up straight. “What happened last night? I woke up in bed this morning with all my clothes on.”
“Dante and I helped you get to bed,” Aida said. “You passed out on the roof during the fireworks.”
“I see.”
Ilario set an espresso before her. She took a sip and made a face.
“What’s in this?”
“Fernet-Branca.”
She put the cup down and pushed it away from her. “I didn’t ask for a caffè corretto. The last thing I need is more alcohol.”
Ilario pushed it back. “No, you must drink. It’s best per i postumi della sbornia.”
Trista looked at him blankly.
“For a hangover,” Aida explained, unsurprised that her aide didn’t know that bit of Italian.
After a moment, Trista picked up the cup again. When she put it down, she asked for another espresso and a carafe of water
to be sent to her office. “We’ll not speak of this again,” she told Aida as she left.
Aida only nodded, all too glad to comply.
After the fireworks, Aida had sent Felix, Yumi, and Luciano New Year wishes, but it was so chaotic that she had decided to
hold off on telling them about the lead on Effie. In the afternoon, Aida returned to the roof to enjoy the briefly warm weather,
a respite between heavy rainstorms. She sat on the couch to message her friends on Signal about the seemingly impossible—getting
into the catacombs during a pandemic lockdown.
I’ll research everything I can on Callixtus, Yumi said. We’ll need all the information we can get.
The place is massive. We’ll need maps, Luciano said.
Felix, do you know anyone who could get us in there? On the premise of research? Aida asked. Aside from being a guide, Felix lived just off the Appian Way near the catacombs.
Before he could answer, a heavy blanket of calm rolled over Aida. She turned off her phone and slid it into her pocket right before Mo came around the corner of the veranda and sat beside her on the couch. Aida’s stomach lurched.
“Happy New Year, little novelist.”
“I am not terribly little,” she retorted, her internal fear shifting to something more sarcastic in the spell of the aegis.
“Seriously, how do you manage to evade the lockdown travel restrictions?”
He shrugged, a dark lock of hair falling into his eye. He pushed it aside. “I told you, MODA has the right connections.”
Mo put an arm on the back of the couch. It reminded Aida of the old TV shows and movies where the boy attempted to be suave
to get the girl to neck with him. She shifted on the couch so she could face him instead. “How did you know I was here? I
didn’t tell anyone I was coming up here.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Dante said you often come to the roof.”
Aida only raised an eyebrow. He was lying. She rarely came to the roof, but the fireworks the night before had given her the
idea.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” he said, his tone softening.
Aida was surprised. He sounded sympathetic.
“Thanks. It was very unexpected.”
“There’s not much I can do, but I can give you this.” He leaned forward and enveloped her in a hug. “I’m so sorry this happened
to you.”
Shocked, Aida found tears coming to her eyes. His words weren’t about Erin. Instead, he seemed to be apologizing for something