Chapter 3 #2
Mel wondered about that moment. He had been standing there, smiling, although obviously tired.
Then he had shaken Francesca’s hand, and Mel had felt that burst of fear.
Then he had gone out on the portico and grasped Francesca’s hands again, on purpose, and the same thing seemed to happen, leaving him in pain and carrying around someone else’s terror.
Her talento d’empatia had never discerned anything like this before. She shook her head.
She picked up the voice recorder and thumbed it off, thinking about the non-interview she had recorded with Dr. Ricci yesterday and remembering his origami bees.
Interesting coincidence, but her mom had taught her there was no such thing.
Coincidence is the universe pointing out something important. Pay attention.
“That’s the interview, then?” Daniel asked hopefully.
She looked over at him. “The on-the-record part. Perfect timing too, because we are approaching the outskirts of Firenze and I need to practice my Italian driving persona. Pedestrians are worth twenty points. Scooters are fifty. Keep score.”
Mel hadn’t been kidding about her Italian driving persona.
Daniel was impressed that she not only knew how to swear in Italian, but used hand gestures that sometimes involved her teeth in ways that looked downright painful.
But she held her own in the insane traffic, which included everything from unwieldy trucks to tiny scooters driven by natives who knew even more nonverbal signals.
He could only marvel at her driving prowess.
Daniel’s first impression of Florence was of the trees lining the roadway on their approach—the tall, skinny fingers of cypresses and the giant umbrellas of ancient stone pines.
He had been to Milan and Bologna for conferences and lectures, but his sightseeing had been limited to quick forays just outside the meeting venues out of a sheer lack of time.
The other thing he noticed, with the convertible top down and the scents of the city blowing through the car, was the hint of strong espresso overlaid with the powerful smell of diesel exhaust, punctuated by the high-pitched whine of countless scooters.
Now, as they pulled up at the brick and glass structure of Santa Maria Novella, which looked out of place across from the ancient church from which it took its name, he was fascinated by the contrasts. A modern city with, as Mel had put it, ancient bones.
“If anyone approaches you, drive around the circle. But they won’t,” Mel said as she opened her door. “If you drive off with my car, I will have the entire Carabinieri after you. If you so much as scratch her, I will—”
“Call the pope?”
“Exactly!”
Daniel considered the console then got out and circled around to take her place. “You could let me—”
She shook her head. “Trust me, my Italian is better than yours, and, despite the fact that you are a fine-looking specimen, my persuasive powers are legendary. I can confirm whether your friends arrived and that their scheduled departure is still the same without arousing suspicions.” She held up his copy of the itinerary.
“I’ll vouch for your persuasive powers.”
She waggled her cell phone at him. “Based on the news feeds, nothing unusual has happened to that particular train, or any train for that matter. But I’ll get confirmation anyway. When I get back, we’ll find a parking spot and grab something to eat. I’m starved.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted and folded himself into the driver’s seat, with his knees getting far too well acquainted with the steering wheel. He heard Mel snort as he groped for the seat adjustment lever, but when he looked up, she acted perfectly innocent.
“And please, if you see any of the group, don’t go speeding off after them. A lot of these streets are designated for foot traffic only.” She glanced around at all the pedestrians. “Don’t worry. We’ll catch up with them.”
“No, ma’am,” he said. “I mean, yes, ma’am,” he corrected. But it was Francesca he needed to catch up with. She was the key. He hadn’t seen the rest of the group.
“I must be insane,” she said, mostly to herself, as she took off toward the entrance.
No. I’m the one who would be classified as insane, Daniel thought as he watched her go.
He wondered if she was always so upbeat, so bouncy.
She must be about his age, but she radiated a youthful exuberance that was contagious.
Then at other times she seemed wise beyond her years—serene and calm.
After spending more than an hour with her, speeding through both the mountains and Florence traffic, in addition to an interview that should have left him drained, he felt better than he had in a long time.
He could still sense the vision in his mind. The fear and terror that Francesca had felt, was going to feel, jangled through his nerves. He shoved it away and thought about what he was going to have to do when he got home to his mountain.
Go into the cave. Confront the old magic up close and personal. Place his hand into the handprint Grace had found when she was a child and…then what? Grace thought it would stop the headaches, help him handle his gift better, focus it, as it had with her and Nick.
What he really wanted was to be rid of it.
Daniel had always thought of the old magic as Mother Nature. As a child, if he asked a question about why the honeybees behaved in a particular way, Pops would say, That’s the old magic whispering to ’em, telling ’em what to do.
He remembered Nick’s joke that he hadn’t even known there was such a thing as new magic, much less old, until his visit to the cave.
But Pops had rarely talked about the old magic.
When he had, it was with a reverence he reserved for only a few things in his world: his mountain, the stars in its night sky, and Gram—his Kat.
Then, last year, all that had changed. Pops had died and Grace had rediscovered the ancient carvings buried deep in the mountain, carvings she had encountered when she was a child exploring the heart of their mountain.
Along with those carvings, she and Nick had found their great-great-great-grandmother’s journals.
Granny Lily had been an Appalachian granny witch.
They had been the only medical resource around when doctors were not only scarce in the mountain communities but looked on with distrust. Granny witches had a responsibility for caring for the community by passing down their skills to a chosen female relative.
But Granny Lily hadn’t trained anyone. Instead, she had written everything she knew in her journals. And one of them had given a name to the abilities Grace had inherited, and Daniel as well—gifts.
Daniel made a derisive huff. He could think of a more appropriate term—afflictions. Grace was learning to live with hers but hers was beneficial. She could literally save lives with a touch or change plants to create more potent herbal medicines.
But his gift had only ever confused him, tormenting him with vague dreams, strange instances of déjà vu and, now and then, a confusing nightmare just to keep things interesting.
But recently the nightmares had begun to rob him of sleep, showing him a terrifying future full of ecological disasters.
Warning him of a contagion that would someday rob him of his future, his child, and the woman he loved—a woman he hadn’t even met.
“Hello?”
He straightened, looking up at Mel’s confused expression.
“I said, could you resume the copilot seat, Dr. Woodruff? Unless you’re ready to attempt the streets of Firenze solo?”
“I think that requires a level of insanity I haven’t reached.” Daniel opened the door and got out to go around the car.
“Yet,” said Mel as he climbed back in.
“I assume all the Bologna trains arrived safely?”
“Yes. Your friends are out and about somewhere. Despite my persuasive abilities, the guy behind the counter gave me a suspicious look, so we should move out of the vicinity, quickly.”
Mel adjusted her seat with a groan. “Good grief, you have long legs. I bet you have as much fun shopping for clothes as I do.” She glanced in the mirror and turned to stare behind them. “Have those guys been there this whole time?”
A dark sedan was parked right up to the bumper of the Mini, which was odd, considering there was plenty of parking on the other side of the drive. He couldn’t see the people in the car clearly. “Sorry, I was miles away. Didn’t notice them.”
“Mmmm. Okay, we are out of here.” She meant it, peeling out fast enough to make Daniel buckle his seatbelt.
She went around a few corners and up some very narrow streets that he suspected may not have been intended for cars at all, then found a tiny parking spot and wedged the Mini into it.
“There. Safe and sound and surprisingly legal.” She pushed a button. All the windows went down and then back up after the top rose and quietly settled over the car.
Daniel unfolded himself yet again and stood, stretching appreciatively as Mel pulled her pack out of the car.
“You’re going to lug that around with you?”
“Seriously? I never leave anything I value in my car.” She patted the sturdy-looking backpack which held her laptop and recorder. “This baby is like a traveling safe. Pickpockets hate me.” She looked him over. “You don’t carry a wad of cash in your pocket or anything, do you?”
“I may be from the backwoods, but I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck.
” He checked the hidden pocket looped over his belt that held his passport and other valuables, then looked at his satchel.
There was nothing in it that he couldn’t live without.
His tablet was at the hotel, but the beat-up leather bag had belonged to Pops.
He tugged it out and looped it over his head. “Food?”