The Shadow (The Florentine 2)

It was Tuesday. Raven was having lunch with Patrick and his girlfriend, Gina, both of whom worked at the Uffizi with her, at an osteria near the Piazza Signoria.

Carefully, Raven rested her fork on her bowl of pasta.

“I haven’t seen Batelli since he cornered me in the restoration lab.” She resisted the urge to mention that Batelli had been ordered by his superiors to stay away from her since then.

“I saw him,” Gina interjected. “He and Vitali were on the second floor, arguing.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Patrick tucked into his lunch with gusto. “Batelli looks like an idiot. No fingerprints, no footprints, no physical evidence at all. No wonder Emerson brought in a private firm.”

Raven focused on her meal, trying hard not to think about the reason why no physical evidence was found.

“I understand why Professor Emerson is giving up.” Gina shifted her dark hair behind her ear. “If you look at the major art thefts of the twentieth century, most of the artwork was either retrieved in a few weeks or it was lost for decades. Thieves took thirteen paintings from the Gardner Museum in America. It’s been twenty-five years and they still haven’t recovered them.”

“The FBI think they know who took the paintings,” Raven mused. “National Public Radio did a story about it.”

“In twenty-five years, NPR can do a story about Batelli and how he harassed innocent employees while failing to find a single clue.” Patrick gave Raven a sympathetic look.

“I have a theory.” Gina lowered her voice, glancing between her friends. “I don’t think the theft was one of opportunity, because there are other rooms that are more accessible. I think the thieves had a buyer in mind. They’ve probably already delivered the illustrations and the new owner is hiding them.”

Raven’s cheeks flamed as she thought of the elaborate display on the walls of William’s villa. She began nibbling at her pasta determinedly.

“I agree.” Patrick leaned over to press a chaste kiss on his girlfriend’s cheek. “I think Emerson knows this, he’s frustrated with Interpol and the Italian police, and he’s decided to throw in the towel. For now.”

Raven made an effort to sound nonchalant. “Do you think he will come back?”

“Emerson strikes me as a stubborn person. He isn’t going to give up completely, but he isn’t going to waste his time waiting for Batelli to grow a brain.” Patrick sipped his wine and replaced the glass on the table. “I hope Vitali keeps Batelli away from us. He was quoted in La Nazione saying he won’t rest until the culprits are found. I have a suspicion he’s going to want to interview us again, since he doesn’t have any other leads.”

Raven kept her eyes fixed on her lunch, not knowing what to say.

“Enough talk about Batelli.” Patrick’s posture relaxed. “How about you, Raven? What are you going to do when the restoration project finishes?”

“I still have a position at the Opificio. But I won’t be expected to return until September. As soon as the project at the Uffizi is finished, I’ll be on vacation.” Raven touched her gold bracelet.

“Will you go back to the States? Or are you and the rare vintages collector on again?” Patrick pointed to her adorned wrist.

“I’m not sure what I’m doing for vacation, but yes.” She smiled. “He came to see me after my birthday.”

“So you have a boyfriend.” Patrick gave Gina a significant look.

Raven squirmed. “Yes.”

“I’m happy for you.” Gina lifted her glass in a toast.

The three friends clinked their glasses together and the subject of conversation turned back to their respective jobs at the Uffizi and workplace gossip.

As they approached the employees’ entrance after lunch, Gina placed a cautious hand on Raven’s arm. “Raven?”

“I’ll catch up with you two later.” Patrick gave Gina a lingering kiss before disappearing through the door.

Raven leaned on her cane, looking at Gina expectantly.

“I wanted to apologize,” she stammered. “About my cousin. I was speaking with Roberto yesterday, asking him about you.”

Raven chewed at the inside of her mouth, wondering what Roberto had said.

“He was angry with me,” Gina confessed. “He thought I was trying to play matchmaker and that I was doing it only because he’s blind and because . . . because of your leg.”

She glanced down at Raven’s cane and blushed.

“That wasn’t what I was doing. I just thought you and he would have a lot to talk about. You’re both good people who love artwork and history. I thought you would understand one another. But I didn’t think— I didn’t think that it was only because of your handicaps.”

Gina bit her lip, her expression sorrowful.

“I’m not saying this correctly. Roberto said I was prejudiced, thinking handicapped people should only be with other handicapped people. But that’s not what I thought. I just wanted you and Roberto to know each other—not to be romantic, necessarily, but to be friends.”

Raven stared. Her friend was obviously in distress, and even though her explanation was muddled, it seemed sincere. Certainly, it appeared Roberto had given voice to the concerns Raven herself had had. She could hardly fault Gina for apologizing.

“Thank you,” Raven said quickly. “I like Roberto. He’s a good person and I know we’ll be friends. So thank you for introducing us.” She touched the bracelet she was wearing, almost instinctively. “But I’m seeing someone.”

“I’m glad.” Gina’s smile was wide and happy. “I will tell Roberto this, and he will be happy for you, too.”

She opened the door for her friend and held it, before following Raven into the corridor.

Chapter Eighteen

“‘Transformations are strictly forbidden until further notice. Any killing of human beings within the city is also strictly forbidden. Violations of this new law are punishable by death.’” Niccolò lifted his gaze from the scroll he was reading, interrupted as he was by a cacophony of noise emanating from his fellow Consilium members.

Maximilian was already on his feet. “You’re taking away our ability to add to our numbers and to defend ourselves.” He leveled angry eyes on the Prince. “Your edict means death!”

“Sit down.” The Prince’s voice was low, barely above a whisper. Max hesitated, but only for an instant. Then he slung his large body back into his chair. The Prince stared at him, his body still, his gray eyes cold and angry.

“If I may, my lord.” Niccolò looked at the throne.

The Prince waved a hand in his direction.

Niccolò turned to face his detractor. “I am eager to hear your alternatives, Sir Maximilian. But before we entertain them, I’d like you to accompany me to the principality library. I want to show you the accounts of the Curia’s massacre of Prague.”

The other members of the Consilium began to murmur in response. Niccolò continued to stare at Max until the Prussian giant lowered his gaze.

“We must do all we can to avoid Prague’s fate. The best course of action is for the principality to exist quietly and avoid undue attention. Will you mind the new recruits? Keep them from killing when they feed?”

Max remained sullen.

Niccolò turned his attention to the other Consilium members. “Friends, the austerity measures are temporary but necessary. We must work together to promote them amongst the citizens and persuade them to obey.”

“Precisely,” said the Prince. “We don’t know the Curia’s plans. As intelligence is gathered, we may modify our response. But unless you wish hundreds of blackcoats swarming our streets, you must support and enforce the new laws.”

His gray eyes moved from member to member, pausing perhaps a bit too long when they met Aoibhe’s eyes. The Prince nodded at his head of security to continue.

The lieutenant bowed. “With respect to the Curia, there are wheels within wheels. It’s possible they’re looking to make an example of a principality in or

der to demonstrate their power to the Americans, who are notoriously unruly. If we bide our time, perhaps their eyes will fixate elsewhere and we may regain our former liberty.”

“We could distract them.” Pierre stood and bowed. “Why not send a killing party to Zurich, London, or Berlin? Have them pile bodies in a public square. Panic will ensue and the Curia will have no choice but to forget Florence and deal with it.”

“The thought had occurred to me,” the Prince observed. “If you were caught, the diversion would be in vain. We’d find ourselves under renewed scrutiny and at war with another principality.”

“They would have to deal with panicked humans first,” Pierre countered. “If the spectacle was large and public, the Curia would have to investigate it. They’d be focused on another city, not Florence.”

“They’re adept at dealing with more than one principality at a time. But I agree, it would attract attention.” The Prince gazed at Pierre with renewed interest. “Are you volunteering?”

“It would be an honor, my lord.” Pierre gave an exaggerated bow.

“The covens in Switzerland are sparse and weak. We needn’t fear retaliation from them and certainly the Curia would be surprised by killings within those borders. But Switzerland is near. What about Paris? If you were caught, they’d think you hailed from the city.”