Acquainted With the Night (9781101546000) (38 page)

Caro's bracelets clicked as she tilted the box. The dazzling colors seemed to vibrate, washing over the back of her hand. Obsidian, lapis, topaz, amethyst, shot through with gilt. Each page curled at the edges like dried tobacco leaves.

“All this trouble for a book?” Demos snorted.

Father Aeneas's breath stirred his beard. “It is
Historia Immortalis
.”

“How long were the pages stored at the bank?” Jude asked.

“It's impossible to know,” Father Aeneas said. “The Gospel of Judas deteriorated while it sat in a Long Island lockbox for years.”

Lines slashed across Jude's forehead as he bent down to study the page. “Why would Sir Nigel put a valuable book in a city of water? What if the bank had flooded?”

“The lockbox was in a special room,” Demos said. “It would take a tsunami for water to reach that vault.”

“But it still seems rather careless,” Jude said.

“No,” Caro said. “My uncle wasn't the capricious type. He hid the pages in Venice for a reason.”

“I agree.” Father Aeneas nodded. “He knew the vellum would be safe. It is durable. These pages have lasted over a thousand years.”

Jude whistled. “That long?”

Father Aeneas pointed to the lavish black script. “You are looking at the literary brainchild of Charlemagne. Notice the upper- and lowercase letters? The words are spaced and do not run together. It is called Carolingian minuscule. Named after—”

“I just can't believe it.” Caro lifted the cardboard lid and flipped it over. An envelope swung down, hanging by a strip of yellowed tape. Using the tip of her fingernail, she opened the envelope and pulled out a bill of sale from Sotheby's auction house in London.

Father Aeneas peered over her shoulder. “The provenance,” he said.

“What's a provenance?” Jude asked.

“A list of previous owners.” Father Aeneas gestured to the paper. “It helps prevent the sale of stolen artifacts.”

At the bottom of the page, Caro stared at the signature.
Vivienne Wilkerson.
So it was true. Her mother had been married to that British man.

“I'd hoped Sir Nigel would have left a note about the third icon.” Father Aeneas's eyes drooped at the edges.

“It could be anywhere,” Demos said. “You could spend the rest of your days looking.”

“Maybe the note is stuck between the pages,” Jude said.

“Brilliant idea,” Caro said, and bent over to examine them. Hypnotic colors ran along the scrolled border, distracting her for a moment. She sifted through the pages. Nothing.

Father Aeneas held up the cardboard box. Light streamed through tiny circles. “Do you see the pinholes in the cardboard?” he asked, his voice rising. “They were put here so the vellum pages could breathe.”

“See if the box has a false bottom.” Demos handed his pocketknife to the monk.

Father Aeneas ran the blade along the edges of the box, scraping the corners. The upper right section loosened, curling, and the monk peeled back the cardboard. Hidden underneath was a small envelope.

Father Aeneas's hand shook as he handed it to Caro. When she opened it, a yellowed paper slid out. She recognized her uncle's precise handwriting.

Jude stepped closer. “More anagrams?”

“They're not encrypted,” she said, tracing her finger over the last phrase. “ ‘Vita' means life. Uncle Nigel is telling me the quest is over and to get on with my life.”

“What about ‘Rev 1'?” Jude asked.

“The Book of Revelation,” Father Aeneas said. “The ‘I' doubtlessly refers to the introduction and benediction. ‘Blessed is he who reads and those who hear the words of this prophecy, and keep those things which are written in it, for the time is near.'”

Caro drew in a ragged gasp. The time was near for
what
? She glanced at Jude. He looked pale and troubled.

Father Aeneas patted her arm. “Now it is clear why Sir Nigel involved me. He knew you would need someone to examine the vellum. To make sure the leaves aren't forgeries.”

“Maybe they are all fake,” Demos said.

“How could you determine authenticity unless you had a piece of the original?” Caro lifted a page. Something else bothered her too—the order of her uncle's clues. He'd taught her to pay attention to all parts of a puzzle. Venice hadn't been an arbitrary hiding place for the vellum. Every mark in her uncle's passport, every word, held meaning. If he'd been concerned about forgery, he would have listed the anagrams in reverse—first, she would have traveled to Venice and retrieved the pages. Next, she would have found the villa and Raphael Della Rocca. Finally, she would have gone to the monastery.

Father Aeneas turned to Demos. “We must return to Varlaam immediately.”

“Why?” Caro said.

The monk looked puzzled. “Because my tools are there. And I know an excellent paleographer in Meteora. We'll need to arrange for carbon dating, of course.”

Demos sighed. “I'll check the ferry schedules.”

“I can't go back to Meteora.” Caro slid her uncle's note into the box. “My uncle intended for me to locate Isla Carbonera. Then, I've got to find Signore Della Rocca.”

“But your life could be in danger. You must come with me to Varlaam. I must inspect the pages. If they are not authentic, there is no reason for anyone to chase you.”

“I agree with Caro,” Jude said. “She needs to find the villa. It doesn't matter if these pages are genuine. Whoever is chasing her won't be privy to your findings. They'll assume these pages are real, and they'll hunt her until it's finished.”

“When I find Isla Carbonera, I'll bring everything to Varlaam. Father, you have my word.”

“As you wish.” Father Aeneas sighed. “I will examine the pages when God wills it.”

“I knew we should have brought the van,” Demos said.

“Call the front desk, Demos. Perhaps they will know where to find Isla Carbonera.” Father Aeneas grimaced and pressed his fist to his chest. “Too much excitement for an old man.”

“And too many gyros on the ferry,” Demos said.

“I'll be fine.” Father Aeneas twirled one finger in the air. “Call the front desk.”

“This can wait.” Demos pulled up one of the carved chairs. “Sit, sit.”

“Eh.” Father Aeneas shrugged.

“Should I call a doctor?” Caro asked. The monk seemed suddenly too frail to lift a gyro, much less a crossbow.

“No, no. I do not trust the Italians. Demos is right. I shouldn't have eaten the gyros. I need bicarbonate of soda.”

“Which is first?” Demos rubbed his eyebrows, making them stand up. “Call the front desk or get the soda?”

“Soda,” Father Aeneas said. “I will be ready to travel in an hour.”

“There's no hurry.” Caro tucked the box into her duffel bag. She pointed to his icon. “May I borrow it for an hour or so? I want to study the images.”

“Yes, of course. Demos, wrap the panel for Caroline.”

Demos pulled a pillow from its case and slid the icon inside. He cradled it like an egg and eased it inside her bag.

“Bah.” Father Aeneas waved one hand. “I shall wait. Dusk is coming. It is safer to travel in daylight.”

Daylight, Caro thought as she followed Jude into the hall. She hurried after him, her bracelets clinking. “Jude, slow down.”

He turned. “Sorry. I'm in a bit of a rush.”

“I'll say. Are you going to help me find Isla Carbonera?”

“I wish I could.” His lips tightened into a thin line. “My train leaves tonight.”

Her chest tightened. She'd been dreading this moment, and now it was here. “Were you going to say good-bye?”

He looked away. “I hadn't thought that far. I'm not leaving until nine o'clock.”

She pushed back her sleeve to check her watch, but saw a bare patch of skin. “Dammit.”

“What's wrong?”

“My watch. I must have lost it at Varlaam.” She rubbed her chest. Any second now she'd hyperventilate. “I thought you'd stay awhile longer.”

“It wasn't an easy decision.”

“Are you going back to Switzerland?”

“No.”

“Scotland?”

“I can't put Lady Patricia in danger.”

“Then where?” Her chest sawed up and down.

Jude hesitated and his face contorted, as if he'd just stepped on a nail. “It's best if you don't know.”

“You promised you'd stay until I was safe.”

His face relaxed. “But you are. Father Aeneas and Demos will look after you.”

“So this is it? I'll never see you again?” She squeezed the bracelets, digging them into her wrist. Maybe the pain would prevent her from crying.

“I shall always think about you,” he said.

Her mouth grew dry. She wanted more than an occasional thought. She loved him, and she wanted him to love her, too.

“We made a good team, didn't we?” he said.

She squeezed the bracelets a bit harder, and the sharp bite of pain seemed to help. She might be devastated, but she was alive. Jude had saved her life, but perhaps he'd fulfilled his role in this adventure. Fate was pushing him toward another quest, just as it was pushing her to the mysterious villa. Her breathing slowed, and her mouth didn't feel quite so dry. “We did,” she said in a clear, calm voice.

“Take care of yourself, Caro.”

“Can I buy you a farewell drink?” She fully expected him to decline, but she wanted to delay him a few seconds longer. She looked up into his eyes, memorizing the exact placement of the brown specks in his blue irises.
Please say yes.

His head tipped back a little, and he blinked. “Yes,” he said.

She repressed a smile. “Should I drop my bag in my room?”

“We'd better stay away from there,” he said, taking her arm. “Come on.”

As Jude and Caro walked along the Grand Canal, afternoon light hit the palaces, staining them pink. Water slapped against the gondolas, and the boats drifted, straining against the ropes that lashed them to the pier. The bells in St. Mark's Square began to clang, and they walked to the church. Cafés rimmed the piazza and the smell of baked bread wafted through the air.

“Let's keep walking,” Jude said. “Unless you think we'll get lost.”

“You know what those silly tourist guides say—getting lost in Venice is part of the adventure.”

“You're struggling with that bag,” he said. “Let me carry it for a while.”

She gladly handed it over, and they wandered to Campo di Santa Margarita, where smells from the morning fish market still lingered. The campo spread out in a T, each section jammed with tourists. A little boy in a red coat kicked a rubber ball across the square. The fading light hit the tops of the buildings, brightening one side of the square, throwing the other into shade.

“It's crowded,” Jude said. “What's the occasion?”

“Campo di Santa Margarita is always this way,” she said.

They turned into Café Rosso, and Jude led her to a table in the back. A waiter took their drink orders and stepped toward the bar. Caro leaned across the table.

“What if I can't find Villa Primaverina?” she asked.

“You will. I have faith in you.”

“Please come with me.”

“Caro,” he said, giving her a warning glance.

“Aren't you even a little curious about what I'll find at this villa?”

“Of course.” He looked past her, out the window.

She grabbed his hands. “Stay one more day. Just one.” She knew how she sounded. Desperate. But she had nothing to lose.

He pulled away. “You know what will happen.”

“You make it sound terrible, like being with me is as dangerous as smoking crack.”

“It is.”

The waiter set down their wine and bustled off. She thought about Father Aeneas's theory. Her predatory genes had attracted Jude. She was a human cone shell. And its alluring effect had strengthened after she'd been bitten.

Jude lifted his glass. “I've already explained why I loathe vampires. You need to focus on other issues, like finding Villa Primaverina. Or going back for your two million euros.”

“Don't lecture me.” Her stomach tensed as she watched him drain the glass and signal the waiter for a refill.

Without looking at her, he said, “What are you going to do with the vellum leaves?”

“Hide them in another lockbox.” She rubbed her finger over the rim of her untouched glass. “Then I'll hide.”

The waiter stopped beside Jude, set down a full glass of Merlot, and moved to another table. Jude lifted the glass and took a swallow. “Please be careful. Too many people have died because of those pages.”

“If you were truly concerned about my welfare, you'd stay.”

“I never said I wasn't worried.” He drank the rest of his wine.

Caro slid her glass out of his reach. “When you look at me, you see a monster, but I'm just an ordinary girl in a bar.”

He gave her a long, contemplative stare, then he said, “You're anything but ordinary.”

Darkness gathered between the buildings as Jude walked Caro back to the hotel. The streets were crowded and she fell in step behind him, pinching his jacket. He hurried past Campo Rusolo and stopped in front of a jewelry shop.

“Maybe they sell watches,” he said, and opened the door. A bell dinged over his head as he stepped through a vestibule. Caro followed him inside and stopped at a display table. She lifted a silver goblet that was heavily engraved with hunting dogs.