Rampant (6 page)

“Stop!” I gasped.

Another figure flew by, shouting in Italian.
“Fermate il ladro!”

I caught a glimpse of jeans and a faded red shirt rushing past, arms and legs scissoring in perfect runner’s form. I puffed and tried my best to keep up as the three of us barreled toward the end of the piazza, where the ancient planes of the racecourse gave way to buildings and shadowed alleyways.

The thief had picked his alley well. So narrow I could touch both sides with my fingertips, it was also blocked by a Dumpster and parked motorbikes. I jumped over a concrete post, banging my shin, and limped on.

I overtook them just as the runner in red grabbed hold of the little boy by the back of his T-shirt. The child squealed and for a second I thought he’d wriggle right out of his clothes. But then the runner closed his hand around the boy’s matchstick arm and started issuing orders in a tone I didn’t need to know Italian to understand.

Give it back to her.

“What did he take?” The runner asked me. There were traces of sweat on his temple, and his black curls stuck to the dark skin of his forehead. His English held no trace of an accent.

“My purse,” I said, still out of breath. I wasn’t sure I liked the way my helper’s hand completely encircled the child’s upper arm, thief or no. “Be careful with him.”

The guy looked at the little boy in his grip, then at me. “I hate to break it to you, but this kid doesn’t have a purse on him.” He let him go, and the kid scampered off almost as quickly as a unicorn.

“No!” I yelled. “He was in a gang. He knows which one of them has it.”

“Make up your mind.” The guy shook his head. “Besides, your purse is long gone. They’re very organized. If you don’t have your eye on the actual item being stolen, it’ll get passed among them and you’ll never find it again.”

I growled in frustration and thumped my fist against the lid of the Dumpster. “But we could have made him lead us to it.” Maybe.

“No, we couldn’t. It’s just one of those things. I’m so sorry, but welcome to Rome.” He looked me over, and in the dim light of the alley, his eyes were almost black. “You’re American, right? Me, too. Giovanni Cole.”

I shook his hand. “Astrid Llewelyn. I can’t believe it’s gone, just like that.”

“Astrid. That’s an unusual name for an American.”

“So’s Giovanni,” I snapped, but he just raised his eyebrows, so I took a deep breath. After all, he hadn’t been the one to steal my purse. “My mom’s a little…. hard-core. She wanted to give me the name of a warrior.”

“My mom’s Italian,” Giovanni said. “Mine just means
John
.” He was silent for a moment, and I still seethed. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear it right now, but the next time a bunch
of Gypsy kids come at you like that, don’t be afraid to just shove them off.”

“You can forget that,” said a voice behind me. Phil had arrived at the entrance to the alley, along with another young man. “Astrid would cut off her hand before she’d lay a finger on a child.”

“So it seems.” Giovanni was still looking at me, which made it really hard for me to check him out in return. I took what I could from quick glances in his direction. Slim build, dark, close-cropped hair, high cheekbones, really nice skin.

“I told you we’d find them together,” the other guy said.

Phil put her hand on my shoulder. “You didn’t have anything valuable in there, did you? Your passport?”

My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh no!”

“It’s okay, honey. This happens all the time. The embassy can get you a new one.” They’d better! I wanted to be able to leave as soon as I could.

“But what will we tell Neil?” I slumped against the nearest stoop. Maybe this was why Cory refused to leave the Cloisters. “We’re not even supposed to be here.”

“Who’s Neil?” the second boy asked.

“Our chaperone.” Phil smoothed my hair. “Come on, Asteroid, buck up. This isn’t a big deal.” She tugged a few strands entirely harder than necessary and whispered, “Why don’t you introduce me to your
new friend?
And
his
friend?”

Oh.
I looked up, but I was too late. “His friend” was already doing the honors.

“I’m Seth Gavriel.” This one had an accent, though it was a soft, lilting, Southern one. His hair was light brown, his eyes an unusual kelly green. Freckles dotted his nose.

“Phil Llewelyn. So what brings you boys to Rome?” She nudged me again and I stood.

“We’re supposed to be in a language immersion program,” Seth said. “Don’t we look immersed to you?”

“Totally.”

“My mom decided it was high time that I embrace my heritage,” Giovanni said to me. “And since it meant coming to Rome, I didn’t argue.”

“That sounds familiar,” Phil said. She had taken similar advantage of the situation.

“What are y’all here for?” Seth asked.

“Medicine,” I said at the same time Phil came out with “History.”

“Wow,” said Seth, turning to me for the first time. “Aren’t you a bit young for that?”

Translated:
You’re not even in college, are you?
“It’s a unique program,” I said, and Phil stuck her tongue out at me, then whipped it back in as soon as Seth directed those green eyes of his back at her. “But very advanced.”

“It’s our first night out in Rome,” Phil prompted with a pout. “And look what happened! Maybe we should just pack it in, don’t you think, Astrid?”

I did indeed, but clearly Phil had other ideas.

“Don’t do that!” Seth said, in a tone as tempting as molasses. “I’m sure we can salvage the evening, even if we are down a few euros and a passport.”

“And a bus pass,” I grumbled.

Seth looked at me. “Tell you what. I’ll spot you your first gelato.”

“How chivalrous.” Phil beamed at him. “Looks like we fell in
with a couple of white knights, Cuz.”

Knights and maidens. Perfect. And Giovanni was still watching me in silence. As Phil and her new conquest wandered back down the alley, he spoke.

“I
am
sorry about your purse. Maybe I should have let you deal with that pickpocket in your own way.”

“Right, the way where I wouldn’t have laid a finger on him? Think that would have gotten me any farther?”

“No. You’re an unusual warrior.”

“You have no idea.” If he thought I was fast running after a pickpocket, he should see me chasing unicorns.

Giovanni’s lips quirked the tiniest bit, but it was enough to open up his whole face. He wasn’t as tall as Seth, nor as broadly built, but I liked the look of him. “You’re not really in med school, are you?”

I lowered my head. So much for that. “Try high school. I’m sixteen.”

“I just turned eighteen.” He pursed his lips and nodded. “That’s not too bad.”

Now I met his eyes in challenge. “Too bad for what?”

“To do this.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and offered me his elbow, and as I took it, thrills radiated out to the ends of my hair and down to my toes. “Come on, Astrid the Warrior.”

S
ETH TOOK US TO
T
ESTACCIO
, a neighborhood filled with nightclubs and street performers along the edge of the river. I’d never been much for clubbing, but after the silent darkness of the bone-strewn Cloisters, pounding techno music and flashing lights were a welcome change. The place was packed with young people, they didn’t ask for ID at the door, and women in tight tops wandered the place passing out brightly colored shots in test tubes. Seth took an assortment and passed them around. Mine was yellow and lemon flavored, and Phil had both a red and a green. Giovanni took an orange one during the first round, then laughed and passed his purple follow-up tube back to Seth.

We soon got separated from Phil and Seth in the crowd, which didn’t surprise me, though it did mean Giovanni had no one to dance with but me. Unfortunate, since Phil is a much better dancer than I am. She does this move where her hair swings in syncopation with her hips that I have never been able to replicate. Giovanni was a good dancer, too, but a few moments
after we lost the others, he grabbed my hand and pulled me off the dance floor.

“It’s too loud in here,” he shouted in my ear. “Want to go someplace more quiet and talk?”

I knew what those code words meant. Talk means
make out.
“I shouldn’t leave Phil,” I shouted back.

“Good point.”

We stood there for a few moments, watching the crowd gyrate. Was I really that bad at dancing that he wouldn’t be seen with me out there? I looked at him and he leaned in again.

“I have to leave,” he said. “Please come with me. I don’t want to leave you here alone. We can just go outside, or I think there’s a café next door.” He turned and started for the exit, and I followed him, baffled.

As soon as we were beyond the pounding of the music, he stopped and looked at me, his jaw set. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” I said. He didn’t look like he wanted to make a move on me at all. “What’s wrong?”

“Headache. I hope you don’t mind.”

I shook my head. “Not at all. Want to get some water or something? Maybe you’re dehydrated.”

He looked away. “Sure.”

We bought a bottled still water and an orange Fanta from a vendor on the corner, then sat on a stone wall near the nightclub, close enough so that Phil and Seth would see us if they looked out.

“Do you want to know why this place is called Testaccio?” he asked me abruptly and pointed at a hill rising in the distance. “That’s Monte Testaccio. It means the mountain of potsherds.”

“Potsherds?”

“Broken pottery. That hill is made entirely of bits of vases and amphoras from ancient Rome. Traders would bring in shipments up the Tiber River and then dump the empty containers here.” He shrugged. “It’s like an ancient Tupperware cemetery.”

And I was living in the ancient unicorn graveyard. I think I’d prefer broken clay pots. “You know a lot about ancient Rome.”

“I was majoring in art history.” He took a long drink and stared out at the hill.

“No wonder you were happy about coming to Rome, then.” It was official: he really just wanted to talk.

“Yeah.”

Though he wasn’t talking much.

“I haven’t been out much since I got here,” I tried, channeling Phil’s easy way with boys. “What do you think I shouldn’t miss around here—aside from mountains made of pottery?”

“The Colosseum, of course,” he said. “They light it up at night. It’s amazing.”

“That’s actually right near where we’re staying.”

“Really?” He turned back to me. “That’s a cool neighborhood.” And he began telling me of ancient churches and holy relics, of vast, underground excavations that uncovered a new era of history with every layer they dug beneath the city. He talked of historical popes who threatened to knock down Rome’s most famous landmark, the Colosseum, to give themselves straight shots from the Vatican to the Cathedral of Rome, and how the ancient Roman Forum was once half-buried under a cow pasture in the middle of the city. I imagined cattle picking their way among bits of columns and arches that stuck up above the earth, chewing their cuds over the tombs of Caesar and Romulus, dropping steaming patties in the once sacred Temple of Vesta.

His smile came more easily now, and he told me gruesome stories of gladiators and gladiator schools, of how they used to divert the Tiber to flood the Colosseum and hold mock sea battles, of how there hadn’t actually been all that many Christians thrown to the lions after all. I wondered if they’d ever held unicorn hunting exhibitions.

“I should take you to the Borghese Gallery,” he went on. “There was this Cardinal, Scipio Borghese, back in the Renaissance, and he used his power in the church to bully other patrons of the arts into handing over their stuff. ‘Give me your Michelangelo or face the Inquisition.’ It’s the best collection.”

“That sounds fun,” I said.

“What sounds fun?” Phil and Seth joined us, holding hands and glistening with sweat.

“Giovanni says there’s this great museum—”

“Oh no,” Seth groaned. “No more museums, Jo.” He turned to Phil. “He’s been torturing me with them for weeks.”

Giovanni took another drink from his water bottle and didn’t respond, but the light had gone out of his face. I looked down at the space between us, at his hand resting on the stone wall, a few inches from my own. I slid my pinky over until it grazed against his.

His eyes met mine.

And there, in the space between heartbeats, I sensed it. Not a sound, not a sight, not a feeling, but some combination of all three. Was it the whisper of a breath or a flash of dark on dark in the shadows under the hill? Was the air tinged with the scent of embers and decay? Was it that feeling of the night in the forest back home, where I knew something was watching me, had ignored it, and had paid the price?

Giovanni frowned. “Astrid?”

I was on my feet, scanning the hill, but the moment had passed. The hair on my arms stood at attention, and adrenaline flooded my system, but there was nothing there. Nothing to chase, either human or monster. Nothing but my paranoia.

“Let’s go,” I said. “It’s getting pretty late, and we’re on the far side of town.” I practically pushed Phil away from the hill, away from the wall, and powered across the square. Giovanni gathered up our empty bottles and hurried after us, and Seth caught up on Phil’s side.

“Well, let’s escort you home, at least,” he said. “Protect you from all those nasty pickpockets.”

“No complaints here,” I said, though my goose bumps couldn’t possibly be attributed to Gypsy children. As long as we were moving away from Monte Testaccio, I’d be happy.

Even if it meant returning to the Cloisters.

The alley in front of the Cloisters was not lit by streetlamps, and the heavily wooded park across the street provided little in the way of illumination. Phil, who had, perhaps, imbibed a few too many test tubes that evening, practically killed herself by tottering onto the cobblestones in her steeply sloped espadrilles. Seth kept a hand around her waist, making sure she suffered no worse than a twisted ankle; and Giovanni and I brought up the rear.

“You’re staying here?” he asked, as we turned past the graffiti-speckled wall and into the entrance courtyard. No lights shone from the few windows facing the enclosure, but the moon, which had been hidden from view in the alleyway, bathed the stones in a pale, silvery glow. “What is this place?”

“It used to be a nunnery,” I whispered, which wasn’t really a lie.

“It’s kind of scary looking.”

“You have no idea.”

From the dark space under the external wall, we heard Phil giggle. I thought I saw the shadowed form of Seth put his hand on her cheek, and I quickly looked away.

“I had fun tonight,” I said. For a few hours, among the crowds of tourists and Romans, none of whom were afraid of suddenly being set upon by monsters, I almost forgot what it was I was doing here. Seth had kept his promise to sweeten the evening for us, though I wasn’t sure what had really done the trick—his gelato, Phil’s laughter, or my talk with Giovanni.

He was nothing like Brandt, that was for sure. Seth’s shortcut route had taken us through a medieval cemetery, overgrown with bougainvillea and clogged by moss-eaten headstones, and Giovanni had been back in his element. He’d even started translating some of the inscriptions on the monuments. I doubted
he
had problems in French class. I wondered if he had problems in French anything. Not that it mattered, what with my new, celibate calling.

“Me, too,” he said. He was examining the fountain. “This is very interesting. Do you know who designed it? Maybe Bernini, but I’ve never heard of this one before. What is the figure holding here? Looks like a magic wand.” He peered closer, then stumbled against the lip of the basin. “Ow!” Giovanni shook his hand and stared at it, then up at the fountain. “That thing’s sharp.”

“What is it? What happened?” I said, rushing forward. I took his hand in mine and examined the wound. A deep scratch ran
across the heel of his palm. “What did you touch?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, a rough edge or something. Man, that stings!”

Or maybe the alicorn?
Dread set up shop in my stomach. We were a long way away from mom’s magic bottle. If it would even work a second time.

“How do you feel? Are you dizzy?” I turned his hand over, searching for signs of poisoning.

“You really are into medicine, aren’t you? Don’t worry—I’ve had my tetanus shots. This’ll teach me to get too close to art.” He pulled his hand out of mine and turned to study the fountain again.

“Tetanus is the least of my worries,” I muttered. More giggles and whispers emanated from the corner, but Giovanni seemed preoccupied.

“This is really gorgeous,” he said. “I don’t know why this isn’t in any of the walking tour guides.” He kept his distance but squinted to get a closer look at the woman’s face.

“Well, they can’t cover every piece of sculpture in Rome,” I said, wincing every time he clenched his hand. Would a horn still be poisonous this long after being removed from a unicorn? “What was it you were telling me about earlier? Going ‘churching’? Wandering from church to church in hopes of stumbling across a forgotten Caravaggio or a random Raphael?” Brandt had reacted much more quickly when he was pierced with an alicorn. This one must have lost its punch.

He didn’t answer, and for a moment I wished Seth were here to shame Giovanni into leaving the statue alone. More giggles from the corner. Man, were they making out or having a tickle fight over there? I envied Phil’s ability to have fun with boys
without ever letting it get to weird, uncomfortable places. She’d never lacked for dates in high school, nor had she fretted about sleeping with someone in order to get invited out. Phil had never put out, and she’d been superpopular.

Why couldn’t I be like that? Why couldn’t I kiss a guy without worrying where it would go? Was it thanks to Lilith’s obsession with my unicorn hunting eligibility? Was it thanks to her insistence that now I
would
be a hunter? That no matter what other ideas I’d had about my life, I’d be shut behind these stone walls and surrounded day and night by the grinning, empty-eye-socketed skulls of my childhood terror?

But Lilith wasn’t here, and neither was Neil or Cory. Why couldn’t I just kiss this guy right now?

I mean, aside from the fact that he seemed more interested in a block of marble than in me. Maybe it was the universe’s way of punishing me for not getting out of this mess by sleeping with Brandt when I’d had the chance.

“Ah, look,” he said, kneeling at my feet. “An inscription.”

I joined him, and our shoulders brushed as we crouched at the base of the fountain. “Is it Italian?”

“Latin, I think.” He leaned away from me and squinted, trying to decipher the lettering in the gloom.
“‘In memoriam’
…Obviously, ‘in memory of…’ I don’t know what this word means.
‘Pestilentia.’
‘Pestilence,’ you think? Something something ‘honor,’ I think—and this word, I see it in churches all the time. This one is ‘sacrifice.’
‘In memory of
something something
pestilence
something
and to honor her sacrifice, a sister of the order…’”

“Lioness,” I said dumbly, standing. “To honor the sacrifice of a sister of the Order of the Lioness.”

“Is that what the nuns here were called? The Order of the Lioness? That’s a kick-ass name.”

“They were kick-ass nuns.” Nuns who stopped plagues. Nuns who killed monsters. Nuns who had the power to save the world. Or so Lilith would have me believe.

“Are there any left?”

I swallowed. He was talking to one. Or one who was about to be. “They kind of died out, I think. Lost their purpose.”

“That’s so sad.”

“Do you think so?” My eyes felt hot. My throat felt clogged. Maybe
I
was the one who’d brushed against the alicorn. “Don’t you think that some things belong in the past? Like closing yourself off from the world, giving up everything you might want just because your parents decided to…tithe you to something else?”

He stood, brushing off his hands. “You’re right. That would have been rough. But nowadays, people who do things like become nuns or monks or whatever, they do it because they believe in it, because they want that life. It’s not what I want, celibacy and stuff”—at that, he ducked his head and looked away—“but I can respect that other people might. A sense of purpose is a powerful thing. Enough of that, and whatever else you give up doesn’t feel like much of a sacrifice, does it?”

Oh yeah? Try it.

Another giggle. I closed my eyes against the moonlight and tried to block out the sounds of my cousin and her conquest, the hot anger that banded my chest every time I thought of Lilith, the fear of whatever had been out there in the darkness, the frustration that Giovanni wouldn’t even hold my hand on the one night in weeks I could pretend to be
normal
again….

I took a deep breath, and again the sensation came, like hunger at dawn or weariness at dusk. My body clicked into place so naturally I barely had time to fight it. I turned my head toward the entrance to the courtyard and opened my eyes.