Spectral (22 page)
I focused on the day in the cave with Roman when I’d first created one, and then the time with Chase when we were trapped in the room and my shell had been even stronger. I willed myself behind a protective wall. The sounds of the airport became muffled.
I stepped forward, trembling, praying I’d really done it, when I noticed people not looking at me anymore. In fact, they looked through me.
Some kind of awesome
!
I inched forward toward the lockers, wheeling my luggage behind me, struggling to concentrate on keeping the shell wall intact. Reaching the locker, I entered the combo Stefano had told me. It was an easy one to remember. My birthday. Roman obviously had known it. I swallowed hard, my hands beginning to shake and sweat beading on my lip. I knew I wouldn’t be able to contain the shell much longer. The locker sprung open and inside laid the dagger, handle up. I gasped and covered my mouth. It filled me with awe, like I was gazing at something of great importance and value like the
Mona Lisa
or something, except this dagger was far more precious and valuable to me. “Thank you, Roman,” I murmured under my breath. Even in his absence, he was still helping me.
I grabbed the dagger, unzipped my luggage, and placed it carefully inside, padded in a cheap tourist t-shirt I had purchased. It was then that I noticed the man who’d been reading the newspaper was now peering up from behind it, surveying the room. I didn’t know if I was just being paranoid, but the calculating look in his eyes told me I wasn’t.
My legs shook, but I zipped the luggage back up and stood. I closed the locker, jaw clenched, as bile rose in my throat and the last ounces of strength zapped from my body.
I eyed the elevator across the room.
If I can just make it.
I wished I was strong enough to create the kind of shell Roman had made back at the Phoenix and the beach.
His
bubbled shell had frozen time
and
shielded us.
I willed my leaden legs forward, and gasped for air with every step, my body slicked in sweat. Glancing back, Pirate Man now stood and began walking toward me.
Oh my God, can he see me?
I stopped behind a woman at the elevator who was holding her crying little boy’s hand. His face was covered in chocolate and his ice cream cone sat piled on the floor in a gooey mess.
I waved at her and when I got no response, I waved again, this time with my hand directly in front of her face. She didn’t see me, yet the man with the gold earring continued in our direction. The elevator opened, the woman ushered her son inside, and I followed. My body began to convulse. My wall was crashing. I pressed the close button for the door and it slid shut just before the man reached it. His hand slammed against the metal doors.
As the elevator descended, I collapsed to my knees.
The woman shrieked, looking as if she saw a ghost. My shell was gone and I was a disheveled mess. She probably thought I
was
a ghost. I mean one minute it was just her and her son, and the next there I was.
She began speaking to me in Russian and despite the fact that I didn’t understand a word of it, her words sounded slurred to me, her face blurry in my disoriented state. I grabbed the railing and somehow pulled myself to my feet, willing myself to act normal.
I have to stay strong
. The last thing I needed was to bring more attention to myself. I managed a weak smile.
“Sorry to scare you,” I said with a shrug. “I’m a little sick that’s all. Scared to fly. No biggie.”
The woman pulled her son close, wrapping her arms around him protectively like I was some freak monster that could possibly hurt him. She obviously didn’t understand English.
Grasping the handle of my luggage so tightly that my fingers blanched, I looked away, straightened my shoulders, and waited for the doors to open. When they finally did, I hurried out, thankful there was no sign of the suspicious man from the third floor, anxious to get away.
Stumbling to the nearest bathroom, I locked myself behind a stall door with my
Barney
bag luggage. Tumbling to my knees, I upchucked the contents of my stomach into the porcelain throne.
Plunking back on the cool floor, I leaned my head against the bathroom stall door. I had the dagger. A mixture of dancing butterflies and nausea twirled in my stomach. Now I just had to get out of the country with it, fly home to Italy, and find my family. I cast a silent prayer upward that I would find them.
And that they would be happy to see me.
I made it to my gate and onboard the plane without another sighting of the Pirate Man who had freaked me out so much. I told myself I’d just overreacted, and read into something that wasn’t there.
I remembered to show my fake passport claiming to be one Maria Ferrari and prayed nobody spoke Italian to me. With a name like Maria Ferrari, I was sure someone would expect me to be fluent in Italian. While I may be Italian in heritage, I really only knew a few words. Like
mangia, bella, ciao
, and maybe
ravioli
if that counted.
I slinked into my seat, eyeing the other passengers on the plane to see if I was being watched or if somehow the man had followed me on the flight. With no sign of him or of anyone else paying particular attention to me, I tugged out the piece of paper Dad had given me with the map to my real parents’ house.
Circled at the top of the page were the words San Marco, Venice, Italy. I knew Venice was separated into six districts and that San Marco was one of them. I rubbed my thumb across the lettering. Somehow the gesture sent warmth spreading through me.
San Marco.
There was a great comfort knowing where I was truly from and that I was on my way home.
I’d be landing in the Venice Marco Polo airport, which was on the mainland. According to the map, I’d need to take a boat to San Marco.
The pilot spoke into the intercom after we’d reached flying altitude and notified us the flight would take approximately two hours and forty-two minutes. After studying the map, I decided to take a short nap. I really wasn’t sure when I’d have the chance again.
“
Mi scusi signorina
,” I heard a woman say. I opened my eyes. An airline attendant stood next to me, shaking my arm. I sat up straight.
“
Benvenuti a Venezia
,” she said as a smile spread across her face.
I thought she said, “Welcome to Venice,” but it seemed like I’d just fallen asleep like two minutes before. I lifted the window shade, and saw that we had landed. “We’re in Venice already?” I turned back, asking her.
“
Si.
Yes, we are,” she replied.
The other passengers filed past my row and off the plane, and I quickly pulled myself together and followed them to the baggage claim. One after another the suitcases plunked down the line like a sea of never ending blackness. I waited for my purple one with white polka dots, anxiously bopping from one foot to the other. Every second felt like agony. I swear when it finally arrived, it was the last one down.
Before leaving the airport, I decided to buy a backpack to carry the dagger and ditch the
Barney
bag. I ducked inside the gift shop and grabbed a sturdy looking leather backpack. After inconspicuously transferring the dagger to my new bag, I threw out the old luggage.
Strapping the bag to my back, I then tore off to find a water taxi. I followed the signs that read “Water Bus/
Aliaguna
.” The private water taxi would have been ideal, but way too expensive for my budget. I’d already blown money first on my cartoonish luggage and now on a backpack, and since I didn’t know how long it would take me to find my parents, I couldn’t blow the entire wad. So instead, I decided to go with the public water taxi.
I hurried beneath a canopied walkway, across a street, and down to the kiosk to get my ticket. I decided to get off at the Piazza San Marco since a lot of stops were at hotels, and from the look of the map, my parents’ place wasn’t too far from the Piazza, anyway. I could go the rest of the way on foot.
I handed over my ticket and took a seat in the back, aware I needed to be vigilant of my surroundings in case I was being followed. The front half of the water taxi had no roof, so I headed to the enclosed back section. I could still see out through the windows, enjoy the view, and be safe at the same time. The boat quickly filled up and we headed off to the Piazza.
A family of English speaking tourists who sat next to me oohed and awed as we went along, squealing about heading to the Piazza San Marco, otherwise known as St. Mark’s Square. At least that’s what the eager tourist next to me told his wife.
Apparently there was a carnival going on at the Piazza. The man pointed to one of the many pamphlets in his hand, outlining all the details about it. He read aloud the top of the pamphlet to his wife, “
Piazza San Marco con sfilata del Doge.
”
U-huh. Sounds great. Whatever that means
.
Painted masks in hand, they looked ready to participate. They saw me watching them and the woman handed me a different pamphlet outlining the Piazza, telling me I could keep it. I smiled, thanked them, and gratefully took it. I scanned through the pamphlet, eager to learn everything about where I was from.
The subtle rumble of the engine and the gentle rocking of the boat comforted me. I took in a deep breath. Colored buildings, many two or three stories high with verandas, lined the waterways. It was as though the buildings sprouted up from the very water itself.
A little floating city
.
Dozens of boats drifted past us. Some were the gondolas I’d only seen in pictures and had always dreamed of riding on. Men in black and white striped shirts stood at the back holding long wooden oars. In the one next to us, a young couple sat cuddled together kissing and holding hands. They looked so happy and I couldn’t help but think of Roman, wondering what it would be like to have him with me, sitting next to me on a romantic gondola ride through the waterways of Venice.
Daydreaming of Roman only made me wonder what he was going through in Russia…if he was even still alive. A lump grew in my throat and a churning grief flowed through me, spreading quickly like a storm looming on the horizon. I knew the only reason I was free was because of him, and that he probably died because he’d helped me.
I pinched my eyes tight as tears wet my lashes, and then shook my head. I wouldn’t allow myself to think like that.
Roman is alive
. I had to trust he was. It was the only thing that kept me moving forward. Call it odd, but somewhere inside of me I believed he had to be, because if he were really dead, I’d feel it. Somehow, somewhere deep in my bones, I’d know if he was gone.
I gripped the handles of my backpack and gritted my teeth, holding on to the hope he was still alive. And after I’d made it to my parents, and through my quickening, I’d be strong enough to save and take care of Roman for once. In fact, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on Paolo and make him pay for what he’d done. If he wanted an abomination, I’d give him one.
After about thirty minutes, we arrived at the Piazza San Marco. The bell tower rang out a happy welcome, and I couldn’t help but dreamily think it was welcoming me home.
I jumped out of the water taxi, steadying myself on sturdy land, and headed into the crowded Piazza.
The tourists on the water taxi hadn’t been kidding about the carnival. All around people were dressed in elaborate costumes with full masks and gowns. Some wore headdresses or bejeweled crowns with feathers. A marching band proceeded through the crowd banging on their drums and blowing their pipes. Mixed in with the laughter and cheers of the tourists, my ears buzzed, and a tingling sensation spread through me. I felt electrified, dizzy.
I zigzagged through the crowd, admiring the amazing architecture of the Piazza. My eyes drifted to the many domed shaped buildings, and the beautiful St. Mark’s Basilica. Statues of horses stood above the entranceway looking like they could leap off at any second and colorful paintings spread out near the top of it.
The massive patterned concrete walkway teemed with people shuffling around. Hundreds of pigeons scattered about, and many people held pigeons in their hands to feed them. There was something so innocent about the Piazza. With no cars or vehicles zooming around, it was as though I’d gone back a century or two.
I pulled my map out, made a plan of which way I needed to head to get to my parents’ house, and tucked it inside my jeans pocket.
The smell of fresh Italian cuisine made my mouth water as I passed by the tables of people enjoying their meals and watching the carnival. My stomach rumbled and I eyed the many cafés lining the street. A sign above one place read: Café Florian. Maybe I’d have time to grab a bowl of pasta.
But then, something else caught my eye.
Someone
, that is.
The profile of the man sitting at a chair in the café looked familiar. He wore a costume of a white cape and a silver mask. The mask had a huge nose shaped like a bird’s beak, and it covered the top of his face. But it was his large, golden pirate-like earring reflecting the sunlight that drew my attention.
It was Pirate Man!
I sucked in a sharp breath as he shifted, then looked directly at me.
Pirate Man stood and started walking toward me. A cold fear washed over me. Twisting around with the sound of my drumming heart echoing in my ears, I dashed through hordes of costumed people, hoping to lose him. I glanced back into a sea of masks and feathers bobbing through the air.
A costume! That’s what I need!
Weaving through the crowd, I desperately searched the vendors’ booths which lined the center of the Piazza, but all I could see were t-shirts, cups, and simple trinkets.
A woman standing a few feet away wore a red headdress, lush and full with feathers attached to one side. With her painted face and golden gown trimmed with red, she looked regal. I headed toward her and the row of stores she stood in front of, pushing my way through the crowd. In the store window directly behind the woman stood mannequins in full costume regalia.
Jackpot!
Yes!
Glancing back, I saw Pirate Man again. He spun in a slow circle, surveying the area. I’d managed to lose him for now, but if I stayed much longer, he’d find me again. Behind me, the store’s door opened, and a man in full costume came strolling out.
“
Buon pomeriggio
,” he said as he held the door open for me.
I nodded and tore through the opened door, muttering a quick
grazie
. Rows of costumes cluttered the packed store, and I ran to the first one I saw, needing to grab a disguise and get the hell out of there.
Searching through the costumes, I found an awesome one in my favorite color, jade green. I thought it was really cool—but after checking the price tag—I realized it was a lot
too
cool for me.
Crap, now what
?
“
Posso aiutarla, Signorina
?” the sales lady asked me.
I raised my eyebrows at her. Yeah, that was a little above my Italian repertoire.
She smiled and asked in a strong Italian accent, “May I help you?”
My eyes darted over her shoulder to the front door of the store, waiting for Pirate Man to jump through it at any second. Looking back at her, I spoke slowly. “I’m looking for a costume. But I don’t have a lot of money.” I took my euros out of my pocket and fanned them out to show her.
She nodded and smiled again, and then pointed to a rack of costumes with a sign above that read:
Vendita.
“Those are on sale,
Signorina
. Maybe you find one you like?”
“Thank you,” I said with a nod.
Flicking through the rack, I quickly discovered
why
they were on sale. First of all, the fabrics were a lighter cut with not as much material, and secondly, there weren’t as many choices.
The only one left in my size was hot pink.
Why do the Gods hate me so much? I don’t do pink!
I snatched the costume off the rack with a low groan. There was no time to find another store. The saleslady escorted me to the fitting room where I shimmied into it, and eyed my reflection quickly.
Whoa
.
The dress skimmed my body like a well-fitting glove, the neckline plunged to a dangerous level, showing cleavage I didn’t even think I had.
I placed the white mask that had hung on the hanger with the dress over my face. It had painted on pink eye shadow to match the dress, with smoky gray paint lining the bottom edge that sat below my eyes. My blue-gray eyes sparkled like a Caribbean ocean in contrast to the stark white porcelain of the mask. The lips of the mask were painted in a red perma-smile.
The costume came with a scarf that I secured around the top of my head, tying it under my chin. Only my dark hair tumbled down my back.
Incognito. Perfect.
The hat was priced separately and after checking out the cost for the dress, scarf, and mask, and nearly fainting, I decided I could do without the hat. As it was, paying for the costume left me with only seven euros.
I was definitely going to have to ditch the pasta idea. I eyed my reflection in the mirror.
There’s no room for that in this dress anyway.
Luckily, the dress was long and covered my tattered Nikes. I tossed the rest of my clothes inside my backpack and hung the straps of it over my wrist instead of on my back. I didn’t want to take the chance that Pirate Man would recognize it.
I wondered if he was a member of the Augusti, or one of Aunt Eva’s thugs. I couldn’t be caught after everything I’d been through and lose the dagger again. Not after Roman had worked so hard and sacrificed so much to help me escape.
I thanked the sales lady for her help, inhaled a deep breath, and stepped back out into the Piazza. A quick glance showed no sign of Pirate Man and I left the Piazza, heading down a narrow street that I hoped would lead me to my parents. Colorful houses lined the path with people going in and out of shops, laughing and talking in festive spirits.
A store shop’s open sign flickered on and off in the distance and I followed its path down a long and winding street. A couple of guys about my age walked by, eyeing me up and down with a whistle. I tugged on the neckline of my dress with a groan.
The closer I got to my parents’ house, the more my heart raced. I kept glancing over my shoulder, clutching my bag. My skin prickled in a wave of goose bumps. I didn’t know if there would be people waiting for me outside my parents’ house, trying to ambush me, and I honestly didn’t know if my parents would even want me.
Roman’s words replayed in my head.
About six months ago, your real parents stopped looking for you and went back to Italy
. A fist seemed to reach into my stomach, grip me, and twist, his words stinging just as sharply as the first time I’d heard them.
Why would they stop looking for me?
It looked like I was about to find out. I crossed the intersection and peered down the street that was supposed to be my parents’. All the similar looking houses sat in a tight row down the street. I squinted, trying to make out the numbers from where I stood. I couldn’t chance walking straight up to my parents’ house—no matter how much I wanted to get off the streets. I needed to watch the houses and make sure nobody was hiding in the corners to nab me. Across and down the street, I noticed a small café and darted to it.
A tall brunette waved from the back, motioning she’d be right with me. I sat down; hands trembling as I carefully surveyed the area. I read the number on the house directly across the street and calculated that my parents’ house would be the eleventh or twelfth down from me. My gaze followed the row, counting the houses as I went. The eleventh was a vibrant yellow color, the twelfth a terracotta orange.
The waitress made her way over and I ordered a Coke, then turned to angle my chair to face my parents’ house, watching and waiting and replaying the image of my mother in my head. I held my breath, expecting her to walk out the front door of one of the houses at any moment.
As I waited, shadows created by the people passing by seemed to come to life, creating malicious shapes, and the masks that once looked so beautiful and mysterious, now appeared menacing. I pictured Dmitri shooting me with his electrical power, or worse, Paolo nailing me with his death grip. I imagined the natural sounds of chatter and laughter around me turning into screams, crackling force fields, and the deafening horn of a looming train.
Sweat beaded across my lip and I lifted the bottom of my mask, tossing my Coke back. I emptied the glass, then placed the cool glass against my neck. I didn’t know if it was the stress of the moment or if I was coming down with something. An eerie feeling washed over me and it felt like flames licked up my body.
A hand cupped my shoulder and I jumped instinctively, knocking it away with a swat of my hand. The waitress’s head jerked back in surprise, and she held her hands up defensively. “
Mi scusi, Signorina. Un’altra coca
?” She pointed to my empty glass.
I shook my head, and gave her a tight-lipped smile. When I looked back toward my parents’ house, I saw Massimo dart out from a side street and dash in-between the yellow and orange houses.
Snap!
Jumping up, I left the money for my drink, picked up my backpack, lifted the hem of my dress, and dashed off.
It was definitely Massimo. I’d recognize him anywhere. And if he were around, I could only assume that Paolo was close by. My parents’ house may have well been in another country considering even as close as I was, I couldn’t get there.
My mind reeled. I didn’t know where to go or what to do. Tomorrow was my birthday. Roman said I’d die if I didn’t go through the quickening before my birthday ended. Not only that, but if I didn’t make it, there was probably no hope for him, either.
The sun would soon be setting on San Marco, so I finally decided to hide out behind the turquoise house across the street. An ambient glow shone out from the drapes of the window of the house which meant the owners were probably home, maybe watching TV. I hoped they wouldn’t find me and rat me out. But if they did, I’d just say I was a lost tourist and run.
I sidestepped a cute little terrier busily gnawing away on a bone, wondering if the people inside knew my parents, and suddenly an idea came to me. Creeping around back of the house and up their backstairs, I quietly knocked on their door, trying not to draw attention to myself. I could show the owners the address on the map and ask to use their phone book to look up my parents’ number. My heart thumped loudly with excitement. I could call them, and ask them to come and get me.
A plump old lady ambled to the door dressed in black from head to toe as though she were going to a funeral. I lifted my mask and smiled. “
Ciao, Senora
,” I said in the best Italian I could muster. “Can you help me?”
The old lady smiled, tilted her head to the side, and raised her hands in the air. “No speaka English.”
Just my luck
. I pulled out the map of my parents’ house and pointed to the address.
The woman’s lips grew tight. She pointed down the street toward my parents’ house with a jab of her pointer finger, backed away, and started to close the door.
“No, wait!” I said, wedging my foot in-between the door. “The telephone, please!” I held my thumb and pointer finger sideways up to my ear. “Please,
Senora
.” I placed my palms together in front of my face, pleading.
“No,” the woman said firmly with a scowl, and then banged the door against my foot.
Yelping in pain, I backed away and the door slammed shut. The sound of the lock clicking reverberated against my ears. I didn’t know what her problem was, but she obviously had some kind of issue with my parents. Fear clenched my stomach. What could be so bad about them that a little old Italian lady wouldn’t like them?
I stumbled backward down the steps and then returned to the long narrow walkway between the houses. With a sigh, I took a couple of shaky steps back toward the street intent on getting back to the Piazza, but stopped instead, and leaned against the rough stucco of the house, needing to come up with a plan.
I had to find a payphone with a telephone book. The only problem was that payphones aren’t the easiest thing to find. They weren’t really needed anymore. Pretty much everybody had cell phones. Except me of course. I’d lost mine in all the craziness at Taylor’s house that night.
I searched for anyone who could be following me. Waves of heat rushed through me, in-between racking shivers. My nerves were taking over. Either that or I was really sick. The warm wind whistling through the streets carried with it cheers and laughter from people still in carnival party mode. Candy wrappers and popcorn bags fluttered along the ground, and the streetlights that were staggered along the narrow stretch of road, glowed to life.
Sweat pooled at the base of my neck and slid down my back as I moved in between the houses. The colored homes became blurry but I stumbled on. I had to make it. And then in the distance, across the street, I saw Massimo. I shuddered involuntarily, caught between two houses. The moment I saw his face, it felt like caffeine had been injected directly into my veins.
Poised, and with his arms crossed, he faced me. In my confusion, I’d forgotten to lower my mask when I left the old lady’s house. And now he looked directly at me from across the street. He walked toward me, and then outstretched his arms wide, fingers bent in ridged angles. Smoke emitted from his body like a great fog drifting across a lake early in the morning. It seeped from his skin and multiplied as it went.
Headed right at me.
I knew what would happen if the smoke reached me. I’d heard the screams of Dominique and Henri from their car, and I’d seen the aftermath he’d left behind. The whole car along with them had vanished. It was as though they’d never even existed.
Securing my backpack around my shoulders, I palmed my hands damp with sweat down the sides of my dress, and backed away toward the old lady’s backyard again. Massimo continued walking toward me at a steady pace. He didn’t have to run. The fog-like smoke snaked low across the grass, moving faster toward me until it reached the cute little terrier. The dog yelped and then vanished.
I shrieked, the horror of it making me more alert than ever. It was deathly hot and I pressed my damp hair back from my face, head spinning. The smoke continued to seep toward me. My leaden legs stood paralyzed like the day I was in the pool with Jayden. Useless.
The smoke slithered dangerously close, moving in like razor sharp needles ready to pierce my skin.
I thought of Roman and of him screaming in pain on the rooftop back in Russia. I wished I’d told him I loved him then—wished I had the chance to tell him right then, too—before the smoke took me and I ceased to exist.
I looked to the sky. The light from the sun setting shone down in iridescent rays, as if filled with hope. In my haze, I reached my hand up as though I could grasp it, wishing it could lift me into its radiant beams.
The next thing I knew, a breeze lifted through my dress and my feet dangled into nothingness. Looking below, I watched as the fog slinked over the grass where I had just stood. But now, as I floated—suspended in mid-air—I was only a witness to it.
