The Forgotten Locket (8 page)

The shape of my dream shattered as I jerked awake and sat up quickly. I hadn’t been asleep for long; the windows were still dark with night. I could feel my heart beating faster, anxious and unsettled. The fragile images from my dream were already fading. There had been two men and a guitar. And there had been music. A song I almost recognized, almost remembered.

I blinked, forcing my eyes to focus, and saw someone in a worn, black cassock standing next to me. He was young—maybe the same age as Orlando, maybe a year or two older—though his black hair was snow-white along the edges. His dark eyes held mine and the light I saw shining in their depths was bright, wild and intense. He hummed a quiet tune, something insistent, something that sounded like the same song I had heard in my dream. The music of my name.

At the touch of those notes inside of me, my heart woke up. A buzz built in my mind, a high, clear note that lifted me with it as it spiraled up through my memories, cutting through the darkness that had weighed me down.

The music was everywhere. The music was everything.

And I suddenly recognized him. I
remembered
him. Seeing him made me smile; I couldn’t help it. I loved him. I
remembered
loving him.

He returned my smile. “I’m so glad to see you.” His silky voice matched the music inside of me. “I was worried that perhaps you’d forgotten me.”

I shook my head, not daring to speak. Filled with a sudden rush of shy adoration, I felt like I was dreaming again, the world drifting and slowing into softness around me. It was so good to see him. I felt safe, and the lingering darkness inside my mind was comfortable instead of oppressive. I wanted to stay as close to him as I could for as long as possible.

He glanced over my shoulder, and I half turned, following his gaze. Orlando had left his post at the window and was walking slowly down the far aisle toward the nave, his head tilted back so he could look up at the sculpted pillars and the filigree work around the windows.

When he reached the front of the nave, he slid into the first pew and knelt down. He locked his hands together in prayer and closed his eyes.

I turned around. The man standing before me had gone rigid. His breathing turned quick and shallow. A line of sweat broke out across his forehead. I saw an expression of pain pass across his face, tightening the skin around his eyes, before he quickly masked it. When he turned his attention back to me, his face was smooth. His eyes were the black of a raven’s wing. I could see how carefully he held himself, as if any sudden movement would break him or make him lose his tightly wound control.

A flutter of emotion filled me, a blend of fear and desire.

“I want you to trust me,” he murmured, the music of his voice winding its way deeper into my mind. He reached out to brush the hair back from my face. He wore leather gloves on his hands, the material smooth and soft and strangely warm. The wide sleeves of his cassock reminded me of angel’s wings, though in shadow instead of stone. “You know you can.”

My doubts disappeared at his touch. Of course I could trust him. I loved him.

“Will you come with me?” he asked, low and urgent.

I nodded immediately and stood up. I would go anywhere with him; I would do anything for him.

He slipped a gloved hand beneath my elbow and drew me deeper into the shadows, leading me to the foot of a statue of an angel. The carved marble wings were curved, not quite unfurled, and the angel’s head was bowed, stone tears frozen on his smooth cheek. Standing in the shadow of the angel made me feel like I was sheltered in a protective embrace.

He slid his hand from my elbow down to my fingers. A shudder passed through his whole body, but he controlled it immediately. “Will you do something for me?”

“Anything,” I breathed. I leaned forward, eager to hear his request and obey.

“Say my name. I want to hear it from your lips.”

My response was automatic. “Lorenzo,” I said, and felt a secret thrill pass through me. “Your name is Lorenzo.”

“Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

He kept his eyes on me as he gently turned my bare hand in his, lifting my wrist and breathing a kiss along my skin.

His mouth never touched me, but I shivered as though it had. I felt heat radiating from his skin with a feverish intensity.

Lorenzo released my hand and my fingers tingled, aching to return to his grasp.

Another shudder suddenly passed through him, but this time he inhaled sharply in pain. He hunched over and pressed his fist to his chest. A drop of sweat slid from his forehead down the side of his cheek.

“Are you all right?” I asked in concern. “What is it? Is there a problem?”

Lorenzo forced himself upright, though I could see the effort it took him. His smile was a fixed grimace. “Nothing I can’t manage. Although, there is something you can do for me.” He held up his thumb and forefinger, so close they were almost touching. “A small something.”

My heart leaped at the chance. “Of course. What can I do? How can I help?” I didn’t feel like I had much to offer. But I wanted to do whatever he asked. I wanted to be needed.

Lorenzo closed the distance between us with a single step. He placed his hands on my shoulders, his thumbs brushing down along my collarbone to the heart-shaped locket resting against my throat. The leather of his gloves creaked over his hands.

I held my breath at the nearness of him.

“I need you to give me your heart,” he said.

“Is that all?” I said with a smile. “It’s yours, you know that. It always has been.” I reached up and unfastened the silver chain. I held the locket in my hand, the chain spilling through my fingers like a string of stars. As I looked at the finely engraved lines that crisscrossed the heart, the music that had been in my head turned to a sour note of warning. I hesitated. A shadow of a feeling emerged. A brief memory that the locket was important and that—like my name—I wasn’t supposed to give it to anyone.

I shook my head and closed my fingers over the locket, hiding it from sight. The music returned to its familiar sweet melody. This was Lorenzo. He wouldn’t ask me for it if it wasn’t important. If it wouldn’t help him somehow.

I reached for his hand and placed the locket in his palm. A flicker of electricity zinged through me as our fingers touched, and I looked up in surprise. Lorenzo’s dark eyes seemed to be even darker and his smile even wider.

“Thank you, my sweet,” he said, tucking my locket into a secret pocket of his cassock. “You have indeed given me a gift. One that means more to me than you can imagine.”

“I’m glad I could make you happy,” I said.

“I know.” He tilted my face toward his with the tip of his finger.

I closed my eyes. A fire burned inside me and I knew only his touch could grant me relief.

His kiss was like nothing I’d felt before. A wild storm passed from him to me, filled with unexpected emotions: controlled anger, a hard confidence, a darkly sweet hint of humor. His was a kiss that demanded, that took, and gave nothing in return.

The block in my memories shuddered at the touch of his mouth on mine. The warning note returned, but now it had increased in volume and pitch. This was a warning. This kiss. This moment. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

I opened my eyes in alarm at the same moment a voice said, “What’s going on?”

Lorenzo snapped away from me, his head whipping around, his body humming with controlled tension. “Orlando. It’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”

Chapter 6

I pressed my lips together, still feeling the touch of Lorenzo’s cold fire kiss on them. My neck felt bare; I wanted my locket back. I wrapped my hand around my wrist, hoping to stop the trembling in my fingers. How could a kiss be so wrong? But it was. The sensation of being lost in a dream started to fade, my senses sharpening and alert. Something bad had just happened.

But when I looked at Lorenzo, I feared that what was about to happen would be even worse.

“What are you doing here?” Orlando demanded, his gaze never leaving Lorenzo’s face.

“What does it look like?” Lorenzo asked, folding his hands into the sleeves of his robe. “I’m kissing a pretty girl.”

I flushed and looked down, confused and embarrassed.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Orlando took a step forward, managing to angle his body so he was partway between me and Lorenzo.

“Neither are you.”

Orlando frowned.

“Besides, is there somewhere else I’m supposed to be?” Lorenzo took a step closer to the angel statue, lounging against the wings. The angel rocked a little on the base, unsettled by the extra weight. “Maybe someplace darker? Less sacred? Am I defiling this holy church simply by being here?”

With each mocking question Lorenzo asked, Orlando inched closer to him, his right hand locking into a fist.

“Tell me, Orlando. Why, exactly, are you surprised to see me?”

“Because—” He shot a look at me over his shoulder and then lowered his voice. “Because I thought—”

“You thought I was in prison.”

The truth turned Orlando’s face red, and I stifled a gasp, looking between the two men.

“And yet, you are the one standing here in chains.” Lorenzo nodded to the black bands around Orlando’s wrists. “After what you’ve done, I’m surprised they allowed you to walk free. Then again, I know more about what you’ve done than you think.”

I looked from Lorenzo to Orlando. What had they done?

Lorenzo turned to me, his dark eyes snapping with a wild light. “How much do you know about Orlando? Because he is not who he appears to be.”

“He’s not?” I blinked. That strange discordant note of warning sounded in my head again, but before I could focus on it, Lorenzo continued speaking, his words clipped.

“Orlando and I have a long history together,” he said. “I know he’s not above lying to achieve his own purposes. I know he would hurt those closest to him if he thought it would benefit him in the end.” He turned a sharp smile to Orlando. “I know he turned in his own brother to the authorities on a charge of treason.”

“That’s a lie!” Orlando snapped, his face mottled with rage. “You leave my brother out of this!”

Lorenzo’s smile turned into a grin. “We used to be called the Sons of Italy. But he had a problem with authority—with commitment—and was asked to leave the brotherhood.” Lorenzo looked at me. “He is unstable and unreliable. He is not to be trusted.”

“Who are the Sons of Italy?” I asked. The name didn’t sound familiar, but so much of my memory was still blocked or shrouded in darkness.

“We were patriots. Good men who deserved better than to count Orlando di Alessandro Casella among our number.”

“They were murderers and liars,” Orlando countered.

“You would know,” Lorenzo murmured. “Tell me, what did you exchange for your freedom, Orlando? Was it worth it? Has it made you happy?” He pushed away from the angel, closing the distance in a single long stride. “Did it finally make you feel like a hero?”

Orlando’s voice erupted from his throat in a wordless roar. He charged at Lorenzo, who moved out of the way so fast that his black robe seemed only his shadow.

Lorenzo laughed, the sound reaching high into the rafters like a song. “Ah, there’s the Orlando I remember. You were always the bear in battle. It’s nice to see you haven’t lost your edge along with everything else.”

The two men circled each other, each one placing his feet carefully, unwilling to turn his back to the other.

I crept away from the action, huddling close to the angel for protection.

“Why?” Orlando spat. “Why did you do it?”

“I did what had to be done. Believe me, if you had been in my place, you would have done the same thing.”

Orlando shook his head. “I thought we were friends.”

“I was never your friend, Orlando. I was your leader. Your superior.” Lorenzo arched an eyebrow. “I always have been; I always will be.”

“I should never have listened to you.” Orlando leaped forward, reaching for Lorenzo’s throat.

Lorenzo dodged again, but not quite as fast as before. This time, Orlando caught the edge of his robe and knocked him off balance. He pulled him close enough to lock his hand around his upper arm.

“Did you ever tell me the truth? About anything?” Orlando tightened his grip until his knuckles turned white. “Or were the lies easier for you?”

Lorenzo twisted on his heel and broke free, dancing back a few steps. Anger lit a fire in his eyes. He shook his head slowly, sadly. “I told you what would happen if you crossed me. And I always keep my word. I thought you knew that about me, Orlando.”

“I keep my word too. And I swear I won’t let you hurt anyone else,” Orlando said. “Ever again.”

Lorenzo suddenly relaxed, an aura of confidence snapping into place around him. A ghost of a smile appeared, his teeth as white as the snow in his hair. He flicked a glance at me and when our eyes met, I suddenly felt cold.