The Demon Catchers of Milan #2: The Halcyon Bird (21 page)

“Niente,”
Bernardo replied. His father smiled slightly and took another drag of his cigarette.

A BMW rumbled over the paving toward us and pulled up, blocking an entrance to the Pinacoteca di Brera. Tommaso Strozzi got out and opened the door for his mother.

I had never seen her look so tired. She didn’t seem to notice any of us, her gaze fastened on her kneeling husband. Emilio came forward to meet her, opening his mouth, but she held up a hand.

“Do not speak to me,” she told him. The diamonds in her ears flashed.

She walked over to Signore Strozzi, her son trailing after her. She looked down, and her husband raised his head. He seemed to have trouble focusing on her.

“Tell me what you have done,” she said. “Tell me!”

He began to laugh. Tommaso clutched her arm and said, “Mamma, no, not in front of all of these people.”

She flung her arm up, freeing herself from him.

“Don’t touch me, Tommaso!” she snarled. “Did you know?
Did you?
What has been going on?”

“Mamma, this is a man’s business,” he said, his thick neck swelling, his shoulders tightening.

I didn’t need to see the men around me shudder to know Tommaso had gone too far. Signora Strozzi shot him a freezing look.

“Then I am not surprised that it has been completely screwed up,” she said.

I heard someone gasp and someone else chuckle.

Tommaso dropped his head. Signora Strozzi turned from him abruptly and knelt beside her husband. She put a hand out to his shoulder. Signore Strozzi stared at the cobblestones, muttering to himself. She leaned in, whispering in his ear. He lifted his head, listening, and then whispered back. As she listened to him, I saw that there were tears streaming down her face, catching the light from the pale sky. I shifted my feet and shivered. Tommaso Strozzi had gone back to lean on the hood of his BMW. I actually saw him check his jacket before he did, in case he was going to crease it, I guess.

Signora Strozzi took her husband’s head in her hands, and kissed him fiercely, like she would have bitten him instead if she could. Then she stood up and faced the head EMT.

“We will speak apart from these people,” she said. He nodded and followed her off to one side.

I watched her sign some papers. At a signal from the head
EMT, a man went into the ambulance and returned with a straitjacket. Signore Strozzi shouted once, then let himself be wrapped in it. They guided him into the ambulance. He did not look back toward his wife or his son. Tommaso put his face in his hands. The ambulance put on one warning light, but kept the siren silent, and pulled up the street. In the flickering blue light, I saw Signora Strozzi walk over to her son and begin slapping his face, over and over, screaming words I didn’t know yet. He let her, half lifting his hands to protect his face, then dropping them again.

Giuliano gripped Emilio’s shoulder like a signal. His grandson nodded and hurried to Signora Strozzi, taking her arm, speaking in his voice that could persuade a woman to do anything. She began to sob, shuddering. Tommaso put his hands on the car and stared at the wall, his face wet.

Emilio’s words carried, now: “Come inside. You need a drink, something to restore you. Then I will drive you both home.”

Signora Strozzi drew herself up, taking a shaking breath. She shuddered once more, then stopped, touching her eyes with the corner of a handkerchief. I saw the corner of the fabric flutter, bright against the dark street.

“Thank you, but we will go now,” said Signora Strozzi. “I am well enough to drive.”

Tommaso raised his head as if he was going to speak, but thought better of it. Emilio, too, seemed to know that he shouldn’t argue.

“We will call you in the afternoon. Try to get some rest,” Emilio said.

As they drove away, Giuliano came up to Emilio, scanning his grandson’s face. He said to Emilio, “We can talk it over after we
all
get some rest.”

Emilio said,
“Sì,”
without taking his eyes from the BMW turning into the Via Brera. Suddenly, he said, “Nonno, I don’t like this. I think we should follow them.”

Giuliano didn’t question him. He said only, “Okay. You drive. Mia, stay here. Go to bed.
Buona notte
, Signore Tedesco, Bernardo. You know how grateful I am to you. Would you see Mia safely inside?”

It was only about twenty steps to our shop door, but for once I didn’t mind Nonno acting medieval. As Emilio and Giuliano hurried to Emilio’s
motorino
, Rinaldo Tedesco said, “Your mother will be worrying. I’ll go home to her. Don’t be too long behind me.” He clouted his son’s shoulder. “
Buona notte
, Mia. You are a brave young woman.”

“Thank you,” I said. “
Buona notte
, Signore Tedesco, and thank you, too.”

Then they were all gone, except for Bernardo. He walked me into the shop, and I stood still, waiting to calm down the way I did after an exorcism, but my heart kept racing. I didn’t feel wiped out, even though it had been a very long night. I could hear my breathing, and the snap of an impurity in the wick of one of the candles.

It was warmer inside. I reluctantly drew off his jacket and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” I said.

“No problem,” he said, looking at me as he reached out for it. The antique shop clock chimed seven times.

“
Santa Maria
, is it that late … that early?” I said.

I remembered the stab of envy I’d felt when his friends called out to him in the street. “Still time for you to go to Plastic,” I found myself saying.

He smiled, shrugging on his jacket. “It’s closed by now. You have any energy for a club, yourself?”

I lowered my eyes, afraid they’d give me away. “No …” I began, but he’d crossed the room to stand very close to me. I could smell him again, like I had on the
motorino
: the leather of his jacket, the warm scent of his skin, and just a tad too much cologne, though he didn’t smell like he’d showered in it, like so many guys I’d passed in the Piazza del Duomo.

“Tired,” he said, touching my shoulder.

“No …” I tried again. My heart kept pounding. “Thank you for the ride,” I managed, and smiled at him.

“It was a pleasure,” he said simply, and leaned down and kissed me.

I think if he’d taken his time I’d have found a way to freak out and avoid it, so thank goodness he didn’t. He just put his lips to mine and held my jaw, stroking it with one finger, so that my whole body shivered. His mouth was so warm and smooth,
and he kept his lips together, touching mine lightly, like a question I had no idea how to answer. I didn’t move, but I shut my eyes. He drew back.

“You liked that,” he said, making it half a question, half a truth.

I didn’t know what to do, yet I couldn’t stand to have him step away, so I just pushed my face into his shoulder and mumbled randomly. Not smooth, I’m afraid. At least from there I could hear the laugh in his chest, feel the muscles pull and ripple as he put both arms around me.

“Come back here,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

He let go of me with one arm, slipping his fingers gently into the hollow behind my jaw, coaxing my face slowly out of his shirtfront, tipping my head upward. He held me carefully, but I could feel him shaking. I didn’t know the language he was trying to speak to me, badly as I wanted to learn it.

I finally found myself able to look up at him. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, he still looked more beautiful to me than any man living, his pale blue eyes gazing down at me, his broad mouth curving. Even his breath seemed sweet, never mind the faint whiff of sage from his dinner.

He smiled down at me.

“Why,” I said, and started to hide my face again.

“Why what?” he asked, keeping his hand under my jaw.

“Why are you … why are you shaking?” I finished in a burst of embarrassment.

He threw his head back and I though he was going to shout
with laughter, which could have been heard upstairs; instead, he shook silently, and then smiled down at me again.

“Why are you so scared,
cara
?” He paused, then answered his own question. “This is all new to you, maybe?”

I fastened my eyes on the hollow of his throat. I think I said,
Yes, but not all of it
.

“What?” he whispered, bringing his face down to mine. “Not all of it.”

He lowered his hand from my face, standing back, and asked quite seriously, “Mia, do you like me?”

I couldn’t look him in the eye anymore. My face felt hot. All I could do was nod yes.

“Good,” he said. “I like you. I liked you from the beginning. But there is no hurry, I think? If you don’t like—”

I surprised both of us by reaching for him, putting my arms around his neck, and bringing my face close to his. Still, somehow, I couldn’t kiss him back. He turned his head and took care of that, his arms back around me, his lips parting; nothing was enough. I pressed myself against him even though it felt like I was giving myself electric shocks.

We both heard the returning
motorino
at the same time. I felt him tighten his arms just as I tightened mine, before we jumped apart, staring at each other.

“I can call you?” he whispered.

“Yes, please,” I said. He nodded and smiled. I could see the glint of his eyes in the dark.

Nonno came into the shop. I’d never been less glad to see
him, which made me feel horribly ungrateful, especially when he looked so tired.

“Still here?” he asked. “Ah, looking after Mia. Thank you, Bernardo.”

“Now you’re here I’ll go. She’ll be okay, sir,” Bernardo said. “She should go to bed, though,” he added, giving me a mischievous flick of his light eyes.

“We all should,” said Giuliano. “What a night! They made it safely home, but what went on after, I don’t know,” he added. “Go carefully, Bernardo. And thank you.”

“Niente, signore,”
said Bernardo. “It was nothing, sir.”

“Thank you for the ride, Bernardo,” I said, then remembered I’d already told him that.

“It was a pleasure,” he repeated, grinning, and slipped out the door, the candle flames bending and fluttering in his wake.

Suddenly, I’d never been so afraid of dying, of losing to the demon. There had never been so much to leave behind.

L
ater that morning, I woke up with absolutely no memory of the fact that I’d been kissed, more than once, the night before. Then I sat up, and the whole night came back to me. I could hear Nonna Laura and Nonno Giuliano talking in the kitchen, and I wondered if they would guess, if I would look different or something. I hugged the memory to myself. Finally, the smell of Nonna’s coffee drew me out.

When I came into the kitchen, she and Giuliano were sitting at the table, nursing their
caffè latte
. They both smiled at me and we all said
buon giorno
before she stood up, already knocking the used espresso out of the coffeemaker as she asked me, “Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” I said, sitting down.

“You slept well?” asked Nonno.

“Yes, but not long enough,” I said.

Giuliano nodded. “Never enough after an exorcism, and you went to bed after seven. Take a nap after lunch,” he recommended. “And remember to take your walk. And do your meditations.”

“Yes, Nonno,” I said automatically, my eyes on the espresso maker. But then I woke up some and looked at him closely.

“Nonno, have you slept yourself yet?”

“Me? No. I was at the hospital.”

“How did it go?”

“Not well. They are transferring him to a locked ward.”

“And Signora Strozzi? Signore Tommaso?”

Over his head, I saw Nonna nod to herself as she made more espresso.

“We will check on them this afternoon, but they arrived at the hospital when I was there; they could not sleep, of course. You caught that exchange between them in the street? I think Signore Strozzi must have told Tommaso, though not his wife, that the family is beholden to the Left-Hand Land. I wonder how much detail he went into.”

“I couldn’t have told that from the way Tommaso behaved when he first came to us,” I said. “Did you guess?” I asked.

“No,” said Nonno. He seemed put out. “I truly thought it was a recent problem, not something so deep-rooted. I only began to figure that out when we heard the portraits, but by
then, it was too late. What is troubling me is that I saw nothing about the
famiglia
Strozzi in the notes, nothing in the history books to suggest that they were dependent on a demon for their wealth. Nothing that seemed out of place in the history of a banking family.”

“And we know how banking families always come by their fortunes through honest hard work,” Nonna said sarcastically.
“ ‘A man’s business!’ ”
Behind her, the coffee shower began to hiss and gurgle. Nonno grinned at me. “Laura was not any more impressed by Tommaso’s words than his mother was,” he said.

I smiled back, thinking about what it would mean if all the banks involved in the recession a few years ago had been run by possessed people. Maybe this kind of demon was a lot more common than we knew.

Giuliano lifted a hand and turned to look up at her.

“But human beings don’t need to be ridden by a demon in order to cheat, lie, and steal,” he pointed out. “We do it all on our own.”

“So you don’t think this is all that common?” I asked.

Nonno shook his head. “I doubt it. After a while, a family can get tired of the price. There is always a price.”

Nonna turned to look at him over her shoulder while she mixed my coffee and milk in a bowl. “And the price for Signore Strozzi?” she asked.

“He was slowly losing his mind,” said Nonno. “I spoke to Tommaso when they arrived at the Ospedale San Giuseppe. He
said that his father had mentioned how the men of the family were often short-lived. I could see Tommaso trying to decide how much to tell me.”

“And he decided …?” asked Nonna.

“Not to say much. He has a lot to think about. At least he and his mother did not have to be told what was going on; they sent for us, after all.