The Shades of Time (13 page)

Antonio waved
his men into formation and proceeded to the northeast across the
square, all the while scanning for possible trouble. That all the
trouble he could ever handle trailed reluctantly in his wake gave
him no small measure of concern. The confusion she felt had
coincided with something disturbing, something that should not be
possible. Again, the question arose—who and what was she?

Veluria steeled
herself for a taxing rush headlong through the Square. She'd had a
strong flash, a premonition almost, that they were to board a
sailing vessel. In point of fact, the swell of the Adriatic and the
swaying of the vessel had nearly rocked her off balance, so strong
had the sensation been. And she was almost certain that had
emanated from the tall man, but how and why was a mystery.

If she let her
nerves get the best of her she would be useless, and appearing
vulnerable was the last thing she could afford now that a meeting
with the fabled Cosimo de' Medici seemed imminent. She was less
concerned about Tonio. The potential existed for drawing on his
strength and power to bolster her reserves despite the conflicting
interplay of energies that had both of them unbalanced and
confused.

She'd never had
anyone, here or in her world, touch her in quite the same
way—psychically or otherwise. The longer she was near him, the more
… aware she became, aware of the shadows retreating as the sun
bulged above the Campanile, aware of vendors and passersby, aware
of the prickly feel of the lace against her breasts, of the slide
of silk along her calves, aware of an exquisite pressure in her
groin and labored breathing having nothing to do with their fast
pace and threatening destination. That awareness bled outward,
drawn inexorably toward the Dark One, toward his broad shoulders
and narrow hips, toward his arrogance and assurance and domineering
attitude.

Being around
that man was definitely not a hardship.

As a
distraction, Veluria filled her inner vision with images of
Stefano—his stocky frame and lovely hands, dancing dark eyes and
square, dimpled chin, a man-boy with courtly manners and a way
about him that made her laugh and blush and long for his youthful
touch and incomparable endurance. As she swept into yet another
alleyway of domiciles of indeterminate origin or use, that image
morphed into a dark stranger with demanding hands wrapping round
her throat and pressing into the soft flesh, lifting her chin to
meet a hungry mouth, gripped in an embrace impossible to break.

Veluria stared
wide-eyed at the man ahead of her, recognizing shared destiny when
she saw it. Unfortunately that kind of destiny could very well
compromise her mission and that would not do at all. She watched,
curious, as the Demon hitched his shoulder and rolled his head, as
if he too felt something unusual. She would expect that response if
she had used her powers to broadcast sensations like some aural
aphrodisiac. But she hadn't, at least not consciously, and she was
too well-schooled not to know the difference between dormant and
active. No. This was something else and she feared that which she
could not understand.

The small
company darted down a short alleyway and emerged onto a moderately
sized piazza. To the right and south, the canal bordered a line of
boxy warehouse structures, at first seemingly nondescript until
closer inspection revealed tasteful additions to entryways and
tall, narrow windows.

Antonio
anticipated her question, "Converted storage facilities. My father,
and others with similar interests, use these as needed when
business dictates a more personal presence." He waved to the
imposing edifice off to their left. "My father fancies this one."
He turned her attention to the north end of the quay, "The loading
docks are there, as is Cosimo's fleet."

Veluria smiled
at the measure of pride in his voice—unexpected for he favored
disdain and disinterest much of the time. She also noted that he
used 'Father' and 'Cosimo' interchangeably, a measure of their
relationship that would bear watching. The Sisterhood never let
even the smallest nuance slip past.

Although the
passage of time had been marked primarily with footfalls, she
became aware of the nearness of noon, the air heavy with moisture
as the sun climbed above the looming structures. Through the thin
haze, the Adriatic Sea sparkled with intense light, mirror smooth
and placid, imprisoning the galleys until wind and tide granted
favor.

Antonio
dispensed his men to the left and right, then indicated that the
woman should follow him through the teak door. He pushed into a
veritable sea of robed men milling about the spacious
rotunda—clerics, tradesmen, scholars—all engaged in the
single-minded pursuit of Cosimo's attention, if not his particular
favor. His father would be holding court, if it suited, in the
upper reaches of the gallery that encircled the cavernous open
area.

He guided the
woman to a seat near the stairs. "Please wait here. I shall return
shortly."

Veluria sighed with relief as she sank onto the stone bench.
Her feet ached and her back screamed with the effort to maintain a
rigid posture.
Damn these stays. I can
barely breathe!
She watched with interest
at the peacock array strung about the huge room, all engaged in
subtle—and not-so-subtle—machinations, intrigues and 'offers too
good to refuse'. She smiled at that phrasing. Though from well
before her own time, it had etched its way into her popular
culture, something this time and place would also appreciate and
embrace.

The Demon stood
off to the side, just beyond the curving stairs, speaking rapidly
with a harried-looking man carrying what looked like parchments. A
roughly dressed scarecrow edged past her, reeking of the sea and
rum. Clerics clustered like gaggles of cheeky crows, assured of
their importance and salvation, not so sure of their rank amidst
the supplicants to a higher power—commerce.

The Demon
glanced her way, sending frissons of energy racing up and down her
spine, only to lodge inexorably in her nether regions, her body
responding to his challenge with sweet pressure and welcoming heat.
Slick moisture coated her inner thighs.

Damn it, enough
already!

For once she
was glad to have the voluminous skirts to hide her arousal. Heat,
flushing rosy-pink, overspread her cheeks, racing past her slender
neck, settling temptingly on the soft mounds pressed above the
tight silk bodice.

There were the
inevitable admiring glances, even from the clerics. She bent her
head to hide a smile.

It started as a
tingle along her spine, then morphed into a cascade of frigid, icy
needles flash-freezing her nerve endings. Then pain, inexplicable
pain … and hot, burning desire. Fire and ice.

What the
hell?Antonio?

The Demon had turned away, his attentions directed elsewhere.
There was a familiarity to the near physical sensations, something
she'd felt before. Feeling bloated and overrun with discomfort, she
leaned against the cool marble wainscoting, willing the sensations
to pass. It didn't take long to dredge up the source. It could only
be from the
other
,
the Council operative, and he had to be close for the energies were
nearly overwhelming.

Before she
could think further on the odd confluence of sensations, Antonio
returned and beckoned her to follow him up the stairs. He rudely
strode up the steps, taking them two at a time, leaving her to
follow awkwardly, gathering her skirts and cursing once again the
fashions of that time. The small man with whom the Demon had been
conferencing appeared magically at her elbow, offering a hand to
assist. She gratefully accepted.

Destiny dwelled
in those upper reaches, the chessboard pieces aligned, awaiting the
first move.

Chapter
Ten

Andreas
grimaced in annoyance, forced to dodge from shadow to shadow, still
hampered with fleeting pain. Dark eyes flaring in the dim light of
emerging dawn, he scanned the frantic activity on the dock. The sky
yawned its last gasp as dark stole away, no longer in control of
its destiny. Andreas felt the tide, felt the sway of the unwieldy
scow laden with barrels of wine and oil and unmarked cargo,
bouncing against thick pilings and rough-edged planks.

He touched his
brow with the silver crucifix as if in silent supplication or
thankful prayer for the rise of a new day. Silently he cursed the
discomfort and awkwardness of his injury, the ankle commanding far
too many of his body's resources as it went through the painful
healing process.

Pain to heal
pain. On any other day he could accept the trade-off, but this day
it had interfered with his tracking, leaving him with far too many
questions and a mystery that required solving before his quarry
sailed off into the dawn.

What the hell
are you doing on a goddamn BOAT!?

A passing
journeyman carrying a small wooden box dodged perilously close to
the edge of the dock. The startled man realized his mistake and
glanced nervously to his left before moving on. Andreas cringed. He
needed to avoid that kind of unspoken broadcast. It wouldn't do to
draw attention to himself.

Besides, the
real question was: where was Veluria and why couldn't he sense her
presence?

With an effort
of will Andreas continued to lounge carelessly against a stack of
crates. With his slight frame and robes proclaiming him a simple
cleric, he'd be no threat to those busy with the matters of
commerce. The docks swam with deckhands and passengers, a babel of
tongues shot through with urgency, the tide waiting for no man.

Andreas
released a small burst of energy, casting about in a broad band to
avoid having the Demon pinpoint his location. He'd taken enough
risks exposing himself like this—his shadow self was less effective
in the brighter light of day with no comforting walls to shield
him.

She's not
here.

That left the
matter of the Demon's presence on the docks as a nagging concern.
Quickly he calculated probabilities but found no satisfactory
resolution.

"Damn it. Why are
you
here?"

Disgruntled, he
had no recourse but to expose himself. As casually as he could
muster, he backed away from the shielding tower of crates and
angled toward the furthest ship, the one commanding a final spurt
of activity as thick hemp ropes flew in graceful arcs to land on
deck. Two swarthy deckhands pulled at the companionway, securing
it, then spun away to tend to the task of pushing off from the
pier.

Well forward,
almost to the bow of the vessel, a tall figure bent over the rail,
his head and face obscured by the hood of his cape. Andreas risked
a closer look as the ship slipped its moorings. The figure was
clearly recognizable—few carried that height and bulk, that
commanding presence that so marked the Demon de' Medici as unique
amongst his peers. Yet the energy, the man's essence, seemed … not
quite right, a bit off.

Muttering, "Who
are you?" Andreas dropped all pretense and aggressively sought out
the man's identity. Fists clenched he stood perched at the end of
the pier watching the ship slowly ease into the waning tide. The
fluttering and tickling sensation in his gut mimicked the slow roll
of the vessel as sails snapped into place on a freshening
breeze.

As if he felt
the probe, the man on deck raised his head and stared directly at
Andreas. With a smooth sweep of his arm he dislodged the hood,
revealing unkempt sandy blond hair framing a stern face. Intense
blue eyes shot arrow straight onto Andreas' open-mouthed stare. A
small smile played at the stranger's mouth as his gaze lingered,
his eyes knowing. With a slight nod, he swept the hood over his
head, spun away from the rail and stalked regally toward the aft
cabin, leaving Andreas to gasp in consternation and
bewilderment.

"Mio Dio, how did this one escape the Council?
Fanculo a lui
!
" Andreas swore out loud, heedless
of his audience who gazed at him, curious and somewhat taken aback
at the cleric's anger and harsh language.

Andreas ignored the ache in his leg and stomped the length of
the pier, thinking hard and fast about this new intelligence.
Another chess piece, another knight on the board, when he'd thought
them all safely dispatched. This was unconscionable. His handlers
would hear of this. That they would fail to inform him, their most
valued field agent, of
another with such
power, how could…?

Andreas ground
to a stop, the thought taking root mid-flight. Only one other could
possibly replicate the Demon's energy signature so closely. Not a
perfect match to be sure, but close enough to fool him, especially
in his weakened condition.

What was needed
was a dose of logic and rational judgment, not a racing mind and
unproductive anger. With effort he calmed himself, muttering a
mantra of soothing phrases as he clacked his beads rhythmically.
Slowing his heart rate, he once again mastered his inner turmoil,
sorting through what he knew and what they had but surmised.

So there was
another. Genetics would dictate not but they had been wrong before,
his most esteemed colleagues with their research and
prognostications and smug assurances.

Andreas raked
his hands through his hair, his mouth set in a thin line, veins
bulging dangerously on his slim neck. "Nicolo," he breathed, "the
second most dangerous man in this cluster fuck of a game those
idiots dumped me into. With no warning, no intel. How was I to know
he could…?" Andreas' voice trailed off, once more aware of his
surroundings and the untoward interest of passersby.