The Chamber of Ten

VII

ON THURSDAY morning, Geena sat inside a small café across the street from the Biblioteca. She had spoken to the police the previous afternoon and then spent time at the site with her team, but she had been totally consumed by thoughts of Nico. They had all noticed how preoccupied she was, but Domenic—always looking out for her—had done his best to divert any questions that weren’t work related. They all meant well, she knew. Domenic had reassured her that Nico was probably just clearing his head, that he’d be back.

But Wednesday night had turned into Thursday morning without any word from Nico.

She ought to be at the Biblioteca right now. The BBC camera crew had arrived, including a specialist in underwater documentary footage and several divers. The rest of Howard Finch’s production team would reach Venice in another day or two, but the dive was scheduled to begin within hours. Her team would be waiting for her. She ought to go in.

Instead, she sat watching the entrance to the Biblioteca from inside the café. She’d seen Finch arrive a few minutes earlier. Domenic had already texted her to say he was on his way and that Ramus, Sabrina, and Tonio were already inside. They were probably fending off the ire of Adrianna Ricci.

She ought to go in. It was her project.

But Domenic hadn’t arrived yet, and she needed to speak with him without the others around. And all the while she bore a sinking feeling in her gut, knowing she was letting everyone down.

She had just ordered another coffee when Domenic hurried through the door.

“Geena!” he said. “What’s wrong? Your messages had me worried.”

“He still hasn’t come back,” she said. “He hasn’t called and I’ve had these terrible feelings that …” She sobbed, once and loud, and it startled her so much that she gasped before the first tear came.

Domenic sat at her table and propped his bag against the chair legs, waved at a waitress, and generally did everything he could to avoid looking at her. I can’t blame him, she thought, and she sniffed and wiped her eyes with a napkin.

“Sorry,” she said. Domenic glanced at her and waved his hand—Hey, don’t mention it—but still could not meet her eyes. “But it’s just not like him!”

Domenic held both hands out, shoulders raised in a frozen shrug.

“I know.” Geena sighed. “I know. Nico and I kept it to ourselves for so long. It’s awkward.”

“Not really awkward,” he said. “Just …” The waitress came then, and they both ordered large cappuccinos with extra shots. When she left, Domenic sat quietly looking through the window at the library building across the street. He tapped his fingers on the tabletop.

“Just what?” Geena asked. He really wants to be over there, not here with me. And I can’t blame him for that. Will he blame me for not wishing the same?

“Well, he’s not a kid,” he said. “A lot … you know … younger than you, but no kid. He can look after himself.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, but she already knew. She’d been so wrapped up in her own world that she hadn’t taken time to try to view it from the outside.

“I mean, is Nico missing, or is he just not here? With you?”

“You think this is to do with things between me and him?” she asked. And yes, that was exactly what he meant. A flush of anger rose and receded again, and in its place was a sudden sense of how alone she was. This hit Geena sometimes, striking hard when she least expected—a feeling that no one else really understood her. Before Nico, she’d believed it stemmed from being so mixed up in history that the present was not the same place for her as it was for other people. Much of the time she spent thinking about the past, not the here and now, and some days she’d go home after a day at the university and spend the evening adjusting to the present. And then Nico came, touching her mind, and the reasons for her remoteness became wonderfully different.

“I’m just trying to look at it from all angles, Geena.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you what sort of trouble I thought he was in,” she said. “That policeman you put me onto, I spoke with him on the phone yesterday, and I didn’t tell him, either.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think Nico beat someone half to death yesterday.”

The waitress arrived with their drinks and placed them on the table quickly, sensing the awkward silence her presence had instilled. Geena held Domenic’s gaze, trying to read his expression. Past the shock she saw concern for her, heartfelt and deep, and she reminded herself that she had friends.

“What do you mean?” he asked when the waitress left.

Geena looked up when the café door opened. Finch stood in the doorway. A smile was already slipping from his face when he saw them, one hand half raised in greeting.

“Howard,” she said, waving him in. He was the last person she’d wanted to speak to, yet he’d arrived at an opportune moment. Had she really wanted to tell Domenic about the beaten man? And if she did, how the hell would she explain how she’d linked Nico with the assault?

She couldn’t. No one would believe her, and besides, her bond with Nico was precious and personal. It was special and peculiar to them, and she had never mentioned it to another person.

“Am I, er, disturbing …?” Howard asked.

“Not at all,” Geena said. “Please.” She pointed at the seat beside Domenic, and the producer sat down awkwardly. He coughed, rubbed his hands together, then shook his head when the waitress stood beside him.

“Ah, the film crew is prepping the cameras and getting into their dive kits,” he said. “And, ah, as this is your project …” He trailed off, looking at Geena as if waiting for her to finish his sentence.

I can’t be here, Geena thought. He’s out there somewhere, and I can’t be here. But of course, she had to be. She had responsibilities, and she had no idea where Nico might be. Rushing off and leaving all her responsibilities behind would not help her find him, and at least here she might feel grounded.

“Yes,” Geena said, glancing at Domenic. He was frowning at her, and she knew that as soon as the two of them were alone again, he would grill her about what she’d said, and why she had not let him in on this the previous night. She’d called his police friend and told him simply that Nico was missing, and the response she’d received was just what she expected. He’s an adult. Unless you think he’s hurt or in danger, there’s little we can do. And picturing the beaten man she’d seen carried from that old building, she had told the policeman that no, she had no reason to suspect either.

Yes, he’s in danger, she’d been thinking. And perhaps I am, too. But she was not about to give Nico up to the police.

“Yes, my project. I was just sitting here tanking up on caffeine before facing Adrianna.” She smiled, and Finch laughed politely, glancing sidelong at Domenic’s stern expression. He knew there was something more going on here, but he was obviously unsure how to broach it.

“So, your whole team will be here for this?” he asked.

“Most of them,” Domenic said. “Nico is resting; he’s picked up a bug somewhere.”

“Lot of it around,” Finch said.

Geena drank some of her coffee and enjoyed the steam rising before her eyes, cutting her off from the two men for a moment. I’m here when you need me, she thought, wishing that Nico’s strange touch could go both ways.

“So Tonio tells me Sabrina’s footage from Monday’s accident convinced your bosses to let you do a six-part series?” Geena said, and Finch seemed to visibly relax. They finished their coffees while Finch filled them in—his series would cover the sinking of Venice, Geena’s original project attempting to salvage Venetian antiquity from the rising waters, Petrarch’s library, the Chamber of Ten, and the recovery effort—but all the time Geena was aware of Domenic simmering gently beside her. She would have to tell him soon, she supposed. But she would give it until lunchtime. If she’d heard nothing from Nico by then, she thought, she would need the support.

As she crossed the street with Domenic to her left and Finch to her right, the morning sun broke across the Biblioteca’s façade. A gentle breeze blew from deeper within the city, carrying a mix of the city’s scent with it—coffee, baking bread, sewage, dirty water, cigarette smoke, and that indefinable aroma of water that always seemed untouched by whatever impurities the water might contain. A rush of optimism was blown in with the breeze, and Geena felt herself lifted. Everything’s going to be all right, she thought. By midday, she would have cause to wonder where such foolish ideas might have originated.

They entered the Biblioteca and as they passed through the foyer, they could already hear the library director’s voice raised in protest, echoing shrill and angry along the halls.

“Sounds like your camera team have met Adrianna,” Domenic said as they entered the reading room.

“Yes, quite a lady,” Finch agreed. “First she told us we’d come to the wrong place, then she claimed there were old Venetian laws forbidding filming in the library.”

“She does like keeping the place quiet,” Geena said.

“Sounds like she’s the one making all the noise now,” Domenic said, chuckling.

They walked back into the now cramped room where the secret door to Petrarch’s library stood open. Sabrina, Ramus, and Adrianna were there, as well as several strangers—the BBC crew, she guessed—and two senior students she recognized from the university. These two had dived on many sites around Venice, sometimes on their own, and sometimes taking one of several other students or lecturers down with them. Sabrina was one; not yet fully trained as an archaeological diver, still she was well versed with all the technology, and she knew the dangers. They were already wearing dry-suits, and Sabrina was chatting with the BBC crew via an interpreter. They pointed at various pieces of camera technology arrayed on a table before them, and Geena guessed they were trying to decide whether they’d be able to patch Sabrina’s camera images directly through to their laptops. One of the BBC crew was standing behind Sabrina, surreptitiously eyeing her shapely behind in the suit. And it’s the Italians who get the reputation as leches, Geena thought.

Tonio emerged from the stairwell that led to the flooded chamber below—Petrarch’s library—a look of concern on his face. He noticed Geena and brightened, and she saw his eyes flickering either side of her as he looked for Nico.

“Geena!” he called, holding out his arms. “We’ve been waiting.”

She nodded at Tonio, then smiled at Ramus and Sabrina. She knew them well enough to know that they were uncomfortable, but she could not make out why. Was it the BBC crew and the sudden widening of attention surrounding their project? Or had Domenic told them something of her conversation with him last night?

Now was not the time to ask. Everything’s going to be all right, she thought again, and maybe getting into some work would help her emerge on the other side with a clearer view of what was happening. Perhaps it was not only Nico who had been affected strangely by their unsettling experience and near escape from the flooded chamber below Petrarch’s, but her as well.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I just like to keep people waiting. So, when will we be ready to go?”

In the end, it was the BBC crew that held them up. After suffering several technical difficulties in linking their own equipment to the university’s laptops and filming equipment, it seemed they had a small dispute amongst themselves. Finch took them to one side to mediate, throwing frequent apologetic glances Geena’s way, and she smiled and shrugged. Meanwhile Sabrina and the two divers checked one another’s diving gear again. As well as the dry-suits and breathing apparatus, they carried a length of thin rope each, powerful lights, and a reinforced plastic helmet that sat snugly against their heads, protecting them in confined spaces. They went through safety procedures, and Geena noticed that both divers were carrying two knives each. The flooded chambers would be extremely hazardous. As well as the poor visibility they expected, everything left down there when the flood struck would be floating at random, and there was plenty that might entangle them.

“So what are you going to do now?” Domenic asked her quietly.

“I don’t know,” she said. She was avoiding his gaze because she knew that she owed him some sort of an explanation.

“You talked with—?”

“Yes, thank you. But as I told you, as far as the police are concerned, Nico isn’t missing.” She expected some protest from Domenic, a comment about the police’s ineptitude, but he only nodded grimly and looked down at his laptop, pretending to read the screen. “But he is,” she said. “He’s lost, and I need to find him.”

“After this is over, I’ll help you.”

“Thank you,” she said, and felt tears welling up again. Oh no. Not now. Don’t start blubbering now! she berated herself. She was stronger than that. But when one single tear did escape her left eye, she knew it was not all for Nico. It was because she did not understand what was going on, and that what she had seen of him was so wrong.

“I think we’re ready!” Finch said.

“About time,” Tonio muttered.

Geena touched Sabrina on the arm. “Be careful down there.”

“Of course. I’ve got these two hunks to look out for me.”

“Well, don’t rely on two hunks. Look out for yourself.” Geena smiled at the divers to let them know she meant nothing by it—she’d used them before several times, though for the life of her she could not remember their names. She could see the tension in their faces, and she viewed that as a good sign. They were worried, they were cautious, and that meant that they would be taking care.

“We’ll want an all-around view of Petrarch’s library first,” Finch said, “starting with what’s left of the manuscripts that were—”

“No,” Geena said. “Straight down to the lower chamber.”

An uncomfortable silence settled, but only for a moment.

“For the documentary, I really think we’ll need—” Finch began carefully, but Geena cut him off again. His shock turned subtly toward anger.

“We need to see why the hell this all happened,” she said. “We did nothing down there, and yet our presence caused the chamber wall to give way and flood. One of our divers is an expert in Venetian architecture and old structures built to withhold water. He’ll see if there’s still danger.”

“How could there still be danger?” Finch asked. “The water’s up to sea level.”

“Mr. Finch,” Tonio said, “Geena’s correct.” He blinked at Geena, his look saying, We’ll be having words later. “And quite frankly, we are the experts here.”

Finch bristled, his team fiddled with equipment or examined their fingernails, but then he offered Geena a soft smile. “I’m in your hands,” he said, and she was certain he meant it. He was a strong man, but not harsh. And whatever his superiors back in London said, he was already becoming more than aware of the intricacies of this operation.

The hairs on her neck stood on end, she felt a rush of warmth as if the sun were touching her again, and when Geena blinked—

A square with tourists taking photographs and drifting this way and that, crumbs from breakfast still on their lips and breath heavy with morning coffee. Sunlight floods in over the roof of a hotel bounding one side of the square, a fountain is spanned with a mini-rainbow, pigeons take off in a wave from a far corner, and the world seems to be dragging her perception onward against her will, hauling her quickly across the square when the only way she wants to go is back. She tries to close her eyes—

“Geena!” Domenic said. “Are you all right?” He had hold of her forearm, and she had to blink several times to clear her eyes of the bright sunlight she’d seen in that moment of psychic connection. The library was dark by comparison. All eyes were on her.

“I … I’m sorry,” she croaked, coughing to clear her throat. “Yes, time to go. Yes.” Domenic would not let go, and she had to turn and walk away before he loosed his grip. She approached the divers, aware of Tonio watching her, feeling Finch’s gaze on her back, and Sabrina paused in tightening equipment straps across her waist when Geena drew close.

“Geena, you look—”

“Don’t take any risks,” Geena said, louder than she needed to, echoing off the stone walls of the too-small room. “I was just thinking about those obelisks, wondering if they were even fixed to the walls.” It was an offhand way to try to explain her brief flake-out, though she knew that Domenic at least would see right through her, but mentioning it now seemed a good piece of advice. “The water might have knocked them aside, or they might be ready to fall at any moment. Not to mention the stone disk in the floor—the one Domenic called a cork. If that’s a seal of some kind, we should see if it remains intact.”

“I wondered the same thing,” Finch said behind her.

“This is just an initial look,” Geena continued. “Don’t disturb anything down there if you can help it.” But what have we already disturbed? she thought. She’d recognized that square. It had been richer than a memory, and she knew what a touch from Nico felt like. She’d been seeing what he could see right now … and he’d been moving fast.

Sabrina and the divers worked their way through the narrow corridors leading to the first old staircase, and Geena followed. Domenic was behind her, and for a moment she was angry at him—Can’t I just have a moment on my own?—but that anger was misdirected. She should really be angry at herself. After this is all done, she thought, I can take time to sort things out. She glanced back at Domenic, and in his uncertain expression she saw doubt.

They went down. Sabrina was between the two divers, her camera held in front of her, cable playing out behind. There were two BBC technicians at corners in the corridor, making sure the cable did not tangle and ensuring there was plenty of slack. She and Domenic watched until the diving lights had faded and the water’s surface calmed again, and Geena could not help thinking they had been swallowed.

“Let’s go back and see what’s left,” Domenic said, and Geena nodded. She noticed that he did not lead the way, though. He was following her like a parent keeping an eye on their unruly child.

Back in the empty reading room, Tonio and Ramus were gathered behind Finch and his team, all of them staring at one of the larger laptop screens. As Geena approached she heard Sabrina’s muffled voice narrating her slow journey down into Petrarch’s library. Even Adrianna had come to watch, steely-eyed yet obviously fascinated with whatever had been beneath her all these years. Geena and she exchanged smiles, and Geena looked over Tonio’s shoulder.

The visibility was terrible. Virtually any dive they performed in and around Venice was marred by the filthy water—silt and shit, chemicals and refuse—but Geena had been hoping that the contained environment down there would have allowed the water to settle. It seemed it had not. Sabrina focused her camera and light on the back of the diver ahead of her as he led the way across the jumbled chamber, and the stark light picked him out like a ghost against the murk. Strange lighting effects gave him glittering wings—reflections from his equipment buckles and air tank, Geena guessed. There was no way of telling how far they had progressed other than Sabrina’s commentary.

“Floor’s pretty treacherous,” she said. “Shelves fell and broke. Some of the books are still whole. Most are pulp.”

Tonio sighed, and Geena placed a hand on his shoulder. We got most of it, she wanted to say. But what she really wanted to see was farther down. She wished the audio link wasn’t just one-way—she wanted to tell Sabrina to hurry. An urgency was bearing down on her, though she could not discern its origins. Impatience made her shift from one foot to the other. Domenic was behind her, a warm presence, and suddenly she wanted his hand on her shoulder, the comfort of a human touch. Because something in that last vision had felt inhuman.

The divers moved on, Sabrina filming the mess on the floor, and then they paused when they reached the open doorway leading down.

“Go on,” Geena whispered, and Tonio glanced back at her.

“Maybe it’s too deep,” Finch said. “Or too dangerous.” Nobody replied, but Geena thought, Is he feeling it, too?

The lead diver started down the staircase.

“Here goes nothing,” Sabrina’s distorted voice said. One of the BBC technicians adjusted something on the laptop’s sidebar, and Sabrina’s breathing came in clearer and louder.

Geena’s neck bristled. No! she thought. And she held Tonio’s shoulder again, locking her knees and concentrating on standing upright as—

She’s fighting the forward motion. People look at her. Sunlight blinds her, scorching eyes so used to darkness. The people who look appear unsettled, as if they’re seeing someone they can’t quite place. Through a narrow street where cafés hustle on either side, vying for trade and custom, she emerges onto a street she knows, running alongside a canal and crossing a narrow bridge, heading toward the Piazza San Marco and the Biblioteca. More people see her, and they stand aside. She’s struggling, fighting, exerting every ounce of her energy, and there’s a desperation there that makes her feel—

Geena opened her eyes and swayed a little, then felt Domenic’s hand on her shoulder.

“I think you need to leave,” he whispered in her ear. “A doctor, or rest. I’ll come with you.”

She shook her head and shrugged his hand from her shoulder. Nico’s coming, she wanted to say, but Domenic would only ask how she knew.

“We’re heading down,” Sabrina said. “The water down here … much colder. Strange.” Strange. The picture was all shadow and movement, and there seemed to be no order to what Geena could see on the screen. They watched, none of them speaking, as the image opened out into one of greater shadow. Their powerful diving lights played around the chamber, barely piercing the murk, alighting on one toppled obelisk with a broken lid. Geena stretched forward, frowning to concentrate her vision.

“What is that?” Finch said. He turned and spoke directly at her. “You don’t think there are still …?” She could smell garlic on his breath, and stale wine, and for some reason she wondered where he had spent the night.

Zoom in, she thought, and Sabrina seemed to have the same idea.

“Concentrate your lights here,” Sabrina said to the others, but neither of them did. “Hey, can’t you—?” Her voice was cut off, and the image on the screen became confused again: blurs, shadows, flickering lights. The technician played with the sound levels.

“It’s not that,” Geena said. “I can still hear her breathing.” And she could … slightly harsher than before, heavier, and when Sabrina’s voice came again it suddenly seemed much louder.

“What is that?” The camera steadied and homed in on a tumbled section of wall, and glaring pale from the slump of rocks, silt and building blocks slewed across the chamber floor, things that looked like bones.

“My God,” Finch said.

“I don’t think so,” Domenic said

Geena gasped. They built those walls using … And then everything faded again.

Zanco Volpe waits outside the grand Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, enjoying the sun on his face and the cool breeze blowing in across the lagoon. There is a hint of anticipation about him—something is coming, and it will change everything—but there is also a warm glow of satisfaction. He looks at his hands, feels a sense of pride and excitement at what they have done, and within him there lies a solid heart of magic. Black or white, it does not matter. The nature of magic is not dictated by its source, but by its user. And Volpe knows that his aims are pure.

He remains seated on the ornate stone bench even as he sees movement in the building’s doorway. Il Conte Tonetti appears, still hidden by shadows but twitchy as a hunted bird. He lowers his head and walks from the building, down the steps and across to where Volpe is waiting. He only looks up when he approaches; people move out of his way. He’s dressed in his best finery and is redder than usual.

“It is done,” Il Conte says. “Caiazzo died quickly. Soldagna put up a fight.”

“Good for him,” Volpe says, and he feels the butterflies of excitement stroking his insides. It’s almost done, he thinks. I’m almost free again.

As Volpe stands, Il Conte reaches out to take his hands, his own hands smeared with blood.

“Not on mine!” Volpe shouts, stepping back with his arms raised. He has no idea what effect another man’s blood on his skin might have. The spells are delicate as yet, his talents still uncertain, and he will not risk them for an instant.

“I … I apologize,” Il Conte says, and his face crumples.

“Be a man,” Volpe says, his voice strong and deep. “You are Il Conte Rosso now. That’s how you’ll be known. And you helped save Venice today.”

“Yes,” the Count says, “of course.” Though he cannot conceal his doubt.

“Tonight we move on Aretino.” Volpe turns away from the Count and the building that hides the Chamber of Ten. The next time he sets eyes upon this place, the city will have a new Doge, and he will have moved on yet once more.

“I’ve never felt such power,” he says. For the first time in a long while, he cannot feel his many decades weighing down upon him.

Outside, Geena thought. That’s all from outside. She opened her eyes but still everything seemed dark. Someone was pulling her against their chest, arms around her waist—Domenic. Her legs felt weak, and she shifted position until she could feel herself supporting her own weight again.

“Geena,” Domenic said, and she turned to look up at his face. The concern was almost heartbreaking, because she knew she had been shunning him. “I won’t take no for an answer this time. We have to get you—”

“No,” she said. “I’m not ill. I’m just …” Seeing visions from the past? That was Il Conte Rosso, and I saw the fresh blood on his hands that gave him his name. She could not just run now. If she did, she might miss Nico.

“You look like you’ve seen a—”

“I think he’s outside,” she said, and they both glanced through the arched door of the reading room and into the foyer of the main entrance. Sunlight, but no shadows.

“You mean Nico?” Domenic asked. Ramus was looking at them oddly, but the others—Finch, the BBC crew, and even Adrianna—had their attention riveted to the laptop screen.

“They filled the walls with bones,” Finch said again, and it had the sound of someone trying to convince himself of what he saw.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” came Sabrina’s muffled voice. She was breathing faster, and Geena sensed simmering panic.

“Tell her to calm down,” she said, glancing back at the main doors again. That was all from Nico, she thought, and he was approaching across the piazza, and then suddenly the flashback that wasn’t him. It was Volpe. She shivered, because even thinking the name gave her goosebumps.

If he had approached, he was holding back, waiting outside or something. Maybe he was just afraid to come in because that would mean facing her questions.

“One of the obelisks is open!” Sabrina said, and that snapped Geena’s attention back to the laptop. She pushed her way past Finch, with Domenic still beside her, and knelt so that she could get a better view of the screen. Tonio placed one hand on her shoulder and she knew what that touch meant: This is amazing! Sabrina’s crazy camera work settled at last, focusing on the broken lid of one of the obelisks and the thing it contained.

“They’re tombs,” Tonio said.

In her time working in Venice, Geena had been witness to the exhumation of dozens of bodies, all of them buried many hundreds of years ago. They never frightened her, but there was always something unsettling about setting eyes on a corpse that had been out of sight, alone, and at peace for so long. Though she was not a religious person, to Geena it felt intrusive and disrespectful, and she’d always had trouble identifying the line between recently buried and of archaeological interest.

“My God,” Sabrina’s voice hissed, “it’s wearing …”

A hat, Geena thought. A black hat and robe, covering less formal attire beneath. And she thought of bleeding palms and the vague sense of ritual.

“Nico!” Ramus said. “Look everyone, it’s Nico!”

For a moment Geena scanned the screen desperately, thinking that they’d seen his drowned body down there, and in the space of a heartbeat the idea that she’d imagined everything since the flood hit hard. But then she sensed those around her turning away from the table of equipment, and she, too, stood and turned.

She bit her lip against the wooziness that still shifted the world around her. Behind them Nico was standing just inside the entrance to the reading room.

“Nico!” she said, unable to keep the rush of relief and affection from her voice.

He seemed not to hear; his eyes were blank, his face expressionless. He carried a heavy-looking bag in one hand. Then he started walking toward them, and Geena cringed at the way he moved—a stiff, stilted walk as if he’d smashed bones in both of his legs.

“What’s wrong with him?” Ramus asked.

Geena moved toward him. Domenic’s grip tightened briefly on her arm before letting go, but she knew he was still behind her. Don’t be a fool, she thought, Nico would never hurt me.

She smiled, vision blurring with tears that seemed to well up from nowhere.

Behind her the BBC team were still chattering excitedly about what they had seen, and Finch seemed to be talking into a cell phone. Of course, she thought. They don’t even know about Nico.

“Where have you been?” she asked. Nico had paused. He looked dirty, tired, and sad, and she could already tell that he hadn’t washed since leaving her apartment. “Nico, I’ve been so worried and …”

“No,” he groaned. He sounded desperate and pained, as if talking was a strain. The sudden look in his eyes—burning and triumphant—did not match that voice.

“Nico?” I saw what he did to that man, she thought, but could she really suspect him of doing something so terrible?

No. Not him. Not Nico. But someone else.

“Run, Geena,” Nico growled, low enough for only her to hear. Glancing back she could see others turning to watch them now, and one of the BBC men was pointing a small handheld camera their way. Domenic was approaching her, his eyes flitting from her to Nico and back again.

She turned back. “We’re going to find out exactly what happened,” she said.

“No! Run!” Nico repeated, louder this time. The terrible urgency in his voice gave her a frisson of fear.

He leaned forward, and then his walk turned into a headlong rush, a controlled fall that set his feet stumbling against each other. And for the first time she saw what he had in his other right hand.

A knife.

“Come here, sweetness,” Nico said. But the voice was no longer his own. Deep, guttural, harsh, she had heard it before in those strange flashes of a time long gone. And it carried a madness she could have never expected in someone she loved so much.

Just as Nico fell against her, Domenic pulled her back.

But the knife still did its work.