16
T
hree weeks passed and Silvia began to fear she might never find the sixth stone. The knowledge that the other Vestals were still jailed was a cruel burden, one she'd carried for hundreds of years now. It was time to seek help. Now that Bastian knew what she was, perhaps they could work together to find the sixth stone. Perhaps she could convince him that her need for it was greater than his. If not, once he helped her find it, she would simply steal it from him.
And in truth, she missed him. And his bed. Having lain with him for a month as Michaela, she craved more. Some nights, she tossed and turned until dawn, remembering his touch and the hours they'd spent making love. For it
was
love on her part. Yet, still, she did not trust that it was love he felt for her. She wondered if he'd forgotten her, if he hated her. Or if he missed her as well.
So she traveled to Rome again, where she awaited Bastian's return for one week, passing the hours during his absence by searching his home and land yet again for the sixth firestone. She found nothing. Where was he?
Before he returned, she was sent to Naples by the needs of her host, Angelique, who had spent her girlhood there. Upon spending another few days making written arrangements for her rather glorious funeral, Angelique lay down in her mother's house and promptly passed away. Her death was put down to natural causes. As per her last wishes, she was to pass eternity in her family's cemetery plot, which included no space for her murdering husband.
Afterward, Silvia took her Ephemeral wraith form once again and returned to Rome. There, news quickly reached her that Bastian was to appear at an official government function in the heart of the city that night. Since this seemed the most expedient way to encounter him, and a venue in which he couldn't easily seek retribution for what she'd done to him when they'd last met, she went in search of a new host that might allow her easy entrance to the festivities. She'd hoped for a member of the waitstaff or the wife of a dignitary, but soon heard an even more suitable voice callingâone that drew her even as it repelled.
In the late afternoon, she found herself entering the apartments of a young, handsome gentleman who'd drunk himself into a coma and would soon die. A young politician in the Roman Ministry of Culture named Signor Tuchi.
Invisible now, she slipped into his bedchamber just as another man ran out of it. Furtively, he checked the hall, then noiselessly disappeared down the back stairs. He was only halfdressed, as if he'd come from an assignation.
Signor Tuchi was still inside, but he was not alone in his bed. She watched one of the two men remaining with him smack his face, trying to waken him. Looking terrified, the other was yanking on his own clothing as he backed away. She knew this man and searched her memory. Ah, it came to her. It was Ilari, the foreman from Bastian's excavations, who had so irritated Rico. Interesting.
“It's your fault! You bound him too tightly,” Ilari accused, hopping as he tried to don trousers.
“He insisted! What was I to do?” the other man hissed.
“We can't leave him like this.” The two turned to look at the minister's still figure, their gazes fearful. “To hell with the bastard,” said Ilari. “He wanted it rough. He got it rough. It's not our fault. His own peculiarities are what felled him. I didn't even get my trousers off properly to get a good poke at him.”
“Well, if you like fucking the dead, now's your chance,” said his companion.
“He was the ticket to my fortune, dammit all!” Ilari railed. “The vote is tonight. But without him, what chance do I have at taking the job in the Forum as my own?”
Suddenly, Tuchi's body gave a hard twitch and both men jumped as if they'd seen a ghost. Then they promptly fled the room and the house, taking the same path as the first man had.
Once they were gone, Silvia loosened the tether that held Minister Tuchi's wrists fast to the headrails of his bed and she pulled the gag from his mouth. Human hosts did not last as long as those of ElseWorld origin, and this was not a man she would have chosen. But if she took him on, she could sway the vote in Bastian's favor tonight. This would be her gift to Bastian, a way of repaying him for what she'd stolen from him. And what she would steal.
A few minutes later, the minister was hers. His breath was sour from his drinking binge, but he wasn't as drunk as she'd assumed. It was the gag that had inadvertently suffocated him. After a brief, unpleasant bout of retching, she cleansed her mouth. The events of the minister's day and his life were easily read now that he was her host. He was married to a socialite who despised him because he was despicable. And he was corrupt. In her absence tonight, he'd invited three of his cronies to come here for an illicit assignation. All were
omosessuales
, who must hide what they were. In ancient Rome, things had been different, but there had still been prejudices even then.
Stumbling to the door, she threw it open to the hallway and roared to the servants in her adopted masculine voice. “Get me something for this headache, dammit!” Then, scratching her stomach, she added, “And a bath and some fucking dinner!” She felt guilty for disturbing servants in this way, but such treatment was what his household was accustomed to.
And although the thought of food turned her stomach, she had only the afternoon ahead to prepare for tonight. She and her new host had a big evening planned.
Bastian crossed the bustling Piazza del Campidoglio atop Capitoline Hill on foot, passing fine carriages that were lined up for blocks. Gaslight lanterns bobbed on their hooks in the gusty autumn wind, lighting the monumental marble staircase as he ascended and then entered the Palazzo Senatorio.
Polizia
had been stationed at every door to guard the treasures within this palatial building. As far back as ancient times, government records had been stored here, and during the Middle Ages, this was the center of civic government. And just two decades ago, the palazzo had finally been officially designated as Rome's city hall.
Tonight, everyone had gathered here to view and celebrate the spectacular finds he'd recently made in the Vestal Temple and House in the Forum. And he was to be the guest of honor.
Adjusting the cuffs of his jacket lower over white gloves, Bastian nodded to the guards and entered the palazzo, finding its interior ablaze with lights. Almost immediately, he felt the weight of expectations. Men of the highest political and social stature in Rome were gathered here. Learned men anxious to be fascinated by his tales of the Forum excavations. Greedy men who sought to build their own fortunes and careers on his discoveries. They all needed him in one way or another. Still, a few foolishly sought to unseat him.
His contract as lead archaeologist in the Forum was up for renewal, and the Parliament would vote later tonight on who would take charge of the digs. Over the past eleven years, the job had easily come his way with every vote, and all concerned had feted and wooed him, since it was obvious he was the best choice for the work. However, now the ambitious Minister Tuchi was set against him, and would rather give it to his foreman, the more biddable Ilari. He'd poisoned the minds of a small but influential set of politicians, and the vote was precarious at this point. Bastian didn't plan to let them win.
Over the months, he'd supervised the arrangement of the artifact displays in these rooms in preparation for tonight. It now appeared that flocks of giant crows had descended among them, for as the invitations had strictly defined it, every gentleman here wore black. This was fortunate for him, since it had made his dressing simple. However, his coat was the single hint of color in his wardrobe. An acquisition from his travels in the East, it was embroidered with an iridescent thread that in certain light revealed a pattern of gruesome mythical monsters. One could only hope they would keep some of the more annoying government officials at bay tonight.
The ladies here were dressed in fitted gowns, worn off the shoulders and with skirts that were beribboned and flounced and ornamented to an extreme. Fashion was of no consequence to him, but he'd despised the wide skirts of the previous era. The silhouettes were slender now and waists narrow, a look he much preferred.
“One wonders if there's a bird, bow, or ruffle left remaining in a single dressmaker shop,” said a voice at his elbow. Turning his head, Bastian beheld one of his least favorite men in Rome, the youngest and newest of the Ministers in the Department of CultureâSignor Lino Tuchi.
“A joke? You surprise me, Minister.”
A slight smile curved the man's lips and there was a secretly amused look in his eyes that confounded Bastian. “Expect more such surprises in the very near future.” The minister nodded in parting, and as he moved past, the gazes of several ladies followed his progression. The pompous Parliament member was quite the dandy. His sleeve brushed Bastian's as he departed. And just as he was swallowed into the crowd, there was a flash of color. It was so quick that Bastian might have assumed it was his imagination if it weren't for the effect it had on his libido. He'd gone hard. As he dove into the melee after the man, he could only thank the Gods that his unusual coat hid the fact.
However, his progress was quickly impeded by the King of Italy himself, Umberto I. As he paused to speak with the man, the governor and other politicians swarmed, all eager to claim an acquaintance with him. Meanwhile the minister slipped out of sight.
“Wine, signor?”
Bastian nodded at the passing servant and accepted a goblet from his tray. Libations would be offered repeatedly unless he held a glass in his hand. The smell of the wine was enticing, but he wasn't the sort of addict who had an uncontrollable craving for the stuffânot as long as he totally abstained. So he only held the glass as a prop, as he led some of the more prestigious guests on an abbreviated tour of some of the major artifacts. All the while, a part of him was occupied with keeping track of a certain young minister. It wasn't difficult, since he continued to be the sole perceptible color in the room. When his quarry ducked down a corridor, Bastian quit a conversation midsentence.
A moment later, he caught up with him. “I would speak with you, Minister,” he said. He took his companion's elbow and felt a disconcerting jolt of lust. Dropping it, he stepped back. He detested this man. And he was . . . a man. Gods, what the hells was happening here? He opened the nearest door at random, and finding the room beyond to be empty, extended an arm to indicate that the minister should precede him.
Instead, the minister countered, “I have an office on the upper floor where we can be private.”
Bastian inclined his head. “Lead on, then.” They were silent until they reached the small but elegantly furnished room upstairs. Closing the door behind them, Bastian watched the minister pour himself a glass of wine from a corner cabinet and then sit at his desk, crossing booted feet upon its surface.
The man gestured with his glass in the general direction of the festivities. “Congratulations on the exhibit. They're all wondering about you, you know. Wondering how you find treasures with such seeming ease.” The minister cocked his head in a way that was oddly familiar.
Pushing from the door, Bastian redirected the conversation. “And do you know what I wonder, Signor Tuchi? I wonder what you know of Ephemerals.”
The minister smiled secretively. He eyed the glass of wine he held, then took another sip. “Shouldn't you be asking me more pertinent questions? Such as how I will vote in the matter of your reinstatement?”
“You'll vote against me, of course. Because you stand to gain nothing by voting
for
me. And because you're an ass.”
“True on both counts.” The man smiled and, setting his wine aside, folded his arms behind his head. “Minister Tuchi is an ass. But
I
am not.”
“Enough cat and mouse.” Bastian went behind the desk and took him by the collar, jerking him up. Their bodies met and color exploded. His skin prickled, his cock hardening to rock. His fury rose with the attraction. “Who the fuck are you?”
“How deliciously powerful you are, signor. So masculine. But then, I am as well . . . tonight.”
Silver eyes searched black. “It's you,” Bastian accused in a voice gone low and intense.
Seeing the recognition in his eyes, Silvia shrugged, a movement that momentarily tautened the shoulders of the tailored jacket she wore over her slender masculine frame. She was the epitome of the handsome, stylish young gentleman tonight, garbed in stark black just as Bastian was.
He let her go, his gaze sweeping her and missing nothing. “You could have your pick of hosts, yet you choose to visit me in the form of a man? A man I despise?” A dark brow rose, speculative. “One wonders if this is some sort of test of my affections.”
Her smile dipped and she sank into the chair again. “He was dying. I saw it as an opportunity to swing the vote in your favor. In spite of the fact that he wishes me to do the opposite. In fact, it was his last wish that I vote against you, and it will be the first Deathwish I've ever refused to grant. Excusable, however. Because as you say, he
is
an ass.”