Before Ever After (28 page)

Paolo slipped back to his seat, looking a couple of pounds heavier than when he had left.

“Feel free to applaud.” He produced two plastic cups and a half dozen miniature bottles of scotch from inside his jacket.

“What, no peanuts?” Shelley feigned disappointment.

“A thousand pardons for the oversight, Your Highness,” Paolo said. “Now shut up and drink.”

She held out her cup. Paolo emptied the tiny bottle into it.

“Bottoms up,” he said.

The contents of her plastic cup disappeared in one gulp. “One more.”

Paolo opened another bottle.

Shelley drained her second cup more swiftly than the first. “Another.”

“Um, maybe I should scavenge some peanuts for us first.” Paolo took her cup from her.

“Honey-roasted.” Shelley peered out the window.

“I’ll do my best.” Paolo scooped up the unopened bottles and tucked them back into his pockets.

“And where do you think you’re going with that?” she asked.

“I don’t want you to party without me.”

“Fine. Hurry back.” Shelley pulled her legs up into her seat and curled into a ball.

Paolo returned with two bottles of water and several foil packs of peanuts. Shelley was sleeping. He laid a blanket on top of her. “He was right. You do snore,” he whispered.

Shelley’s eyes fluttered open.

“Oops, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She stretched her arms over her head. “I don’t snore.”

“My mistake. It must have been the roar of the engines.”

“Ha ha.” Shelley straightened herself up. Her head swooned from the alcohol.

Paolo settled into his seat. “So did you ever hear from Mihael, er, Gestrin again?”

“No, actually. He must have gotten Max’s message loud and clear. Being buried alive is not something a person—especially an immortal one—would probably want to repeat.”

“But do you think he’s still out there plotting his revenge?”

“Paolo, please. Let’s not go there. I don’t think my brain can handle worrying about more than one immortal at a time.”

“Shelley, this is serious. You could still be in danger.”

“I honestly don’t think I could be further from it.”

“Why?”

“Because, as Gestrin said himself, he would only try to hurt Max by taking something precious from him. Max already walked away from me. Going after me would be a waste of time,” Shelley said. “Besides, who says that he hasn’t had a change of heart? Maybe the vial he sent through Marija really was a gift.”

“Since when did poison become an appropriate gift?”

“It’s twisted, I know. But think about it. Maybe it was some sort of peace offering. Maybe he was trying to create a companion for Max …”

“Or maybe he was just trying to kill you.”

“Let’s just drop it, okay? Gestrin is the least of our worries right now. Do you want to continue or not?”

“Um … well … I ditched the scotch. Drinking may not be such a good idea after all.”

“What I meant was,” she said, “shall we continue with the story?”

“Oh, uh, right. I knew that. Peanuts?”

“Thanks.” Shelley tore open a pack.

Paolo popped a peanut into his mouth. “So, let’s see now … we’ve covered Fatherhood and the French Communards, the Playboy Years and the French Revolution, Death Wishes and Swiss Basilisks, Aging and
Medieval Monasticism, Untimely Death and Celebration, Murder and Immortal Life. I honestly can’t imagine how the rest of your trip could possibly top what you’ve told me so far.”

“I thought so myself at the time,” Shelley said, “until Max hypnotized a chicken.”

M
ore pillows were on the floor than on the disheveled bed. Max rolled off Shelley and kissed her neck.
“Petelinji zajtrk.”

Shelley caught her breath. Droplets of dawn, each a tiny snow globe swirling with the first pale rays of the sun, glistened on her breast. She had found it easier not to think about trains and lists if she kept herself busy. Luckily, Max had kept her preoccupied since returning from the river. “Did you just sneeze, or did you say something really naughty in Slovenian?”

“Rooster’s breakfast,” Max said. “That’s what they call it over here.”

“Call what?” she asked.

Brad rapped his knuckles on the wall between their bedrooms. “Early-morning-freaking-noisy sex!” he said. “Now will you two be quiet and let a guy catch up on his sleep?”

Dex parked his bag next to Brad’s and Simon’s in a puddle of morning sunlight in the apartment’s living room. “All set, Max.”

Max walked down the hallway carrying a large cardboard box. “I hope you boys can squeeze a few more things into your luggage before we leave.”

Brad yawned. “If by a few you mean that giant box you have there, I’m afraid not. Now, however, if I had more than a couple hours of sleep and was in a better mood, I just might have offered to dump out the contents of Simon’s suitcase and find you some space in there.”

Shelley strode into the room. “As I recall, there were some very interesting noises coming from your side of the wall, too.”

Simon grinned. “Um, so, what’s in the box, Max?”

Max set the box down on the floor. “See for yourself.”

Shelley peeked inside. It was filled with a half dozen hemp sacks, each about the size of a large bag of potato chips.

“Pick one,” Max said.

“Well, if these are more of your gold coins, I think I’ll be able to find some room for it.” Brad eyed the box. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind slinging a few over my back.”

Shelley untied a sack and wrinkled her forehead.

“From the look on your face I take it that it doesn’t contain the shiny souvenirs I was hoping for?” Brad asked.

“I’m afraid not.” She held up a square piece of ocher-colored stone the size of her thumbnail.

Brad chose a sack and opened it. Simon and Dex followed suit. They each pulled out a colored tile.

“Is this the arts-and-crafts leg of the tour, Max?” Dex examined a red square. “Or are we retiling the bathroom?”

“Close enough,” Max said. “Hold on to that thought—and your sack—until we get to our next stop.”

“Which would be …?” Shelley asked.

Max held the door open for her. “An Alpine forest, luv.”

I
t gleamed in the sun like a polished grand piano, Shelley thought, and was easily the most elegant boat docked in Tronchetto Island’s harbor.

Max ran his hand over the grain of its dark mahogany hull. “All aboard, campers.”

She climbed onto the vintage motorboat just as the boat next to it roared to life. The sleek white boat pulled out of the dock, sending waves rolling the deck under her feet. A cloud of nausea swelled behind her eyeballs. She wiped a newly formed bead of cold sweat from her brow. She missed the van they had left in the island’s parking garage. The frayed green shag on the Volkswagen’s floor had seen better days, but at least it had provided more solid footing than the undulating boat.

“Well, this is quite a change from the van,” Dex said. “I love boats. This beats anything I’ve been on, though.”

“It feels strange not having a disco ball spinning in my face.” Brad settled onto the wooden bench next to Simon.

Max reached under the captain’s seat and fished out what could have been the Venetian twin of the van’s mirrored ball. “You were saying?”

“Why on earth is there a disco ball on this boat, Max?” Simon asked.

“I think it gives it a certain pizzazz, don’t you think?” Max said.

“Hang on.” Brad’s jaw dropped slightly. “Are you saying that this is your boat, Max?”

Max rubbed his chin. “Let me see … No, I don’t think that’s what I said. But I do know where the owner keeps the spare key.” He twisted the disco ball open. He pulled out a small plastic-egg key chain. A silver key twirled in the breeze.

The lagoon’s small islands were a blur of green and stone among flailing strands of Shelley’s hair. Shelley gathered her hair away from the wind and tamed it into a knot. Dex took her picture. She had gotten used to having her own personal paparazzo and obliged him with a smile. The sea sprayed her face, leaving a sharp mist of salt on her lips. This is what Venice tasted like, she thought.

Max glanced back at her from the boat’s wheel. “Did you know that for centuries Venice’s sewage has run straight into the canals of the lagoon?”

Shelley gagged. She might have felt better if she had heard what Max
said next, but she was too busy tearing through her bag for mouthwash to listen.

“But not to worry, campers. The tides wash the canals out into the Adriatic Sea twice a day.”

“That’s good to know, Max,” Brad said, “though I’d like to point out that the Adriatic is nowhere near the Alps, which makes me wonder if we’ve gotten lost. You did say that we were headed for an Alpine forest next, right?”

Max slowed the boat to a stop.

Shelley pulled her head out of her bag and looked around. The boat bobbed in the middle of a wide canal.

“Our forest.” Max pointed to the Venetian islands.

“Okaaaay …” Simon said. “Are we speaking metaphorically here?”

“Not at all,” Max said. “I mean that in the most literal sense. I’d offer to give you the guided tour, but unfortunately, we left our diving gear in Slovenia.”

“Why would we need diving gear?” Shelley asked.

“Our forest is underwater, as it is the very foundation on which Venice stands. The Roman refugees who built Venice pounded thousands of oak and pine logs into the lagoon to keep their sanctuary from sinking. There are mountains in Slovenia that are still sadly bare today as a result.”

“And one of those refugees happened to be Isabelle’s ancestor, right?” Shelley said.

Max restarted the boat. “How did you guess?”

The wooden planks creaked beneath her feet. Shelley looked straight ahead at the rocky beach, away from the murky water lapping against the posts of the small island’s narrow pier. She held her breath.

Max skipped over two missing planks. He held his hand out to her. “Watch your step, luv.”

Shelley took his hand and leaped over the gap. She walked onto the strip of craggy shore. A rowboat’s red carcass was mired between two large rocks, crumbling with every rise of the tide. Her last hope for a romantic
Venetian interlude sank to the bottom of the lagoon with a gurgle. “I take it we’re skipping a visit to the Rialto, Max?”

“I’m not a big fan of the piazza pigeons,” Max said. “Greedy lot.”

Brad scanned the tall cypress trees that curtained the shore. “Yeah, creepy deserted islands are tons more fun. Any chance we can stay on the boat?”

“Certainly,” Max said. “I’m sure the mosquitoes will love the company.”

Brad slapped his arm. He grimaced at the black mess of wings and legs that had been about to make a meal of him. “Lead the way.”

“Follow me.” Max disappeared through a break in the trees.

Shelley tried to keep her disappointment in check as she pushed through the branches reclaiming the narrow trail. Admiring the broad shoulders of the man happily humming a medley of Bee Gees songs in front of her made it easy.

Max stopped and shoved an overgrown shrub to the side.

Shelley gasped. An illustration from a Beatrix Potter book greeted her at the end of the path. Four rustic ivy-covered buildings were nestled around the edges of a wide, circular courtyard. The structure closest to Shelley was a quaint two-story house, with tall blue-shuttered windows and a small porch. The other two buildings were smaller and more roughly built. Farm implements and supplies were stacked around them, giving her the impression that they were storage sheds. She had a harder time figuring out what the fourth building on the far side of the courtyard was for. She peered up at it.

The tower was at least thirty feet tall and resembled a giant chess piece. Beyond it, Shelley caught a glimpse of rows of squat trees. Olives, perhaps.

A breeze blew through the courtyard, carrying the sea and the fresh pinelike scent of the cypresses. She closed her eyes to find a word to wrap around the balmy feeling expanding in her chest. She exhaled.
Sanctuary
.