A/N: "Risqué"—Cute is What We Aim For. So I looked up what 'Star' is in Italian, and it turns out…it's Stella. I never knew that. I love unintentional coincidences, don't you? :) This one's another shorty, but I promise the next one's going to be of decent length. Reviews give me motivation :)
DISCLAIMER: I'm most definitely not Cornelia Funke, so The Thief Lord doesn't belong to me. Sad day.
(4)
Starla bumped into Alma in her rush to leave the back room. Alma grabbed her arm, eyes sparkling mischievously. "'Cute' does not do him justice." Alma giggled, winked, and went on her way.
Starla paused before she rounded the corner, took a deep breath, then swung around it. She looked around the café, with the chairs placed on the tables and Jack waiting by the door for her.
Scipio wasn't there.
Starla didn't know whether to be angry or burst into tears. What the f—
"Monica?"
She turned when she heard the voice, and, admittedly, her heart sank. Though she had to admit—the boy was adorable. He couldn't have been more than six or seven, and he had hair so blond it was verging on platinum. He looked like a little angel. He smiled so sweetly that Starla really had no other choice than to smile back.
Standing with the little boy was a girl and another, older boy. The girl and the boy both looked to be thirteen or fourteen, and they both had dark hair. The girl's hair was twisted into a long braid that went down the entire length of her back. The boy didn't look happy to be there, but the girl smiled warmly at Starla.
She crouched in front of the little boy. "I'm Monica."
The little boy grinned. "Buonasera," he said fluently. He held out a folded-up piece of paper that looked expensive. "This is for you."
Confused, Starla hesitantly took the paper. "Are you sure?" She didn't know who these people were. Why would they have a note for her? From who?
The little boy nodded eagerly, and then the girl spoke. "We had a pretty accurate description of you."
Starla was wide-eyed. "What?"
The girl just smiled and shrugged. "We'll be seeing you," she said, elbowing the boy who hadn't said a word the entire time. He forced a smile, nodded to Starla, then started for the door. The girl followed him, calling over her shoulder to the smaller boy, "Come on, Bo."
The little boy smiled brilliantly at Starla. "Buonanotte, Monica," he said sweetly, skipping off after the girl.
Jack watched them go, then shot Starla a questioning look. "The hell was that about?" he asked, walking over to her as she turned the note over in her hands.
"I dunno," she answered, slowly beginning to unfold it.
The handwriting was unfamiliar, but it made her breath catch.
Starla—I'm sorry I couldn't be there tonight. Meet me at the Ponte dei Sospiri tonight at midnight.—Scipio
