Angelica awoke on the floor, bed sheets wrapped and twisted around her body like a tight cocoon. As she managed to pull one of her arms out, she saw the cuts still visible on it, a clear reminder of intense training session two days ago — yet Marco's final words of good swelled like a balloon in her chest, figuratively lifting her, and she squirmed and finally sat up. She looked around the dormitory and found it to be eerily still. The balloon seemed to have been popped by a bobby pin, and she was now more apprehensive than anything else.

She walked to the curtains and pulled them back. The sunshine did nothing to ease the mood of the room; instead, they cast shadows against the walls, and one, Angelica noted, which was reminiscent of the silhouette of a human being. She examined the weird, dark figure, and could've sworn it twitched, revealing a long braid.

"That's... That's silly," she said to herself, shaking her head slowly but still keeping her eyes locked on the mysterious thing that had invaded her room. "It's probably just a shadow from the chair." She moved and pushed her desk chair. Nothing happened to the shadow. Starting to feel more at unease, Angelica went over to her dresser and wrenched open the drawers, but the figure was still.

She couldn't help feeling anxious. Deciding to bolt to the cafeteria stat, she threw on a simple black dress with slight embroidery and a pair of matching shoes and departed swiftly through the threshold and into the hallway.

IX

Once outside, she immediately heard a familiar voice call to her. "Ange!" She shrieked and fell backward in surprise. When she looked up, Henrietta towered over her, brows furrowed in misunderstanding. "Eeh? I'm not going to hurt you..." she said.

"...Oh. Oh! Henrietta. Hello," Angelica greeted cheerfully. The brunette held out her hand and helped the fallen Angelica back to her feet. "You're back early, I thought you would be gone for a week. How was the mission in Monreale?"

Henrietta nodded, replying, "It went well... What did you do while I was gone? Did you practice at all?"

"Uhm, not especially," Angelica admitted sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I was really busy."

"Oh, no, it's fine, you don't have to apologize!" Henrietta said. "Then what did you do?"

"I stayed up until three A.M. talking to Triela and Claes in their dorm the day you left... Then Marco made me do the obstacle course."

Henrietta gasped. "At three A.M.?!"

"No, no. Later that day."

"Oh..."

They fell silent. In Angelica's opinion , there was something a little peculiar about how Henrietta was acting — then again, she wasn't exactly in her right thoughts either. That shadow might probably still be in her room, waiting for her to return. And, much as she didn't want to admit it, she was too scared to even take a look.

Henrietta smoothed out the front of her skirt, now somewhat pink in the cheeks as she addressed her next matter of discussion. "Umm... Would you like to have breakfast with Giuseppe and I?" she asked.

Unsure, Angelica replied, "I...guess so? I might have to ask Marco first, though..."

"I don't think he'll mind," the brunette said, finishing with a smile that seemed to contain more hidden connotations than Angelica wanted to know. Maybe she thinks he'll say no...

------------------

Angelica approached the center of the parking lot tentatively, glancing around hurriedly for any sign of Henrietta. When she caught sight of the little brunette waving to her from a lovely-looking Porsche, she darted to it, terrified Marco may see her from the handlers' building, which happened to be (and unfortunately was) situated directly in front of their meeting place. She accidentally slammed into Henrietta, only knocking her off-balance by a bit.

Regarding the older male next to her, Henrietta chimed, "So where are we going to have breakfast at today?"

"I was thinking the Caffè della Pace?" Giuseppe replied, smiling. "Then maybe we could go see the Piazza Navona, if you'd like."

All those places sounded foreign to Angelica. Maybe she went there once before, perhaps ever twice — but nowhere in her memory could she recall any piazzas. Henrietta, meanwhile, gave a exclamation of approval, before suddenly becoming mindful of her proper manners and clamping a hand over her mouth.

Then, they loaded up into the car and departed swiftly through the Social Welfare Agency's gates and on the road.

------------------

The Piazza Navona was like an entirely different world to Angelica. Everywhere she turned, a staple of Italian history stared her in the face — not to mention all the outdoor cafés, street musicians (some of which taught her a few pointers on first playing the violin), and amusing people milling around the square in droves gave it a light, whimsical, and intriguing feel. Henrietta was as delighted, if not more, evidenced by her grabbing Giuseppe's arm and pointing to items of interest. It was clear to Angelica that the brunette had never been here before.

They finally came to their destination after Henrietta spent several minutes fawning over the Santa Maria della Pace church. The café beside it seemed rather packed. As a waitress passed by, she took one scathing appraisal of Giuseppe and said, "We're full. Check back tomorrow."

Slightly taken aback, he replied, "Oh... Alright then. I guess we'll be going somewhere else."

As he and Henrietta started toward another outdoor restaurant nearby, Angelica was suddenly and rather abruptly stopped by a surprisingly strong grip on her wrist. She spun around and came face-to-face with a tall, dark-haired boy who was maybe only a tad older than herself. His grin seemed to friendly, yet denoted a mistrusting nature.

"Excuse me, miss," he began politely. "My father owns several cafés around this piazza, so I figured I may as well introduce myself to you." He released her wrist and instead supplied his hand to her. "My name is Damiano Scutese, though my close acquaintances known me as 'Perro'. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Reluctantly, Angelica accepted his handshake, and let go almost immediately. "M-My name is Angelica. It's...um...it's..."

His smile briefly disappeared, and he took her hand, leading her over to a table of boys, all dressed similarly to him. They each appeared to be somewhat bored of their surroundings, and instantly lit up at the sight of a girl.

The one boy who didn't sport as many dark, menacing colors said, "Oh, hey, Perro. Found yourself a nice girl?" He coughed loudly. "Ugh, freakin' coffee... C'mere, girl. Comment vous appelez-vous?"

She struggled momentarily, trying to recall strands of her old French lessons. "Je m'appelle Angelica...?" she offered, frowning.

"Oh, how cute! She speaks French. Have a seat. We've been kinda bored here, so you're like the highlight of the day," the blond said, pulling up a chair for her. Not wanting to seem rude, she sat down and took a sweeping glance at the area: Giuseppe and Henrietta were nowhere to be seen.

Damiano, however, remained standing, watching the employees. "Jeez, the staff here are always so negligent. I ought to speak to the owner about this." He turned back to Angelica. "So, where are you from? You look rather Italian."

"Hardly garden-variety, though!" the blond boy piped, and was sharply silenced.

"Ummm... Rome... I live here," Angelica answered, quickly growing red in the face.

"In the piazza?"

"N-no, on the...the outskirts..."

"Oh, huh. So is your family rich?" Damiano questioned, as if it were terribly pertinent.

"Um, I actually... I... Live in a dormitory. I haven't seen my parents for several years, I'm not sure where they are."

"How sad!" chimed a brunet in a hilariously cheap black suit topped with a beret that sat on his head. "Oh, that is very tragic. I will write a poem, and dedicate it to you. Where's my notebook? Evrard, do you have my notebook?" He spoke Italian very carefully, and with a slight accent that hinted at something Slavic being his first language.

"Nah," the blond replied, sipping his coffee and leaning back in his chair. "I think it's in one of your jacket pockets."

He frantically reached inside his suit, and, with a relieved sigh, extracted a book with a pen attached to the spine. He flipped it open to an empty page, grabbed the pen, and with a click, began scribbling. "Angelica e la Angeli del Destino..."

"Hah!" Damiano interjected triumphantly, startling their young guest. "That's a silly title. You should get someone who actually knows Italian to write for you, Miran."

"It is a working title. You would know that, Damiano, if you ever dipped your hand in a writer's ink, but I suppose you are far too rich for that."

"Oh, hush," Evrard sighed. "You're father was just a smart investor. You're as good as any drunk's son, so you can't talk."

"Hah! Me, a son of a drinker? My father has not had an alcoholic drink in years since mother died. But I heard from a good source that your dad is having an affair with a thirteen-year-old girl. Though I guess drinking is far from pedophilia."

There was a brief scuffle as Evrard launched himself across the table at the brunet, scattering glasses and plates and shattering them on the ground. A burst of screams came from the other occupied tables as people rose and frantically backed away from the scene, and a dog started to bark in response to the violence. Angelica buried her face in her hands, wanting to cry but finding herself incapable of it, when a voice called out for the two boys to cease their squabble.

"Oi, break it up! Evrard, calm the hell down, you're scaring our guest! Miran, stop talking out of your ass!" Damiano shouted. He then turned to the dog. "And you, shut up!" The animal cowered with a small, pitiful whine, and backed up against its owner. Evrard heaved himself up and dusted off his collared shirt, ignoring Miran, who lay on the ground, groaning like a wounded soldier. Angelica peered at the scene through her fingers as Damiano seized the Slavic boy by his lapel and hoisted him up easily. Miran met his friend's steely glare with a smirk.

"You idiot," Damiano spat. "You're such a dumbass. We've got company and that makes you decide it would be fun to yank Evrard's chain? Trying some misguided attempt to show off?" He threw Miran back to the stony ground. "Pathetic."

Behind him, Evrard straightened his jacket and then lifted his things from the table. He turned to Angelica. "Nice meeting you, miss, but I've really got to jet. Salut." He then turned and began to walk away, not giving her a moment to respond. Flustered, she called after him in poorly-pronounced French, "Désolée!"

Miserly, Miran snatched his notebook and pen and left. Before Angelica knew it, she was being tugged up and towards a fountain, Damiano leading her. He sat her down on one of the stony benches, not looking at her.

"I'm sorry about all of that, Miss Angelica," he said, joining her. "Miran's not really my friend — neither of them are, my best friend is vacationing in Switzerland right now and he didn't invite me like he usually does. So I'm stuck in Rome."

She twisted the hem of her dress in her hands and mumbled, "Oh, that's really..."

He held up a hand to silence her. "I don't need your sympathy. You need mine; I can't imagine having to live in a dormitory and then coming outside to be greeted by complete ruffians. You must feel as sick as I do."

"I...guess?" Angelica said. "I really don't mind, it was just a little scary."

Damiano paused, his gaze lingering on her. He smiled. "I like you. You remind me of a girl I had a crush on a long time ago — though I can't for the life of me remember her name right now. It started with an 'A', I think... She was the daughter of a modestly successful Italian businessman and his wife." She nodded in understanding. "But yeah. The business man moved away to, I think, Russia. Father told me to stop seeing that girl after her mother mysteriously disappeared. But enough about them, what are your hobbies?"

"H-hobbies?" Angelica repeated.

"You know, like what things you enjoy doing in your spare time. I like to collect antiques, but I've got allergies so I try not to go inside really dusty shops. I also enjoy traveling — Sardinia is a great destination spot, I've always preferred it to Sicily."

"Oh, um... I'm learning how to play the violin..."

"Really?" His eyes lit up almost magically. "What a coincidence, so am I. Although I don't fully understand why — I already know the piano, the clarinet, the flute, the cello, and the viola. But I suppose one more wouldn't hurt."

Angelica felt her head spin at the amount of instruments with which Damiano was proficient. What a number!

"Erm, Angelica? Are you alright?" he said, leaning in and taking a gander at her face. She appeared to have gone into a state of dizziness so profound that it blocked all noises coming from the Piazza Navona and, most especially, Damiano. She wobbled to the side, nearly falling off the stone bench they shared, and was swiftly caught by her companion's quick arm. She then leaned to her far left, resting on Damiano's shoulder and, apparently, asleep.

"Uh..." He poked her shoulder. "Is she narcoleptic?"

Despite this, he smiled as her breathing eased. She looked so peaceful as she slept. Damiano suddenly felt quite as ease with the world, and slumped a little himself, though with no intentions of resting as the girl beside him did; but things never go exactly as planned, because just at that moment, he felt himself succumbing to slumber. They sat together for a few minutes before he jolted awake. He sat up so suddenly that it startled Angelica out of her sleep with a yelp. She looked to Damiano and asked, "Wh-what's wrong? Where am I?"

"A-Ad..." The name was on the tip of his tongue. "...Adélaïde? No..." He slumped, miserable. "It's useless. I can't remember her name."

Not knowing what to say, Angelica murmured, "I'm...I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he replied. "It's my own for having a poor memory. I can memorize how to play five instruments, but I can't remember a girl's name..." He sat up, and grinned at his dark-haired companion. "I hope I don't forget your name, though. If I do, Evrard will remember it for me."

"Angelica? Where've you been?"

A new voice, belonging to a thirteen-year-old brunette named Henrietta, joined their conversation. Laden several shopping bags in her hands with Giuseppe holding the rest, they appeared to have cleared out most of the stores in the Piazza. Damiano perked up at the sight of another girl. In a polite tone similar to that he used when he randomly accosted Angelica, he introduced himself, "Hello, my name is Damiano Scutese, most know me as Perro."

Taken aback by the boy's forwardness, Henrietta blushed, to Angelica's and Giuseppe's amusement. Tucking an errant strand of her hair behind her ear, she replied, "My name is Henrietta Croce, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Scutese."

He laughed. "No, no, just call me Damiano! Honestly, I could do without the formalities. I guess you'll go by Henrietta?"

"Y-yes..."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Henrietta. I've just been speaking with your friend, Miss Angelica, here. She's a very nice girl; I assume she's your daughter?" he asked Giuseppe.

Surprised, the handler struggled to reply, "U-uh, not rea—"

"She's well-mannered. You should be proud. Bit of a narcoleptic, though — might want to get that checked out."

Henrietta laughed and, not knowing what other way to react, Angelica giggled along with her.

------------------

Their arrival back at the Agency was later than expected — after bidding farewell to Damiano, Henrietta had insisted on taking Angelica to see all of the stores that they had gone through without her, resulting in Giuseppe buying nearly double the amount of clothes than previously, all in the manner of black dresses and shoes. Their approximate time back at the Agency was at eight thirty-four, and Angelica was now safely within her room, putting her new dresses on coat hangers and organizing the shoes in her closet. She moved somewhat rigidly, constantly looking over her shoulder, and she had both the overhead light and the lamp sitting her desk on to ensure everything was perfectly illuminated.

As she stood on her tip-toes to put away another dress, she noticed something akin to folded paper tumble out. Kneeling and picking it up, she examined the note and an expression of fear and elation appeared on her features.

DAMIANO 'PERRO' SCUTESE
3874-687-222
CALL ME, ANGE