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Erik

Chapter 29

The Alley-Cats

He was a ghost.

Or I was asleep.

Perhaps both.

Whatever the case, I couldn't believe my own mind as I stared at Vincenzo, as he wrapped his arms around me, as I spoke to him and he spoke back.

He glanced at the nearest table, tilted his head, and the five men sitting there stood and each found a different table to sit at, as though Vincenzo commanded them. The way the tavern ignored us after focusing on nothing but our presence, it seemed he commanded the entire place.

He picked up his drink, took out a seat at the table, and nodded to us. "Come. Sit. Let's drink." He eyed me, emotion in his gaze. "Let's talk. We have much to discuss."

That we did. And I was sure he had just as many questions as answers.

My family and Ibrahim did as he asked. They wrapped around the table and pulled out a seat each, sitting, every one of them filled to the brim with trepidation. No one here was comfortable, except Vincenzo. In fact, Ibrahim seemed to be especially uncomfortable, watching Vincenzo with undisguised distaste. None of them picked up their drinks, even the former Grand Vizier. Something had made him lose his desire for libations.

"Is this...your home?" I asked him. Not unlike the Fox Den Inn, if I could guess.

"In a sense," he responded. He smiled. "I live beneath it. There's a trap door behind the bar. It's quite secure."

In a way that our home in Venice had not been. We'd had a trap-door, and the thing had saved my life, but we had lived and slept and eaten above ground, where anyone was able to find and harm us.

He downed the shot and pushed it to the center of the table. "Before we go into details..." He gave me a grin. "Might I be introduced to your friends?" He waved. "You can take off your masks now. Except you, Erik - I know why you wear yours."

They did, placing the garments on the table.

I picked up Christine's hand, keeping eye contact with him. "This is my wife. Christine."

"Hello," she said softly beside me. "It's good to...to finally meet you."

Vincenzo's dark eyes widened in a pleased expression. "Your wife, Erik?"

I nodded. "The love of my life. She...saved me."

Christine's fingers gave mine a squeeze.

"Donna molto bella," he said and winked at me. "Hai fatto bene, fratello mio."

I smiled, but not just because I agreed - yes, she was very beautiful, and yes, I had done well - but because it was wonderful to hear that language again.

Vincenzo turned and looked at Olivier, who was making another drink for a man waiting patiently by the bar. "You see?" said Vincenzo. "This is why I insist you marry. You too could have a beautiful girl, if you gave it effort."

Olivier didn't even glance up. He gave a shrug. "I have many girls. And no-" He smirked and eyed Vincenzo. "Not any of your prostitutes."

I stared at Vincenzo. Everyone else at the table watched him too. He didn't notice. Instead, he waved this away like it was a flying insect. "And all of them temporary," he countered.

"The way I like it," said Olivier. He finished his drink, exchanging it for money from the man, then he looked at me and raised a brow. "Why buy the cattle if the milk is free?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "A notorious cattle rancher, are you?"

He grinned and shrugged his agreement.

"I'm shocked you've had any milk at all, after calling them cattle."

Olivier laughed, a belly-sound. "Well. I do like this one, Vincenzo. Bring him around more often."

Vincenzo was smiling widely as well. "I plan to." He turned to my father-in-law, sitting next to Christine. "And who is this man dressed like a pappagallo?"

Gustave blinked in surprise at being addressed.

"My father-in-law," I said.

"Ah." Vincenzo bowed his head. "Good to meet you, Patrigno."

"Pappagallo," repeated Gustave flatly, blinking. "Patrigno. What-"

"Terms of endearment, I assure you." He smiled again and looked at Ibrahim last. "And you, mio amico?"

Ibrahim looked at me with a question in his eyes.

"It means 'my friend'," I responded. "Shall I teach you Italian as well, mio amico?" I smiled at him, but he didn't return it. Instead, the poison in his eyes only increased as he took in Vincenzo.

"We are not friends." He looked ready to spit. "Pedarsag."

I raised my brows at the insult thrown. He'd called Vincenzo's father a dog - and for what? "Ibrahim. What's wrong?"

"This man-" He pointed, fist clenched and pointed finger firmly in Vinceno's bewildered direction. "This man is a thief."

A moment of quiet.

"We...have established this," I said.

"No!" growled Ibrahim, and lowered his hand. "This man stole from me. Do you remember the night I arrived? The thief who accosted Azizah and me?" His stare at Vincenzo could have cut diamonds. "This was him. I remember the eyes. The shape of the nose. It was dark, but I remember." He paused. "Though his hair was blonde."

"Then it may not have been him," said Christine, though she was watching Vincenzo intently. The latter watched Ibrahim with amusement.

"No," he said. "I wear a wig sometimes, to confuse any police looking for a dark-skinned, blonde-haired man. It may have been me. Are you that man with the pregnant wife?"

Ibrahim ground his teeth. "She is my sister. You took all of our belongings."

Gustave had blanched. He leaned in to whisper something in Christine's ear, and she looked at me warily.

Vincenzo tsked. "My mistake. Since you are Erik's friend, I can reimburse you."

"I don't need reimbursement."

"No? Then what do you need?"

"You stole from me."

"I'm a thief."

"And I could easily leave this place and bring the police right here."

"I really doubt you'll do that - especially not after publicly announcing it, where all of my men can hear you." He gestured around, and indeed, several eyes were glancing our way. "I have many other hiding spots, so if this one is discovered, I can turn to another. You, meanwhile, will need to be quite careful." At his words, my father looked even paler, Christine bringing her shoulders a bit forward. I glared; I wanted to snap at Ibrahim for causing these threats from Vincenzo. "So I ask again, what do you need?"

Ibrahim's nostrils flared. "I want an apology."

Vincenzo smiled. "Sorry." He looked at me. "Now," he said, as Ibrahim leaned back and seethed. Christine pursed her lips in his direction, clearly hoping to catch his eye, and he ignored her. "Where have you been, Erik?"

At that, the whole table looked to me. They all knew, of course - they wanted to hear what I'd say.

Well, I wouldn't very well say it now, would I?

"Magic," I said. "I've been performing magic."

He waited, but when I stared silently, he cocked his head. "That's it?"

"Yes."

Christine squeezed my hand again. I squeezed back, heart beating hard. I felt a vision coming, felt those ghosts stirring, but pushed them down.

"I've been in Paris for a while," he said. "Why have I not seen or heard of you?"

I shrugged. "I wasn't known in Paris until recently." Not a lie, not really.

Vincenzo shook his head. "To think. You've been right here - mere miles from me. All this time."

I looked at him again. "And you? Why are you here?"

"When you weren't among the dead at the Fox Den, when Cardacci's guards couldn't find you, I figured you must have run."

"I did," I whispered.

"And I figured you must have gone back to France. So I came here, hoping for a whisper from you, some sign you were alive. There was a part of me that wondered if you'd been hiding in Venice all this time, that you'd been caught and captured and killed. But I hoped - and Paris, I thought, was my best chance of finding you."

"I'm glad." My voice was hoarse. "But how did you - survive? Mario said he killed you...and I heard it! Two gunshots. Upstairs."

"The first," he explained, his eyes dark, "was a warning shot for Salvatore. I know because I saw the bullet hole in the wall. I assume he refused to speak, because the second shot was in his head."

The world tilted. The ghosts were dangerously close to the door. He'd died - and it was my fault. He'd refused to give up my location-

"And you?" I asked, dizzy. "Where were you?"

"On the roof." His eyes shuttered. "Where Luciana used to always sit." He nodded. "Where you would sit with her. Where I would sit with her too, after we married."

The roof.

I felt my breath become shallow.

He'd been on the roof. How had I not at least checked...how had I not at least gone upstairs to see their bodies?

No, because I'd been a coward. I'd looked away from it all and walked out. I'd run. Just like I always did. I'd run and run, never truly facing my wrongs.

Vincenzo reached out a hand, palm up. Without even thinking about it, I put mine in his. It was warm, welcoming - just like his smile was now.

"I have fingers and eyes and ears everywhere," he said softly, and looked at all of us here. "I own Paris." The dominance in his voice made me shudder, though it wasn't unwelcome. "The rich think they do, but it's me, really. I run the show. I have urchins on every street corner, prostitutes in every brothel, barmaids and tenders in every inn, and homeless Parisians willing to do my work for a bit of coin and a place to sleep. They are my Alley-Cats. Spies and thieves, scattered around the city. Including Olivier."

He nodded back toward the bartender, who gave a small dip of the head. "Excuse his rudeness, by the way," continued Vincenzo, "I told him he'd be able to identify you by your mask and eyes, but apparently he wanted to give you a hard time instead. Probably smarter, I suppose, to ask for the slip of paper I gave you, or at least ask you what was on it." He grinned. "And I apologize our meeting was not more private. Couldn't risk it in case someone... else showed up, could I? I need my men to protect me - a lot of people depend on my survival."

He gave another glance around. "Should any of you need anything - anything at all - please let me be of assistance. Please let my Alley-Cats be of help."

There was nothing I needed, not personally. Not anything that he could help me with, at least.

But a glance over the top of Vincenzo's head, at a bottle half-filled with liquor on the shelf behind the bar, with a knight's suit of armor painted on the glass...made the cogs in my mind turn.

"Actually," I said softly, "I believe a friend of mine could use your aid."