Author's note: This chapter took forever to write. Will Rebecca survive once again? Read on and find out!
The rest of the weekend passed by without any more strange events. On sunday I spent most of the day at home, cleaning the apartment and doing some of my laundry, since the apartment also came equipped with a washer and a dryer in the bathroom. Since the air was still warm at night, I decided to leave my balcony doors open when I slept.
Usually, the village was pretty quiet at night and I was never disturbed. But this night, I kept hearing a strange noise. It never sounded close, but as if it came from a few blocks away from my apartment building, echoing off the walls. It was the sound of footsteps, that never seemed to cease – like someone walking on a road that never ended.
The next morning, I dismissed these strange noises as nothing but a dream. It was not the first time I had been hearing things in my sleep, thinking they were real.
At work, things were going about as usual – most of the more important tasks went to the other two more experienced secretaries, while I did the stuff that they seemed to dread more than anything – paperwork. It was mostly the business of signing bills and letters of credit, answering simple questions from the official Volturi website.
Yes, they had that as well. It was kind of obscure and hard to find, the design of it sleek and modern. There was not much on the actual page, mostly just basic information about the Volturi and the history of Volterra, and a link to a tourist site offering guided tours through the large building in which the three bosses of the company had their offices. Usually, the site would recieve questions from curious foreginers, and I would do my best to answer them.
This, along with fetching the dry cleaning, food for the rest of the staff and sorting the mail properly, was enough to keep my busy. Sometimes if there was an italian word that I was unfamiliar with (it didn't happen often, thank god) Helen would provide an accurate translation for me. So it came as a surprise when Marion suddenly presented me with a new task. She rarely spoke to me, which I was secretly grateful for.
"I need you to fetch a book from the main library." she said, her voice cold.
"We have a library?" I asked, and she predictably glared at me.
"Yes, we do. But it is only to be utilized by the Masters, except for circumstances like this. I need a book from their personal archives – book number 543. It will be on the second floor, on the right side of the room. Do not touch anything else while you're there."
I just stared at her, not comprehending her directions at all. And yet I knew that if I said so, she would have a fit about me being a dumb american. Sighing, I nodded at her and got up from my desk.
"Of course, I'll get it right away."
I knew where the library was located – in theory. Once I had accompanied Helen there, but been told to wait outside while she fetched something important that I wasn't authorized to look at. What I did know was that the library was somewhere in the "palace" building, across the piazza from where the secretaries worked. Actually, I had read on the volturi website that it was not a palace, but a former medieval stronghold – which had been rebuilt twice since then, which would account for the mix of different architectural styles.
When I stepped through the main entrance, there was a set of elevators up ahead. If I remembered correctly, Helen and I had walked down a set of stairs and walked down a narrow hallway. I walked closer to the elevators and saw that beyond that there was a sudden drop in the floor – a staircase. I shrugged to myself, figuring I had nothing to loose at this point.
"Well, looks like I'm going down then."
I followed the stairs one floor down, and entered a hallway much like the one above – except there was very few sources of light here. There were a few shaded wall-lamps, but they did not do much other than create shadows over everything the sparse light touched.
The floor was polished stone, and despite great care looked cracked and old in some places. I looked from the right to the left of the hallway, trying to remember which way Helen and I had walked last time. I cursed under my breath, regretting that I hadn't asked Marion for specifc directions after all. You could easily get lost in a place like this.
I took a chance and walked to the right, where there seemed to be a source of light from under one of the closed wooden doors. If it wasn't the library, perhaps someone inside this room could tell me where it was located. The door (like most of them down here) was wide and heavy looking, and reminded me of the double doors leading to the main office of the Volturi leaders. It took a bit of strenght to push it open, but it was worth it for what greeted me on the other side.
I recognized the large room immidiatly, having taken an earlier glance inside. The main library had two floors, but no ceiling that seperated them – the room was hollowed out. Instead there were two seperate spiral staircases on either side of the first floor, built into the wall, leading up to a circular walkway lined with a stone railing. And just like all other libraries I had visited back home – this one too was dusty, and it didn't take long for me to sneeze as I walked into the room. But I had to admit that it was beautifully arranged, almost academic in order. The layout was much like any public library, except all tables, shelves, chairs and lights reflected evertyhing I had come to expect from the Volturi – expensive, well-made and extravagant.
Now, it was just a matter of finding that book.
On the second floor, she'd said – on the right side. But which side was the right one? There were four sides of the room in total, and depending on which way you stood, the "right side" could be any of them. What made matters harder was the fact that there were no labels on any of the shelves – you had to know from years of familiarity to know where certain books were.
This is when I realizes that Marion was having a laugh at my expense.
Anger sparked inside me, hot and untempered. Why was she antagonizing me like this? Wasn't it good enough for her that I already felt out of place? But then, I always felt that way. I wondered if that would ever stop.
What I did know was that if I went back there now, there was no telling what I would do to her. Slapping her wasn't good enough. I wanted to tear her perfect hair out and have her choke on it. I wanted to drag her out into the streets and fight her, make sure that her head hit the cobblestones when she lost.
But that was only a fantasy – I didn't do things like that anymore. At least I tried not to. My hands flexed as I paced between the shelves, the musky smell of old paper hitting my nostrils as I tried to calm down.
Back in Forks, people knew about me. They knew that i was easily angered, and students at the high school were either scared or provoked by that. It resulted in more than one fight on campus, but since I was into sports, I was rarely punished – maybe a detention here and there. But I was not that person any more, not here.
Suddenly, a rhytmic sound entered the silence of the great room. It took me a moment to realize that it was the sound of pages turning in a book.
I was not alone in the library.
With much reluctance, I stepped out from behind the tall shelf I was hiding, locating the source of the noise. My eyes widened noticably when I saw none other than Aro sitting by one of the many work desks, idly turning pages in an old, worn book. When I stepped out, his peculiar eyes slowly left the book and settled on me. He looked the same as before, but the dim lights made his skin more normal, less snowy white.
It was not like our encounter last week. Before, it had been so tense, and I had been anxious and almost afraid. But here in the library, something had changed. He looked very much at home in here, like he belonged. Instead of closing the book and getting up to talk to me, he let the book remain open on his lap and remained where he was.
"Ah, play a little trick on you, did she?" he asked, and I stuttered on my own tounge.
"What?" I asked, and he smiled knowingly.
"You look lost. What did she send you down here for?" he asked, his dark voice suprisingly gentle. I fidgeted with my hands, before hiding them behind my back.
"A book."
His eyes widened.
"Really, in here?" he asked in a sort of mock-serious tone, and I realized that he was joking. It was so unexpected that I could not but help answering the grin on his face with one of my own. He resumed reading directly after that, and I realized that it was now or never – I decided to ask him.
"Book 543, on the right side?"
Without moving his eyes from the page, he pointed upwards to a shelf right behind him on the second floor. I nodded, walking up the stairs to the second level.
"Grazie mille Signore." I said as I walked away, not looking back to see his reaction.
After that, it did not take long for me to find it. While I searched, I could still hear him down below – the sound of pages being turned once in awhile and the sound my breathing the only two sources of sound in the room. After I had found the book on one of the lower shelves, I stood up and intended to leave. But then, I heard his voice. I looked down at him from over the railing, his eyes not on the book on his lap, but on some point in the distance, his head turned.
"While you're up there, would it be a terrible inconveniecne to ask you to also bring down another book?" he asked me politely. I didn't see any reason not to do this for him, since he had already helped me – and he was my boss, one of them anyway.
"Not at all, which one?" I asked.
"The Time Machine, H.G Wells."
The title was distantly familiar, maybe it had been a point of discussion at school – but I didn't know much more about it. Luckily, I didn't have to ask where it was, since it was conveniently sitting on the same shelf as the book Marion wanted. It was a heavy book – the cover was absurdly simple, colored an almost dirty beige. On the center of it, imprinted in purple ink, was a stylized egyptian sphinx.
I grabbed it as well and brought it down to his desk. He stared at it in silence and I stood there, a bit uncertain of what I should do. But I recovered quickly, remembering my role as secretary.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" I asked politely, making sure to smile.
"Yes, there is one thing..." he began, once again flickering through the open book, not looking at me.
"What is it?" I asked, thinking that he would ask me to fetch something else. Instead he pointed at The Time Machine that was now sitting on the desk.
"Read it for me."
I looked between him and the book, not understanding what he was playing at.
"What?" I asked, my eyes round and confused. But this didn't deterr him.
"The book. I want you to read it." he said, demanding. I frowned as I looked at him, fearing that this was another cruel joke - a trick of some sort. I rested a hand against the cover, as if that would reveal anything.
"…May I ask why?"
He shrugged elegantly, turning another page. His eyes flickered up to meet mine for a moment, but they were muted, hard to read.
"It is a really good book. I want to hear what you make of it." he said, making me feel frustrated, tired of trying to find meaning.
"….that doesn't really answer my question, signore."
He looked directly at me then, the intensity of his eyes somewhat calmed by the shadows in the room. I got the feeling that he did not speak to his staff often like this.. A hesitant smile painted his lips, almost a little manic. But it looked genuine, almost shy.
"I think you will like it, that is all."
His simple answer stirred something in me, and made me fall silent as I carefully picked up the book, hugging it close to my chest.