Rae woke to warm sunlight filtering through the curtains onto her hair, her face curtained by the dark strands. Her right arm was under a lusciously soft feather pillow, while her other arm was thrown around a warm, solid something. She had a thick, warm blanket pulled over her, up to her face, but something was on her waist. It was an extra weight. She didn't mind one bit. It was probably just Shasta.
She was just settling back into sleep when Shasta moved. Only it wasn't Shasta.
Instead of a paw, there was a hand, which was running up her arm to her shoulder to push her hair out of her face. "Mmm," she groaned softly. She heard a chuckle and felt warm breath on her cheek.
"I didn't expect you to stay the entire night, Cara," he murmured, before kissing her on the cheek.
She opened her eyes and met his dark chocolate almonds. He looked much better than before; maybe because he had gotten some undisturbed rest? She smiled at him. "Good-morning to you too."
He wrinkled his nose playfully. "Ugh, morning breath."
She pushed him away, rolling her eyes as she sat up. She yawned and stretched. "The others are probably worrying about me…what time is it?" she asked.
He glanced at his own watch. "Almost lunch."
She gasped. "How could you let me sleep so late?" she hissed, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
He smiled charmingly, one side of his grin higher than the other, giving him a slightly mischievous look. "Well I'm sorry, Rae, but you looked so peaceful, like you were having a good dream. I didn't want to wake you," he said calmly, sitting down beside her. "Besides, you looked better than Sleeping Beauty—and there was no rush to save you from a curse or anything…" He leaned closer, that roguish grin of his making her heart stumble over beats. "Why are you complaining, huh?"
She ran a hand through her hair distractedly, her mind foggy from sleep and that smile. "Stop it," she muttered. "I can't think with that look on your face."
His grin widened. "What? This?" He made the same face and leaned even closer, his breath blowing some of her hair away from her eyes.
She glared at him, pushing him away. "Yes, that one." He pouted, which was probably even worse than his smile. Rae closed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him. "Bah humbug. So what have you been doing the past few hours?" she asked.
His hand found hers, his thumb rubbing the back of it, sending thrills up her arm. "Lessons," he said simply. "Aced the Math test they had made for me, did relatively well on the History review, and then absolutely flunked the pop quiz on 'How to behave when relatives you hate arrive unexpectedly at breakfast'."
She couldn't help but laugh. He covered her mouth with his hand. "Shh," he hissed, looking at the door anxiously. "I don't want you to be found."
"I should get going," she muttered, standing. He followed and walked her to the doors. They were both open and the curtains were swaying in the delicious breeze. The sun was streaming through them in a way that made everything seem like summer. This was very unusual, but welcome, since it was getting deeper into winter. "I'll see you in a few days," Rae said.
Scipio nodded, but seemed reluctant to let go of her hand. She suddenly remembered something, and she spun around, snatching up her coat and slipping her feet into her shoes. "Almost forgot," she said. She grimaced at Scipio. "See what you do to me? I swear, you're bad for my health."
He rolled his eyes. "If anything, you are bad for my health," he said.
Rae sighed. "True, true…"
He shook his head and ran a hand through her tangled hair. It sent shivers down her spine to feel his fingers running down her neck, down her spine; he apparently noticed and smiled softly, resting his forehead against hers. "Come on, leave already—I've got lessons to go to, people to see," he murmured.
She sighed. "Shut up and let me leave."
He gave her one last kiss before she managed to pull away and slide out the curtains, onto the balcony and the rail. She didn't look back till she was down on the street again and even then it was only a glance. She saw Scipio leaning against his rail, watching her intently.
She turned again and then was off.
Scipio, Some Other Day
My cat had been acting very strange lately: Not eating, coughing up mucus from her throat, and vomiting. I was absolutely sure that she was ill and, as whenever this happened, I had a sense of panic and thought that she might die. I knew that she wouldn't die—she was still a young cat—but there was still that feeling of doubt.
I decided, finally, to ask Father to take her to the vet. I carried her through the halls of the house, stopping some of the maids to ask them where Father was. Finally someone knew, and I headed off to his study.
"Father," I said, opening the door with my shoulder, "I think the cat's sick…"
"Scipio!" Father's face swelled and turned the color of a plum. A great, big plum. With hair. "Can't you see I have a visitor? How often do I have to tell you to knock? What if the gentlemen from Rome had been here already? How would it look if my son barged into our meeting because of a sick cat?" His voice had been raising and his fists were making wild, sharp gestures that made me flinch. It was too much like what he always did before…you know.
"She's really not well," I murmured, quickly bowing my head. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his visitor. The man who he had been talking with upon my entrance was none other than that snoop, Victor Getz. I hoped he didn't recognize me, but that hope wasn't too high.
"She's probably unwell because she's just had kittens," Father said in a bored voice, which I had come to associate with later punishment. "It's not worth calling a vet. If she dies you'll get a new one." And then, ignoring his own son, Father turned to Getz again.
"Do continue, Signor…?"
"Getz," the snoop repeated.
I held my cat close to me as I stood there, stiff and silent. She knew not to meow in father's presence or else he would kick her; but she did purr pathetically in my ear.
"As I said, I am not interested in buying the Stella." I jumped at the mention of the Star-Palace. Merda, he was on to us. "I'm writing an article about the city's movie theaters and I would like to include the Stella. So I would like your permission to have a look around there."
"Interesting," Father said, glancing out the window where a water taxi had just pulled up on the canal. I tuned them out, appearing to be listening intently and waiting to be dismissed by Father. Yeah right. That bas…Okay, never mind about waiting to be dismissed like a good boy. I needed to get to the Stella and warn them before Getz got there… I had just put my hand on the doorknob, but then:
"Scipio, come and help me, since you're just standing there like a lemon."
When Father waved at me to hurry up, I felt sick. I didn't want to even be near him; I didn't want him to touch me at all. It was bad enough that I behaved like a beaten dog when he was on the other side of the room—being within five feet of him was even worse.
I pushed past Victor and forced myself to walk toward Father. "Dottore!" the maid put her head around the door. "Your guests from Rome are waiting. Will you receive the gentlemen in the library or shall I bring them up?"
"I'll come to the library," he said curtly. "Scipio, will you ask Mr. Getz to sign a receipt for the key? You can manage that, I hope?" He said that with contempt; as though I couldn't do anything. "There should be a tag on the key ring with the name of the movie theater," he added.
"I know," I muttered without moving or looking at him.
"Do send me a copy of your article, as soon as it is published," Father said, already striding past Victor and out of the office.
There was a deathly silence, now that he had left the room. I gently set my cat down and she slunk out of the other door, still looking ill; then I stood next to the open drawer and watched Victor like I had seen mice look at cats. I remained tense, ready to bolt.
I regarded the Snoop just as he regarded me. He certainly recognized me; it was no use playing dumb. But that didn't mean I couldn't play mute. I had to warn the others, too, and my only hope was to run for it.
I made a dash for the door.
He stuck an arm out and it caught me on my neck—I choked, doubling over, holding my throat. It was already bruised from father's last 'lesson', and now it felt like it was on fire. Hot, agonized tears splattered on the carpet.
"Hold it!" the detective called, standing in my way. "Where are you going? To warn your friends? That won't be necessary. I don't intend to hand them over to the police, even though one of your little pit-pocket girlfriends did steal my wallet. I'm not even interested in the fact that you're obviously keeping a little gang in your father's dilapidated movie theater. I don't care! I'm only interested in the two brothers—the ones you have taken in. Prosper and Bo."
I glared at him wordlessly, extremely aware that my eyes were streaming from the pain in my neck. I coughed raggedly in his face, bending over. "You rotten snoop!" I whispered contemptuously, before I gave the carpet on which Victor was standing such a sharp tug that he lost his balance and landed with a crash on his backside. In a flash I shot past him and ran toward the door.
He threw himself to grab my legs, and I nearly lost a shoe before jumping over him and vanishing before he could regain his footing. By the time he had reached the top of the stairs, panting heavily, I was already leaping down the last steps.
"Stop, you little rat!" he bellowed. His voice boomed through the house so loudly that two maids came scampering across the courtyard. "STOP!"
The maids stared at me, blocking my path unconsciously. I couldn't speak, but I looked up at them with pleading eyes. "Good luck, Master Scipio!" One of them covered her eyes and turned away, opening a path for me. "I didn't see you!"
"I will find you, you hear me? I will find you!"
I didn't even stop to make a face at him. I didn't dare stop running.
Rae's POV
"Well, let's go through it once more," Mosca muttered, pouring over the floor plan the Conte had given us. "We've seen three people entering and leaving the place so far: the fat housekeeper, her husband, and the lady with the dyed-blond hair."
"Signora Ida Spavento," I said, as I lay draped over a chair. I twisted some of my hair around my finger, watching it turn copper in the candlelight. "At first you thought the fat one was the signora and the blond her daughter. But that despicable man who runs the newsstand on the Campo Santa Margherita likes to talk a lot. He told us that the younger one is Ida and the fat one only looks after the house. Signora Spavento lives alone and she travels a lot. He said that she's a photographer. He showed me a magazine with pictures of Venice she had taken. She comes and goes at different times. But the housekeeper goes home between six and seven every evening, like clockwork and her husband usually arrives around midday but he never stays for long. Just as well—he looks as if he eats children for breakfast."
"Yeah, he does," Mosca said, grinning.
Riccio continued for me. "So there's hardly anyone in the house during the day. And the evenings," he sighed, "are the same. Signora Spavento obviously only likes going out during the day. But at least she goes to bed early. The light in her bedroom is out by ten o'clock at the latest."
I yawned and didn't pay attention to the rest. I flipped open my book behind my knees, trying to find where we were. Finally I found it. "Oh great," I muttered as I closed it and put it in my pocket again. I held up my hand and ticked off the seconds. Three, two…one…
"Wasn't that the bell?" Riccio asked, lifting his head. Shasta looked up from where he had been playing with Bo. He remained sitting there, head raised, eyes narrowed and ears pricked in silent concentration. I could hear dull banging, too. Bo slowly stopped running around Shasta.
Everyone listened. Someone was ringing the bell at the emergency exit. "That can't be Scipio—he isn't coming until tomorrow!" Hornet said. "And he usually comes in through his secret entrance anyway."
I stood. "I'll go see," I said. "You guys stay here." The bell kept ringing again and again as I ran down the dark corridor toward the exit. Shasta followed.
After the incident with the detective Mosca had drilled a spy-hole into the door, but it was already so dark outside that when I looked through it I could hardly see anything. Rain was pelting against the entrance and someone was hammering against the metal. Shasta barked once and whined, pawing the door.
"Can't you hear me? Let me in!" a voice pleaded outside. "Won't anybody let me in, damn it!" I heard a sob.
I threw open the door. "Scipio!" I whispered as he fell into my arms.
He was soaked, and his face, although pale and ashen, was streaked with tears and rain. "Lock the door," he choked out, "quick!"
He leaned against the wall, still panting heavily. "You have to leave," he whispered. "Right away. Is everybody here?"
I nodded. "Come on," I said, and then helped him run down the dark corridor. When Scip stumbled into the auditorium, the others stared at him like he was a stranger. Shasta stood protectively by his side, he and I soldiers to protect Scipio from any harsh judgment.
"What happened to you?" Mosca asked, astonished. "Did you fall into a canal? And what's with the fancy clothes?"
"I haven't got time to explain everything!" Scipio yelled, voice extremely loud and panicked. It cracked. "The snoop knows—grab what you can and let's get out."
They stared at him in horror. Riccio blinked open-mouthed at him, Mosca frowned and Hornet put her arm around Bo, who looked very frightened. "We don't have to run!" I exclaimed. But it was too late. Everyone had set about running to get their things. Shasta began barking loudly, getting my feeling of urgency, the need to get them to listen. It was no use though.
I sighed and Hornet came over. "I have a plan," she murmured to me.
I nodded. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I asked her. She nodded.
"Wait a minute!" she bellowed. "I just had an absolutely insane idea—do you want to hear it or should I just shut up?"
We were hidden on the stage, peering through the curtains and watching the auditorium. Mosca was trying not to giggle, and Scipio was practically lying on top of me. Below us, Shasta was silent, lying on the floor. He was like a statue—not even his ears moved.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you!" Victor said out loud. "I've always been a first-class seeker. And when I played tag I always caught everyone, even with my short legs." His voice sounded weird and distorted as it echoed through the large room. "You can't possibly think," he called as he shined his flashlight between the red chairs, "that this could go on forever? What do you live on? Stealing? How long is that going to last? To be honest, I don't really care. I'm only interested in two of you."
"Hey, Victor!" Bo called, sticking his head out of the curtains. It was his little game—and it was going to be won by us. "Come and catch me!" He paused, thinking, and then asked, "Do you have a gun?"
"Of course!" Victor pushed his hand underneath his jacket as if he was reaching for his revolver. "Do you want to see it?"
Bo slowly stepped out of his hiding place. He stood there, head cocked to one side. "I'm not scared," said Bo. "That's probably just a plastic gun."
"Well, well, if that's what you think. You're a real smart one." We had slipped back stage, and had crept around through the chairs, unnoticed. By the time Victor realized we were there, we were already sitting on him. I was holding onto his right arm while Mosca had grabbed his left; Prosper and Riccio were clinging to his legs. Shasta was standing to my left, paws firmly planted and lips bared in a growl. Right on Victor's chest, however, with his knees on either side of the felled detective, sat Scipio, smiling mockingly.
"You little demon!" Victor shouted. "You—"
"Don't talk like that to my boyfriend!" I said cheerfully. Scipio shot me a roguish smile. Then he wedged a rag between Victor's teeth.
"What are you doing? Shouldn't we interrogate him first?" Mosca asked. "We don't even know if he's really only after Prop and Bo."
I tuned them out, and when Victor tried to get his arm back, I just twisted it so that his elbow was facing up-wards, and the edge of my palm was on the pressure point just above it. "If you don't stop moving I swear I'll mess your arm up so bad that you'll never be able to snoop the same again," I hissed.
He immediately froze.
Finally, after we had gathered up all the ropes and belts we could find and hog-tied him like a cow in a rodeo, I got the job of searching him. I searched everywhere, and I mean everywhere—socks, shoes, pockets, jacket linings—and I came up with a cell phone, some money, a ring of keys, some tools and his revolver. It felt deadly in my hand as I held it gingerly—I could practically feel the death it could deal. "Give it to me," Hornet murmured. "I'll hide it."
She left to hide it, holding it as though it could explode in her hand.
Scipio got off of Victor, finally, and stood next to me, crossing his arms, his face stony. "Well, Mr. Detective," he said with a quiet, grave voice, "that will teach you to mess with us." Then he turned to us. "Let's put him in the men's bathroom."