La Ventesima Storia: Ombre Aspettare

"Hey, I think she's waking up."

The words warbled, watery and distant. Amica choked on her breath, willing her eyes to open. Her vision swam, and dim shadows moved frantically around her in a blazing, white light. She almost thought she could recognize the voices, if only she could see their faces.

"A moment, boy. Just a moment."

"We don't have a moment. If her Arcana triggers, she'll die."

"Arcana? What are you on about? Explain yourself."

"We don't have time. Do something. Now!"

"Hell. Hand me the vial, boy. The one on your left. No, no the other one. Right. Now, tilt her head back. She has to drink it."

Hands roughly grabbed her, forcing her head back and mouth open painfully. She tried to fight back, but her muscles were jelly. Seconds later a disgusting, viscous fluid filled her mouth. She had no choice but to swallow or choke. In a few frantic, panicked moments, all fear was swallowed in a warm, calm that spread outwards from her stomach.

"Count from ten, if she's not asleep by then, we'll dose her again. You did good, boy. You might have a future in this."

"...6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…"

"Ready or not! Here I come!" Her reedy shout momentarily filled the garden, but was soon swallowed by the silence of the game. Such silence that she thought her heartbeat would give her away. Amica slunk close to hedge wall as quietly as her small heeled shoes would allow. Had Papa not picked them for her himself, she would never had agreed to wear them. It was hard enough to win a footrace without them. The boys were already getting faster and stronger than she, but she prided herself in the fact that she still won most of the time, even with her stupid shoes.

Beyond the hedges, the garden opened up into a spacious lawn bordered by climbing roses of the brightest pink. She paused. It wouldn't hurt to stop and smell them. They were Mama's favorite. She buried her nose in the soft petals, inhaling deeply. It didn't seem to bother her that they bore no smell. Her mind seemed to gloss over any details that disagreed with what she thought reality should be.

"You aren't going to find anyone with your nose stuck in the flowers. There isn't anyone hiding there, idiot!"

Amica whirled around, her small fists planted firmly on her hips. She pursed her lips petulantly, the warring feelings of dislike and admiration battling inside her. She had the vaguest sensation of knowing he was always mean to her, always teasing her in the way small boys tease the girls they like. A sensation grew more concrete, swallowing the faint glimmer of disagreement her mind posed. And why shouldn't it? Hadn't it always been this way?

"Well, you aren't doing a very good job hiding either, Debito. So which of us is the idiot, huh?" she retorted, feeling rather proud of her cleverness.

"I came to look for you because you're taking too long. Everyone else gave up. They already went home," he snickered.

"No they didn't. You're just saying that!" she snapped.

"Are you calling me a liar?" Debito retorted angrily.

"If the shoe fits," she said in what she believed was beneath her breath.

"Fine, if that's what you think...Then I guess won't show you the really cool place I told you about," he said coolly, turning his back to her and making as if to leave.

"Come on, please! You promised!" Amica begged.

"Since when do liars keep their promises?" he asked.

"Fine. Whatever. So you're not a liar."

"Not good enough," Debito said.

"Ugh… I'm sorry. Is that what you want to hear? Now, come on let's go. Before we get caught again...," she pleaded. Caught by whom? She couldn't recall, but there was someone she was worried about lingering in the back of her mind, and whoever they were, she knew they would be angry to find them. Always angry.

"Yeah, yeah. Try and keep up," he said, and without a moment's pause bounded off into the garden.

The gardens seemed to melt away in a blur. In fact, everything did, except the gravel path and Debito's small back. Amica distantly wondered where they were going and a small bundle of anxiety nestled in their stomach. She couldn't decide if she were worried more for whether they were going to be caught. She still couldn't quite remember, but something else nagged at her mind. Something that wouldn't quite coalesce. Suddenly, a brick steeple reared up from the swirling, grey void. A church? Why did it seem so strange, all of a sudden? The anxiety she felt bloomed into a sense of foreboding.

"Come on!" Debito whispered insistently.

They crept across the threshold of the church's red double doors. Inside, rows of pews sat empty, the entire chapel was empty. She followed Debito in silence as he weaved and darted between the columns, dodging scattered patterns of light refracted by the towering stained glass. Every so often he glanced over his shoulder, back at her and sometimes beyond her, searching for the unseen eyes that seemed to bore between her shoulder blades. Abruptly, he stopped.

"You're never going to believe what I found down here. There are so many cool places to hide," he explained in hushed excitement.

"Debito, why do you keep whispering? There isn't anyone here," Amica asked. Her voice echoed against the cathedral's tall ceilings, and Debito gave her a warning look.

"Will you keep it down?!" Debito snapped in a low voice. His small hands probed behind a tapestry depicting a moon woven in silvery thread. "Now where is that latch. It was here somewhere. Ah-ha, here we go." The wall behind the tapestry shuddered violently and with an irritable groan, the wall opened. Warm air filtered up, and the tapestry fluttered in the dimly lit hall behind. Without a word, the boy disappeared down the hall.

Down, down the stone steps led, and the air grew danker the further they went. Lamps were set into recesses in the wall, but provided little light. The dimness pressed against her and it was not long before Amica decided she didn't like this place. She wrung her small gloved hands, but was not about to admit her discomfort to him of all people. She knew he would only make fun at her expense.

A heavy wooden door opened into another dimly lit hallway. By now the darkness was more oppressive and she could barely contain her discomfort. Suddenly, Debito stopped, pressed his ear to one of many doors in the hall. A long, anxious moment passed as she watched in silence. Finally, with a grin that could only be described as mischievous, he pushed the door open.

"In here," he whispered, and disappeared inside.

Nothing could prepare her for what she saw within. The room was bathed in an eerie, bluish glow, and in the middle of the far wall stood a tank, like what someone might have kept fish in, except larger and without fish. Inside was something else entirely, something else that rooted her to the spot, filled her with strange, ignorant fear that laced its icy tendrils up her spine. A human boy, of her age or perhaps younger, sometimes clouded by a rush of bubbles as he breathed.

"I-I don't think we should be here," Amica finally managed to say, and as she suspected Debito turned with a look that promised mischief. In the hazy blue light, he almost seemed sinister to her.

"What are you chicken or something," he snickered.

"No, no. I just… Who is this? What is this place? Who does it belong to?" Amica asked. The words seemed to run into each other and come out in a jumbled blurt. Debito just laughed.

" %&#, of course. What other egghead lives here?" He said a name. She was distinctly certain he had. She saw his lips move to form the word, but all that came out was a buzz of sound. She shook her head, stepping back uncertain. Afraid. Was she always this afraid?

"Where are you going? Come on, this place is perfect for a game. Just one game. I'll hide, you seek," Debito said cheerfully. She wondered why this place, why the boy in the tank didn't cause the same sense of foreboding for him as it did for her, but again the thought was snuffed out like a candle's flame.

"You always hide, Debito. It's my turn," she snapped, but by then, he was already gone.

It was a worse place without someone else to keep her company. She could hardly break away from the sight contained within the tank. Who was this boy? Why was he here? Where is here? She had so many questions and not a single answer. But alone, she came to like this eerie room less and less until finally she left, running in a dead heat down the corridor.

It was lined with what seemed like hundreds of doors and she didn't want to imagine what other strange and exotic horrors awaited within. With each door she passed, the fear she tamped down before bloomed again, setting her pace faster and faster still. Abruptly, she skid to halt. One of the doors was open. Cautiously, she crept to the door frame and peeked inside, relieved to find, instead of a boy in a tank, a library lit by candle light. She walked inside, careful that her shoes made as little noise as possible. But somehow she knew she was alone. Despite that, she looked under the tall, wooden table, behind the armchair upholstered in a rich scarlet velvet. Until, finally she paused to examine the shelves lined with books. Debito could wait, but maybe she could find a hint as to who this place belonged to. Rows and rows of books beyond counting sat dustily on the shelves, anatomical and alchemical texts comprising their bulk. The book on the table caught her attention. It was old. It's pages felt like they would crumble at the slightest provocation. The words were written in a neat and orderly hand.

"Homonculus," she read aloud.

"What are you doing?!" The voice was sharp, and a stab of adrenaline rushed through her. Before she could think she turned and the world went blank, seared away in a great, magenta light. Her eye hurt. It hurt so bad she almost believed someone had stabbed her in the eye with a hot poker. She screamed. The voice screamed. They screamed together, high-pitched, reedy wails twining into one cacophony of pain. She fell to the floor clutching her eye, the other one's vision was just now returning. The light slowly ebbed away, until it finally died. And before her, lay Debito in a crumpled heap, winking in and out of visibility. One moment he was there, the next, as if he never had been, and then back again, pulsing into vision and out again. She could see through him, to the stone floor and bookshelves beyond every instance where he disappeared. Invisible.

"Debito, wake up," she pleaded, sobbing, begging him to move or waken. "Debito! I'm sorry. I don't… I… Please wake up. Somebody help us. Help him!"

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Tall and looming he came. He towered over her like a giant, a man garbed in black from head to toe, his face obscured by a featureless white mask.

"No!" she screamed and scrambled across the cobblestone, shielding Debito with her child's body.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Again he thundered. His hand reached out towards her, and nothing else save panic entered her mind and she screamed, a wordless, echoing cry.

Amica awoke with a start, bursting upwards in her bed as of shot from a cannon. She leaned against the bedpost wearily, gasping after her breath like a fish on land. She became suddenly aware of the feeling of eyes on her back, and turned to see the snowy-haired Regalan man, just blinking at her in weary confusion. Rouge burned across her cheeks as she clutched the blanket to her chest. She was all but naked except for the bandages that bound her wounds. Fortunately, he had the good manners to turn away, the same blush dusting his cheeks. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Azaf and Cook should know that you're awake," he said quietly, making for the door. He halted, his hand frozen at the doorknob when she spoke.

"Wait... For just a moment," she pleaded breathlessly. She was not eager to invite them in, for then she would have to face the troubles before her. Lucentio's betrayal was certainly the most troubling, but only the first among many. Waiting would not erase his treachery, but surely a momentary reprieve was not so much to ask for, was it?

He nodded silently, standing at her desk with his back to her. She made slow work of rising from her bed. She hissed as sharp, hot pain radiated across her chest. With a grunt she dressed herself with effort. Debito made to help several times throughout the process, but always stopped short of turning around. Amica's frown was not solely for the pain in her side. Since when was he so gentlemanly? It hardly fit the stormy disposition she remembered. Lead weight formed in her stomach when she considered the possibilities. Could it have happened again? Il Diavolo? He had threatened, but surely, there was no danger here.

"How... Why am I here?" There was no better way to frame the question, none that she knew at least. A hundred questions raced in her mind, and this was the way her mind gave them shape.

He turned, his hollow eyed stared locking with her anxious one. He opened his mouth to speak, but it took more than a few heartbeats for the words to come out. When they did, it was a jumbled and confusing torrent, some of which, she remembered. Although, most she did not. It was no small consolation to know that Il Diavolo minded his own business, for once. For all the good it had truly done her. She refused to admit that he was right, but the throbbing ache in her chest offered up a differing opinion. One that she dismissed out of hand, of course but still, it did much to add some… lingering doubts.

"Azaf has the helm. We should make landfall in Fortuna by morning," Debito finished.

"Already?! There's no way. It's weeks out!" Amica balked.

"And it's been weeks!" Debito snapped. "Maybe you don't realize this, but you almost died, Amica!"

She nodded gruffly. Weeks, she thought. I've lost weeks! Granted, she would have spent that long returning to Fortuna regardless, but she could not imagine the amount of damage her bastard brother could inflict in that time. She had the distinct impression, she'd jumped from the cookpot into the coals.

"It's about time you've made an appearance on deck. Azaf has been busy, but I can tell he is worried," Debito said. He placed a hand on her back, gently leading her to the door.

"And if you pull something crazy like this again, I'll... I'll..." Debito stammered, his threat dying on his lips. "Next time, use your Arcana. That is what it's for. Better still, how about there is no next time?"

"You are absolutely the last person I want to hear that from," Amica groaned. It hurt to laugh. All the while laughing, she could not help but wonder… Was the dream real?

AN: I dedicate this chapter to city of Paris and the peoples of France. (It is not a worthy, but it is all I have to give.) Vive la France!