Page 20 of Bloodlines and Birthright

“I am a wood magician, like my father,” Signore Scala explained. “Wood magic has been in our family for generations, but it was my father who turned a small artisan workshop making staircases into a thriving business. Instead of making the stairs all by hand, the machines made the basic structure. He then finished them to the customer’s liking with carved details that had been perfected over the centuries by our family. For this, he used a spell, but no one knew. Not then. Magic was forbidden. It is this spell that was stolen from me. I need it back.”

“Have you not memorized it?” Oscar asked.

“I have not. I do not use the spell. I find it does not increase the value of the stairs enough to make it worth my while spending time at the factory. I prefer it here on the lake, not in a hot factory closer to Milano.” He shrugged again, the motion not as languid as before. “The man who stole it from me wants the spell for himself.”

“You know who took it?” Oscar asked.

“I do. It was the boat builder from Pecco.”

“Are there witnesses who saw him take it?”

“No, but he wants to grow his business with the help of a wood magician. He planned to give the spell to the magician he hired to make his boats sturdy, unbreakable. Everybody knows this because he boasted to all who would listen. I want you to steal the spell back from him. Then I will give you the name of the antique dealer I sold the books to. A fair exchange, yes?”

I was about to disagree when Oscar gave an enthusiastic, “Yes. We’ll do it.”

I put up my hand to slow him down. “Why not just ask the boat builder to return the spell?”

Signore Scala looked at me as though I were a naïve fool. “He will not give it back. He has sympathies for the anarchists, and I am a factory owner. He would like to see me fail.”

“Will your business fail if you don’t get the spell back? You say you’re not using it anyway.”

“That spell is my family heirloom. Besides, I may need it again one day.”

“Then notify the Carabinieri of the theft.”

Any earlier warmth in his gaze suddenly disappeared, replaced with a glare. For a moment, I felt like one of the workers in his factory being told to increase production without being given directions on how to do so. “Do you want the books, Professor?” His price was our compliance. It was up to us to accept or try to negotiate.

Oscar accepted. “Of course we do. We’ll get your spell.”

Signore Scala smiled. “Bene. Good.” He got to his feet and clapped his hands together. “You will have no trouble finding Giovanni Colombo’s boatyard in Pecco. It is the only one. The spell was in an envelope with Famiglia Scala written on it. Bring me the envelope and its contents.”

I tried and failed to catch Oscar’s attention. The speed with which he accepted the task was unsettling. We knew nothing about Giovanni Colombo. What if he was dangerous? “Why us, Signore Scala? Why not hire some local lads?”

“Because I do not want this to come back to me, Professor. I want you to steal back the spell then leave Monteoro. And you, Mr. Barratt, you look capable.” He suddenly grasped Oscar’s shoulders. “You are strong. Is that not so, Professor?”

“I, er, yes I suppose he is strong. He’s certainly capable in a sticky situation.”

Signore Scala laughed. “A sticky situation. I like that. It makes me think of jelly and I like jelly very much. A sticky situation,” he said again.

Oscar blinked at him, looking somewhat bemused by the attention. He looked even more bemused when Signore Scala didn’t release him.

The Italian smiled. “We will seal the arrangement in the tradition of Lombardy.”

Before Oscar had a chance to put out a hand for the other man to shake, Signore Scala pecked him on one cheek then the other. Eyes wide, Oscar laughed lightly.

Signore Scala released him and grabbed my shoulders next. He leaned down to my height and repeated the kisses. My cheeks flushed with heat. As he stepped back, I didn’t know where to look. I ought to meet his gaze and laugh, like Oscar did, but I couldn’t bear to see how my embarrassment amused him.

It didn’t matter where I looked, however. Amusement was evident in his voice. “You English, so afraid of touching.”

“Not afraid,” Oscar said. “Just not used to it in certain situations.”

As I walked ahead of them into the entrance hall, movement out of the corner of my eye had me turning sharply toward the staircase. Even though I’d been quick, whoever had been standing at the top was quicker. I caught sight of a man’s bare foot and a flash of yellow-gold fabric before he disappeared into a room off the landing.

Signore Scala saw me watching. “A friend is staying with me. He is shy.” He plucked our hats off the stand then ushered us to the door with a hasty, “Arrivederci.”

On the path back to the gate, I had the sudden desire to divert course and wander through the gardens. They were so pretty, and there was something soothing about being in nature. My jangling nerves were in need of soothing. But I did not divert course.

“You’re upset,” Oscar said, falling into step beside me. “Is it the kissing?”