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“You okay, Kara? Do you know him?”
Cautious, I peered at the man’s face again. “Sort of,” I said, mouth dry. “But he’s supposed to be dead. I mean, everyone thinks he died.”
“Huh? Who is he?”
I looked at Knight. “An artist. Giovanni Racchelli, and he supposedly died in the seventeenth century.”
• • •
It was a good thing I’d included “lots of really weird shit happens” in the job description for the security personnel, because once again I needed help moving an unconscious man. Fortunately, Giovanni weighed a lot less than giant gummy bear Cory, and the strong and burly Jordan Kellum scooped him up with ease and got him settled in the guest room. And, to my relief, scrounged a t-shirt and shorts and dressed him.
After Kellum left, I adjusted the blanket over Giovanni then flopped into the recliner beside the bed. In the kitchen, the microwave dinged—Knight heating a well-earned bowl of gumbo. I nestled into the cushions and told myself I could sit without moving for five whole minutes. Surely I deserved that much. I needed to let Idris know about Giovanni, but that wasn’t mega-urgent. He had enough on his plate already. Besides, it was, what? Three in the morning or something in Mumbai? I tried to do the mental math to figure out the time difference, but my tired brain shot me the finger and refused to cough up anything useful.
As crazy as things were two months ago, they’d still been kind of normal. But now Cory lay encased in arcane rubbery goop in the living room, and Giovanni slept like the dead a few feet away. Would the world ever feel normal again? I let my head drop back and closed my eyes. Five minutes. I could pretend the world was fine and dandy for five minutes . . .
• • •
Warm comfort, nestled close to his side. His arm around me, my head on his shoulder. The scent of flowers is like the breath of heaven.
“Elinor! Wake up! There are stars to count.”
I smile, only pretending to sleep. “And if I am weary of counting cakes and tunjen fruit and stars? What say you?”
“That you are the most contr
ary of all women.” Giovanni laughs, and I laugh with him. How can I not?
The grass cushions us amidst the flowers of Lord Szerain’s plexus garden. I open my eyes to the canopy of endless stars in the moonless night.
“Uno. Due. Tre,” Giovanni says.
“Quattro. Cinque. Sei,” I continue. “You have taught me the numbers to one thousand. Let us not fritter away this night counting. What other game shall we play?”
“Whatever we can imagine.” He tightens his arm around me.
My breath catches. “I have a rich imagination.”
“What is it you imagine in this moment?”
I pull away and leap to my feet. In a heartbeat, I kick free of my slippers and take hold of my skirts. “That when I flee, you will pursue,” I shout and dash for the grove.
“Always,” he calls out.
Laughing, I run, the grass softer on my feet than the finest carpet. Starlight yields to the gentle amaranthine glow of my beloved grove. I pass into the tunnel of trees that leads to the heart. The leaves murmur, and I feel as if I could fly, as if Giovanni could dance among the stars with me.
He catches my arm in the central clearing, draws me around to face him. His smile is brighter than a night full of stars. “And in this moment, what shall we play?”
“A game.” Heat spreads through me. Has his voice ever sounded so rough, so beautiful? “One where you strive to touch your lips to mine.”
He bends close. “And should I win this game, what then is my prize?”
The heat turns to fire, and I can barely manage the words. “Then, you may kiss me.”
He smiles and nuzzles my cheek. “This game is much to my liking.”
“Of course it will then be my turn to play.”
Giovanni brushes my lips with his, softly. Invitingly.
