The vision fell apart and Layla saw no more. Settling back in her seat, Layla looked out the window at the dark countryside, dotted with lights as they passed northern Italian fields and farmhouses. Gazing out at the darkness, she digested Tempeste’s words; that Adrian had a soul clean of tarnish. And she realized that’s what she felt from Adrian also, despite all his secrets. That he somehow remained morally clean despite his temper and ruthless decisiveness and clandestine activities. She had a million more questions about him, but didn’t feel like asking at the moment, so she settled into silence.
Beside her, Tempeste Durant settled into silence also, though he kept alert on the train, watching everyone who walked by with his piercing, Siren-blue gaze.
CHAPTER 16 – AVIARY
The town of Manarola in Cinque Terre was glorious in the nighttime. As Layla and Tempeste walked down the cobbled main street away from the local train station and into town, the storied cliffside city was as beautiful as its photographs. Picturesque, the town perched on the hillside in steep tiers, winding down a rocky headland straight into the Mediterranean Sea. Nearing eleven p.m., the city was mostly quiet, every red, blue, and canary-painted abode glowing from city lights not only illuminating the night but to also highlighting the town’s beauty.
Tourists lingered at an open-air bar, drinking local wine and eating antipasti, and Layla’s stomach turned over, ravenous. She’d not eaten anything since the afternoon, but Tempeste had promised dinner after they found their B&B. Down the winding main thoroughfare, dotted with wrought-iron porches, potted greenery, and winter dry-land mooring for covered fishing boats, they arrived at a four-story guesthouse.
Ringing the bell, a dowdy older lady in a floral print cotton dress answered the door and Tempeste announced his reservation in fluent Italian. The woman beamed, motioning them in through the wrought-iron gate and blue timber doorway. Entering a tiled hall with doors to either side, the woman fetched some papers and a key from her apartment to the left, a TV blaring Italian dramas inside, then ushered them up a corkscrewing wrought-iron stairwell.
They ascended to the fourth floor and the woman opened an ornately-carved door, leading to a modest apartment. It was homey, decorated in sea-themed bric-a-brac like any coastal retreat, but with a stately Italianate flare and bright colors. The apartment’s best feature was a private rooftop patio through a set of French doors, crowded by potted plants and patio furniture overlooking the sea.
With a few words to Tempeste about house rules and quiet hours, the homeowner gave Layla a pat to the cheek and handed over the keys, departing with a kind smile. At last they were alone, and Layla heard Tempeste heave a deep sigh. She turned, watching him sling his black suitcase to the linen couch, then scrub a hand through his brush-cut silver hair.
“Want to settle in?” He glanced at her. “Or get food?”
“Food would be stellar,” Layla spoke, already browsing through the apartment’s kitchenette. It was moderately stocked for cooking and had a welcome basket on the table of local Cinque Terre products. Layla was already twisting open a jar of cured green olives and dipping her fingers in, then cranking open another jar of sardines in olive oil and eating them with a slice of pecorino cheese. With a chuckle, Tempeste moved over, taking up a fork from the table and having a few bites with a bit more style than Layla.
“You’ll spoil your dinner,” he joked in a fatherly way.
“I could eat six dinners right now.” Layla spoke back, dipping her fingers in for more sardines. They were delightful, the olive oil flavored with garlic and dill, lemon and black peppercorns.
“Let’s head down to Giuseppe’s then,” Tempeste spoke around a bite of olive. Screwing the lids back on both jars, he liberated them from Layla in a decisive maneuver just like Reginald, and stuck them in the mini-fridge. “Stow your things in whichever room you choose and we’ll leave.”
Layla nodded, then rolled her bag to the room on the left, decorated with a seashell theme and featuring a pretty lace bedspread. Tempeste took his briefcase to the other bedroom. As Layla exited to the living space, she saw him liberate four silver knives with pearl-encrusted handles from the case, sliding them into a shoulder-rig beneath his jacket that she’d not noticed until just now. Also set with silver and pearls, the shoulder-rig was military-issue kevlar, though decorated with sigils Layla could only suppose were of Siren origin. Her eyebrows rose as Tempeste turned, the knives disappearing on his person with a watery mirage and the rig no longer visible even as she peered directly at it.
“You wear magically-disguised weapons?”
“Not through a human airport.” Tempeste’s glance was meaningful. “The case disguises them better and hides them from scanners, though my shoulder-rig and knives have a Siren-glamour on them. It’s extremely rare, but there are humans who can see through a glamour. Usually, they have a bit of crossbreeding with a Twilight Lineage back down the line somewhere. Most of those wind up in asylums if they’re not in the know. But you’d be surprised how many of them keep what they see a secret – and how many of those work in police or security, precisely because they know there’s a world out there they can’t explain, and aren’t safe from.”
“I never thought about that.” Layla blinked, feeling glad she had a human visage as a Desert Dragon.
“Let’s get some food.” Tempeste moved toward the door, unlocking it and ushering Layla out. She wore her wrap sweater, the winter evening warm on the coast but with a slight wind. As they moved down the stairwell and out the guesthouse to the cobbled street, Layla breathed deep of the fresh seaside air. The nighttime breeze carried all the good smells she had once associated with her life in Seattle; ocean detritus and salt, brine musk and seaweed.
Moving down the thoroughfare in the late night, there were few tourists about, most simply wandering, gazing up at the lights of the city upon the colorful buildings. Tempeste and Layla walked all the way down to the wharf, the crashing of the surf audible now as the thoroughfare opened up to a broad palazzo overlooking the ocean, boats bobbing in the harbor behind the cove’s jetty. Turning left, Tempeste avoided the tourist bars and restaurants, issuing Layla up a nondescript flight of outdoor stairs with a wrought-iron trellis covered in winter-dormant grape vines and featuring a candle flickering in a blue votive dangling from an iron chain. Ascending the white-washed steps, they arrived at a bare outdoor patio with rusting furniture.
But as they arrived, Tempeste brushed his fingertips over a wrought-iron mermaid post to their left, and Layla experienced the disorientation that signified passing through from the human world into the Twilight Realm. Suddenly, the sprawling patio before them was adorned with party-lights, lively music playing inside a building to their left. An assortment of Twilight Realm people laughed on the patio, dining and drinking at garishly-painted wrought-iron tables. The entire patio had an arbor of fully-leafed and fruiting grape vines, twinkling with colorful strings of lights and creating a whimsical fairy-like bar.
Not only was the bar new, but Layla gazed from their high vantage with a surprised smile, seeing a whole new Manarola as she overlooked the thoroughfare and the harbor. As they stepped to a hostess podium carven with frolicking mermaids, she noted the city was taller as it perched on the cliff; more precarious with bridges of old Roman stone arching far out over the water to sea-stacks piled with more abodes – all of which didn’t exist in the human world. The color and gaiety reminded Layla of a cleaner Venice and she laughed, feeling a thriving, vibrant city all around her rather than a sleepy tourist town.
“Welcome to Manadora, Manarola’s sister-city in the Twilight Realm.” Tempeste gave her a sly sidelong smile. “I imagine you’ve never seen it?”
“Wow! I mean… wow!” Layla was breathless, admiring the sea-stack city all around her, something she might have seen only in dreams. She was still gaping stupidly as a pretty flaxen-haired waitress with silver scales at her temples greeted them, then showed them to a wrought-iron table near the stone wall overlooking the harbor.
They settled in and Tempeste thanked the hostess, then handed a menu to Layla. Scorched into some kind of thick fish-skin, the menu was written in a script so archaic it looked like pirate handwriting, though it was thankfully modern Italian with an English translation just below each item. Perusing the menu, Layla saw all the regular Italian coastal antipasti and delicacies, plus a few things likePerpetuate Tentacle on Garlic-Misssendra Crostini with Pecorino, which made her eyebrows rise.
“What do you recommend?” She asked, glad that Tempeste was here to show her this place. The Siren Jud was proving far more of an asset than a hindrance, and Layla was starting to appreciate his company. The waitress moved by, filling their water glasses, and Tempeste ordered two cappuccinos and a carafe of local pinot grigio. The waitress whisked off with a smile, and they went back to the menus.
“Some of the items will taste strange to you here,” Tempeste spoke as he perused the menu with a brisk efficiency. “I wouldn’t recommend theRoyal Crab, unless you enjoy excessively bitter food. It’s not like crab in the human world.”
“Noted.” Layla looked the selection over. “What about theSea Slug Wine with Cuttle Shark Scale and Innocent Brine?” It was quite possibly the weirdest-sounding thing on the menu.
Tempeste grinned at her slyly. “Not unless you want to have an orgasm in your seat.Innocent Brineis far from innocent.”
“Ok… no-go on the Innocent Brine.” She blinked, blushing. “What about theShipwright’s Classic with Olives, Raccini, and Liquid Shrimp?”
“Mmm… I might have that one myself.” Tempeste smiled in a bright way that made him stunningly handsome, making Layla rather sad he was gay. “You’d probably like it. It’s a tomato-based seafood soup, like acioppino. Raccini are like chanterelles and Liquid Shrimp are like a scallop, except softer. They soak up all the flavors of the stew and burst in your mouth when chewed; delightful. Looks like it comes with a fairly normal olive tapenade on crostini. Should we order a pot of stew to share? They generally serve family-style here.”
