“I heard my name,” Trista said from the doorway.
Aida took the bottle from Dante and read the label. “Monfortino Barolo Riserva.”
Trista nodded. “It’s exceptional. I came down for a glass of wine, and if you are opening that, I’ll have some.”
“We’ll pour you a glass, but since it’s Capodanno, you have to drink it with us,” Ilario said.
“Yes, please, Trista, celebrate with us,” Aida chimed in, studying her aide’s face.
Trista frowned, and for a moment, Aida thought she would decline, but to her surprise, her aide sat down at the bar.
Aida exchanged a glance with Dante. Trista loved a glass of wine, but she always took it back to her room alone. She had never shared a drink with them. Not once in all the time Aida had known her. It was unsettling.
More and more often, Aida had been wondering whether Trista was an automaton. She never seemed to tire, never missed a detail, and MODA’s automatons were apparently indistinguishable from mortals. But Vulcan had said they were fallible. Nearly human. And humans broke down eventually.
Tonight, was that what was happening?
Ilario uncorked the wine and poured them each a glass. They toasted to the end of a terrible year and a hopeful start to the new. The first glass went down fast, and another was poured. Then another. Trista, who had always seemed untouchable, let her shoulders relax. The sharp efficient lines of her posture softened, just slightly. Aida kept an eye on her, curiosity gnawing at her ribs.
Aida, seizing the opportunity to finally glean any information she could about Effie’s location, decided to introduce a game of silly questions. Each had to pose a whimsical question to another, who had to answer as truthfully as possible.
As the game progressed, Pippa asked about the strangest animal they had ever seen, Ilario had them make up a movie they would watch, and Dante questioned what their guilty secret might be. With each round, the wine flowed, the rich flavors of the thousand-euro Barolo warming them from inside. Aidamade it a point to keep Trista’s glass topped off, so she never knew exactly how much wine she consumed.
Aida had never seen Trista drink more than a glass or two before. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to. But Vulcan had said his creations were nearly identical to humans. Which meant, if they could drink, they could also slip.
And tonight, Trista was slipping.
An hour or so into the game, it was again Aida’s turn. She looked around, making eye contact with each person before settling her gaze on Trista.
“We’re in the middle of a pandemic, right? If there was a place on earth where all happiness would be most likely to die, where do you think it might be?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light.
“Bloody hell! Way to dampen the mood, Aida,” Pippa said, socking her in the arm.
“No, no, I can... answer that...” Trista, visibly more affected by the wine than the others, leaned forward, her eyes unfocused yet shining with a sudden clarity.
Aida’s breath caught.
Trista’s expression was unreadable. Had she even registered the question? Did she know what she was about to say?
“The Roman Catacombs,” Trista slurred slightly. “That’s where shadows swallow joy whole.”
Aida’s pulse kicked.
“Cisonomoltecatacombe, Trista. Which one?” Ilario asked. Aida could have kissed him. Ilario was right. There were many dozens of catacombs in Rome, let alone the rest of the world, and only a few were open to the public. If she was too pushy, she might arouse Trista’s suspicions, but coming from Ilario, she would likely be none the wiser.
“Callix, callexess, cal, cal...”
Aida’s heart skipped a beat. Trista had to be referring to the Catacombs of Callixtus, an ancient burial ground in Rome.
Pippa suddenly stood. “To the roof!”
“Wha?” Trista looked up in alarm.
“It’s almost New Year’s, silly,” Aida said to her, with an affection that she had never expected to feel for Trista. “Come on, I’ll help you.” She put her arm around her aide and helped her up.
Dante broke out the prosecco, and together with glasses in hand, they made their way to the roof and watched as Rome celebrated the first minutes of 2021 from private rooftops, alleys, and yards. Because of the health risks, the mayor had canceled the official fireworks displays and banned firecrackers and explosives with a hefty €500 fine to be imposed upon violators. But that wasn’t going to stop the general populace. The flashes of colored light and the acrid smell of smoke brought tears to Aida’s eyes.
“Look at all this,” Dante said, raising his glass to the sky. “It takes a lot to kill happiness. It might even be impossible.”
