She stayed silent, not wishing to burden him any further.
“Everything was foggy.” He lifted his arm and rested his hand on his chest, wincing at the burn marks. “I did feel this. The pain... I think they stopped my heart with the first zap, then started it again with the second.”
“But you’re alive now. We’re on the way to the hospital.”
His gaze turned to the two armed escorts. “But is that theonlyplace we’re headed?”
“We’ll worry about that later.” She let go of his hand, reached to her neck, and pulled off Chiara’s amulet. She placed it into Tag’s hand and squeezed his fingers tightly. “You’d better keep this. For extra protection.”
Tag lifted the salt-filled vial. “Where did you—”
“From a friend.”
The ambulance made a sharp turn, throwing her to the side. The EMT leaned over Tag to hold him steady. The vehicle braked with a squeal that silenced the sirens.
They had reached the hospital. The two armed escorts stirred and spoke to each other in Italian, readying for the transfer of patient and prisoner. The rear doors popped open—only to reveal a chaos of flashing lights and clusters of figures, some in uniforms, others in suits.
Naomi retreated from the chaos.
A balding older gentleman dressed in business attire charged toward the ambulance, waving others aside.
The policeman lifted an arm to block him from getting too close. The Carabinieri officer rested a hand on his holstered weapon. The stranger ignored them both, his gaze fixed inside, taking in everything with a sweep of his eyes, before settling on her.
He pointed. “You’re Naomi Wren.”
She remained silent, not sure who this was, fearing it was a member of theConfrérie.
“I got your email. After my daughter alerted me to a post on TikTok.” He stared hard at her. Only now did Naomi see the resemblance. “I’m Avery Bailey.”
Archie’s father.
The man’s frantic gaze swept the interior of the ambulance again. “Where is my son? Is he safe?”
Past the man’s shoulders, the snowy rise of Monte Antelao loomed beyond the city’s edge. Naomi searched for any sign of the helicopters she had spotted earlier—some three hours ago.
She shook her head, knowing this for certain.
“He’s far from safe.”
67
1:37 p.m.
San Vito di Cadore, Italy
Sharyn fought through the shock at seeing a dead man resurrected before her. She struggled to understand how Julian Wright could be standing here. She searched his face, looking for those answers.
It was clearly the professor. Same silver hair, same trimmed goatee. The only differences to his features were the purpled bruising and a swelling under one eye. She remembered the CCTV footage of him being dragged into the Old Library by hooded figures. It clearly must have been a ruse, but one that required him to suffer a beating for it to be convincing.
She clutched Saint-Germain’s book to her chest, as if it were a life preserver and she was lost in rocky seas—both of which were true at the moment.
“You proved a great adversary, Ms. Karr, better than I would’ve ever suspected.” Julian stepped closer, clearly savoring her shock. “I picked poorly, it seems.”
With her mind whirling, her world turned upside down, she grasped to one word. “Picked?” She shook her head. “To take the book. Why? Why didn’t you take it yourself?”
“Ah, yes. Matters became very fluid and tight that night. I had not anticipated the bequeathment from the Twelfth Keeper would be so large. Or that it would take so long to search for one book among so many. Especially on my own.”
She pictured the dozen large crates stacked in the library’s strongroom. It was a daunting task for any one man. Plus, Wright had dared not involve any others. He hadn’t even told Ms. Peele he was in the vault.
