I won’t make that same mistake again.
I did what I had to do in the club, and I’m not ashamed of it—I’d do it a thousand times over if it meant Bes lived.
I’m not sure what all that says about me, but I don’t have the luxury of looking at it too closely at the moment.
I peer out into the dark, silent street around us. Bes is right about one thing: the bloody clothes would rouse suspicions we can’t afford. Not when he has a knife sticking out of his chest.
Pulling my arms through the oversized sleeves with trembling hands, I button up the jacket to hide the blood stain. I then draw my switchblade from my pocket once more, ready to use it again if necessary.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Finally,” Cec mutters. “I was beginning to think wewantedto get caught.”
I allow Bes and Cec—cane in one hand, the other gripped around Bes’s arm—to go first, trailing them through the darkened streets of the Port of Civitavecchia and praying we make it to the boat in one piece.
“Apologies, explain how you’re related to us again?”
Cec and I both groan from the cramped backseat of the faded green Fiat we’ve been stuffed into like sardines in a can for the past two and a half hours.
This is the third time Bes has asked our driver the same damn question. In fact, it’s practically all we’ve talked about since he flagged us down amid the bustle at the Port of Genoa after docking the boat.
The moment he approached us, Bes put up his guard. Admittedly, so did I, given my past history. Cec, however, wasn’t ruffled by the stranger’s name, so I figured we weren’t in any danger. No doubt this man is another one of Arturo’s “friends.”
Now that we’re traveling by car, we must be getting closer to Arturo’s safehouse. While I hope this means I won’t have to face any more fascists for at least a few days, I’m also looking forward to knowing more about what’s going on here. Because this is starting to look more like an entire spy network rather than a few friends supporting each other, with the resources to back it up.
I thought something similar in the pizza place when Bes suggested I make a deduction based on all the evidence. I believe I called it an organized, well-funded anti-fascist resistance in my mind. And that holds even truer now. Ailsa brought the boat from God knows where. Gino, though he gets paid for his services, owns a pizzeria. Francesca runs and operates a costume shop. The Maestro owned an underground club. And this man, Anders, came to pick us up in a car. Not a nice car, mind you—but a working car all the same.
Well-connected doesn’t even begin to describe Arturo’s close acquaintances.
On the boat ride here, I fully committed to the idea that the person who’s put themselves in charge of my fate since landing in Cairo is Bes’s uncle, and that he holds a great amount of power and influence to keep so many people under his thumb.
Including our driver.
Bes was so insistent on probing this man straight away that I haven’t even had a chance to enjoy Milan. And it’s not like I can ask Cec to be my tour guide and point things out to me.
In all fairness, we’re not exactly at the heart of the city: mostly browning farmland and a scattering of houses surround us. I can’t even recognize a single tall gothic spire in the distance, and my mood has yet to improve because of it.
Or, perhaps it’s because, though I’ve chosen to do the noble thing and keep the Amulet of Amun safe from the clutches of the German Third Reich, I have no idea if Arturo has plans for me and the amulet. I trust Bes and Cec, but I don’t know Arturo. No matter how much faith Nonna has in him. Who’s to say he doesn’t intend to use it for his own nefarious means?
My sour mood can also be attributed to the fact that, every time I draw breath, I take in the unwelcome stench of gasoline, clove cigarettes, and a hint of what can only be described as male body odor, prompting the thumping ache between my eyes.
It could be because I’m exhausted from never stopping—never feeling like I canrest—since getting on that plane to Egypt.
Or… it might be the mounting perplexity I feel in regards to all things Bes. I’ve been with men before, and even a few women, but none of them have frustrated me the way he does. Sometimes, he treats me like a stranger, as if we haven’t faced life and death together; other times, he looks at me like I could hang the moon. He literally took the sharp end of a blade for me from the man I attempted to dance with last night, but snapped at me for not leaving him there to fight alone.
Whatever it is that’s soured my mood—likely all of it at once—I’m damned irritable. My only solace is this isn’t a British car, which means Bes is sitting directly in front of me. There’s no logical reason why it should make me feel safe, but it does.
I close my eyes for a moment, remembering how Bes stood up for me against the Blackshirt, who ended up trying to murder him in the tunnels. While I could’ve stood up for myself, the fact that he cared enough to intervene ignites the butterflies in my stomach, even now.
The way it felt when he touched me, how his arms wrapped around me… It was the first time I truly felt like he would protect me, like he promised he would back in Egypt. It sets me on fire simply thinking about it.
Ever since he put himself between me and that knife, I’ve realized something: Bes cares for me more than even he would ever be willing to admit aloud. And although I’ve been at least mildly suspicious of him from the moment we met, I can’t help feeling something for him too. Something deep and—if I’m being honest—frightening.
I undo another button from my shirt and crank my window down a few more inches. I wish I’d thought to bring shorts with me. It’s my own damn fault for not preparing for the worst.
The backside of the Amulet of Amun sticks uncomfortably to my chest once more. From the moment I pulled it from its resting place in the Osireion, it’s been nothing but a nuisance. But, my God, it’s fascinating. A part of me wishes we could’ve gone straight to Arturo’s. Though I have no idea what his true intentions with me might be, the promise of perusing his library and finding more information on the amulet makes it worth taking the risk.
When it warmed against my back in the club, I knew I wasn’t imagining it. Something otherworldly plagues the amulet, and I’m going to find out what.
