hard kiss to Fina’s mouth. “Are you well this night, my love?”
“Yes, Zeno.”
“Good.”
Ben cleared his throat loudly, and Fabi kicked him. He ignored her.
“So Zeno, why don’t you think—?”
“How would one vampire trust another to retrieve an artifact for him or her without stealing it, eh?” Zeno sat next to Fina while she fussed with the collar of the shirt he’d obviously just tossed on. “Even if you did trust another vampire to find it, that immortal would be a target for the opportunistic ones. There are few vampires like your uncle who have trustworthy reputations and the ability to back up their word with power.”
“But Gio won’t look for anything but books.”
“No, and I understand why. To do what we do”—he put an arm around his wife—“you must love it. You must have passion. Because often the work… It is dull, no? So many hours looking for one tiny clue that could lead you to another clue. Dead ends. Destroyed sources. Your uncle loves beautiful things, but he doesn’t have the passion for art that he has for knowledge. It would be very convenient if we had someone who did.”
Fabi kicked his shin again.
“Ow! Will you stop?”
Fabi just shook her head. “Nino, sometimes your head is full of rocks.”
Chapter Five
Rio Terà dei Assassini, 3806 Venezia
“REALLY?” BEN LOOKED AT THE paper in his hand and the key that looked like it belonged somewhere in the seventeenth century. Then he looked at the seemingly incomprehensible address that had been left at the house in Rome the day before.
His low cursing must have attracted the attention of the young man setting out tables at the small osteria on the Rio Tera dei Assassini.
The young man smiled and called out to him, “Are you looking for something?”
“My friend’s flat,” Ben replied, tugging his messenger bag back up his shoulder and walking toward the waiter, valise in one hand and slip of paper in the other. “This address she gave me… I swear, I’ll end up walking into the canal. I don’t think it exists.”
The young man frowned at the paper when Ben handed it to him. “I don’t recognize this address either. Venice can be difficult. Sometimes the houses aren’t marked. This one…” He craned his neck around the curve of the narrow street. “Yes, you’re right. It should be on the corner next to the canal, but the number isn’t correct.”
“Great.”
“Try to call her, yes?” The helpful young man smiled. “She must have written it down wrong.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Or she doesn’t really want to see you.” The waiter laughed. “Women, no?”
“You have no idea with this one.” Ben tapped his leg and felt the key in his pocket. “I think I’ll go try the one on the end. You’re right. She probably just wrote it down wrong. Thanks.”
“Come back for a drink if you can’t find her,” the waiter said. “Nothing makes us forget them like wine.”
Ben cracked a smile. “No such luck. This one is unforgettable.”
He wandered down the street and waited, but it was dead quiet. The street was hardly wider than an alleyway back in LA. There were no shops and only a couple of quiet restaurants, neither of which looked like it catered to tourists. In the maze of Venice, this tiny street managed to be completely anonymous while only five minutes’ walk from the madness of Piazza San Marco.
“Incredible,” Ben said, leaning out over the canal where gondoliers pushed gawking tourists through the narrow canals. Some sang. Most chatted on their mobile phones.
Ah, Venice.
He had to admit, the note had been a surprise. What was Tenzin doing in Venice? What did this have to do with Alfonso’s tarì? And where the hell did she expect him to go?
He was leaning on the end of the building, watching the gondolas push past when an old man shuffled out of the nearest door. It was a green maintenance door with electrical-shock warning signs screaming in yellow and various
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