Read Online In the Wind: Out of the Box, Book 2 by Robert J. Crane - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert J. Crane
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I pass security guards, every single one of whom is playing on a cell phone. I consider taking a sculpture off a stand just to see if they’ll notice, but ultimately decide not to commit a criminal act with my crush standing only feet away from me.
Perugini is expressionless throughout the whole thing. She’s about the coolest customer I can imagine, outside of the bow and arrow lady last night. I try to decide whether this has something to do with her medical training or if she’s just an impassive person. I do not come up with an answer.
We file down a hallway into a miniature recreation of the Pantheon that sits in the heart of Rome, and I wonder at how the Vatican, symbol of Christianity, accumulated such a crazy amount of pagan art. Perugini’s interest begins to show as the tour guide turns us loose to wander around the circle of the Pantheon, the Greek gods standing on pedestals before us.
“Hmm,” she says as we pause before a pretty amazing statue of Ceres. I can’t really see behind the sunglasses, but Perugini angles her head to read the display.
“It’s Demeter,” I say, wondering if she’ll recognize the more commonly known Greek name.
She looks up at me. Sunlight streams in from an eye-like portal directly overhead in the dome. “Oh?” she asks and nods to the next statue in line. “And that one?”
“Apollo,” I say. He carries a mighty staff—not that kind; get your mind out of the gutter—and his robes are flowing and exquisitely carved.
“You seem like an expert on this,” she says, still cool. We meander to the next statue, and I admire her grace instead of looking at the carved marble. She nods at it and I glance up. I feel a little sick. “Which is this one?”
I angle my head down, looking intently at the floor, which is composed of white tiles interspersed with the occasional black one in some pattern my brain doesn’t want to put together right now. “It’s Hera,” I say, but I can’t look at the statue. It actually looks like her, too, which is why I don’t want to look it in the eye. Look her in the eye.
I was there when Hera died. But more than that, I was there when Hera lived. She was the head of Alpha; she was my boss. She was more than that, though; she was a guide, a mentor, a voice of authority in a world where the craziness of what we were up against was enough to make me question the cause sometimes. She was my north star—my Sienna before there was Sienna. I followed her, believed in her. I kept doing what she would have wanted me to long after she was dead.
I still am. She believed in Sienna.
I believe in Sienna.
I keep walking, pausing in front of the next statue. If Perugini senses my despondency—which let’s face it, she probably doesn’t, because why would she be studying me intently?—she doesn’t say anything. “Who is this?” she asks, testing me again, and I look up.
I don’t recognize this one, at least not at first. Then I do, and probably do a double take right there in the middle of the fricking room, like I’ve seen something I can’t believe. Which I totally have. I cannot believe what I’m seeing.
My eyes fall to the placard at the base of the statue, seeking out the knowledge I need. There’s the name, that’s the goddess. She even has a frigging bow in her hand, just like she did when I saw her last night.
“Diana,” I whisper, and the name is full of significance to me in a way that is probably lost on Dr. Perugini. It all makes a crazy amount of sense now, and yet not a damned bit. Why would she have been there last night? Why would Giuseppe try to introduce me to her, of all people? What does she have to do with all this? And then my eyes fall on her title, and I wonder if it’s a clue all by itself.
“Goddess of the Hunt.”
14.
I’m blown away by this revelation for at least the next thirty minutes. Maybe even an hour. I stumble along like one of the old tourists, just thinking it through. I shouldn’t
Perugini is expressionless throughout the whole thing. She’s about the coolest customer I can imagine, outside of the bow and arrow lady last night. I try to decide whether this has something to do with her medical training or if she’s just an impassive person. I do not come up with an answer.
We file down a hallway into a miniature recreation of the Pantheon that sits in the heart of Rome, and I wonder at how the Vatican, symbol of Christianity, accumulated such a crazy amount of pagan art. Perugini’s interest begins to show as the tour guide turns us loose to wander around the circle of the Pantheon, the Greek gods standing on pedestals before us.
“Hmm,” she says as we pause before a pretty amazing statue of Ceres. I can’t really see behind the sunglasses, but Perugini angles her head to read the display.
“It’s Demeter,” I say, wondering if she’ll recognize the more commonly known Greek name.
She looks up at me. Sunlight streams in from an eye-like portal directly overhead in the dome. “Oh?” she asks and nods to the next statue in line. “And that one?”
“Apollo,” I say. He carries a mighty staff—not that kind; get your mind out of the gutter—and his robes are flowing and exquisitely carved.
“You seem like an expert on this,” she says, still cool. We meander to the next statue, and I admire her grace instead of looking at the carved marble. She nods at it and I glance up. I feel a little sick. “Which is this one?”
I angle my head down, looking intently at the floor, which is composed of white tiles interspersed with the occasional black one in some pattern my brain doesn’t want to put together right now. “It’s Hera,” I say, but I can’t look at the statue. It actually looks like her, too, which is why I don’t want to look it in the eye. Look her in the eye.
I was there when Hera died. But more than that, I was there when Hera lived. She was the head of Alpha; she was my boss. She was more than that, though; she was a guide, a mentor, a voice of authority in a world where the craziness of what we were up against was enough to make me question the cause sometimes. She was my north star—my Sienna before there was Sienna. I followed her, believed in her. I kept doing what she would have wanted me to long after she was dead.
I still am. She believed in Sienna.
I believe in Sienna.
I keep walking, pausing in front of the next statue. If Perugini senses my despondency—which let’s face it, she probably doesn’t, because why would she be studying me intently?—she doesn’t say anything. “Who is this?” she asks, testing me again, and I look up.
I don’t recognize this one, at least not at first. Then I do, and probably do a double take right there in the middle of the fricking room, like I’ve seen something I can’t believe. Which I totally have. I cannot believe what I’m seeing.
My eyes fall to the placard at the base of the statue, seeking out the knowledge I need. There’s the name, that’s the goddess. She even has a frigging bow in her hand, just like she did when I saw her last night.
“Diana,” I whisper, and the name is full of significance to me in a way that is probably lost on Dr. Perugini. It all makes a crazy amount of sense now, and yet not a damned bit. Why would she have been there last night? Why would Giuseppe try to introduce me to her, of all people? What does she have to do with all this? And then my eyes fall on her title, and I wonder if it’s a clue all by itself.
“Goddess of the Hunt.”
14.
I’m blown away by this revelation for at least the next thirty minutes. Maybe even an hour. I stumble along like one of the old tourists, just thinking it through. I shouldn’t
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