Page 38 of Unbound

“Okay. I’m going to take you out of those chains and get you something to eat. We’ll get you cleaned up, rested. For now, you’re safe, Roberto. I can’t promise what tomorrow will bring. I’ll want to know everything that happened here.”

“Isn’t it fucking obvious? It wasn’t exactly a slumber party.”

Almost dead and still sniping. Him and Yvonne will get along great.

I turn my back on him for now. Aidan appears in the chamber, carrying a hacksaw and a blood bag, as well as some sweatpants and a T-shirt.

“Think he’ll survive?” he asks, voice low. I shrug. He’s not an Old World vamp, so the best he can hope for is to be what he was when he transformed. With time, food, and rest, it’s possible that he could get back to whatever state he was in before this was done to him. I don’t know if he was always bald, but I’m pretty sure he always had lips.

“No idea. He seems tough, so I wouldn’t bet against it. Keep him close; he’s the Roma capo’s kid.”

Aidan nods and goes to tend to Roberto. I carry on exploring. I’m pretty convinced there’s nothing else alive down here, but I stay alert just in case. I enter the final room and find the source of the boozy smell. There are bottles all over the place, the expensive Armagnac that Vincenzo had imported from Italy. The fucker never even offered me a glass. I pick one up, inhale. Feel a wash of nausea. Is it just the association with him, or is there more to it? I don’t often feel physically sick.

I look around the room, finding more horrors. Grotesque stuffed animals. The skin of someone’s face stretched out onto a canvas, pinned down like a butterfly. A steel-tipped whip crusted with blood. There are books, stacks of them. He always did like to read. I glance over the collection, have no clue what most of it is. I like to read too, but I’m not as into the arcane as him—at least a couple of these volumes are written on human skin.

The nausea is increasing to the point where I feel like I might actually throw up. What the fuck is wrong with me? I steady myself with a hand on the wall, and it comes away damp and dirty. I stare at it, fascinated. Jesus, have I ingested something? Inhaled something? The very fucking air down here could be poison.

I shake it off. I’ll be out soon, and once it’s been cleared, I’ll get the whole place filled in. Maybe get Minnie to put some kind of spell on it to make sure. When she’s back, that is. From Italy, where she’ll be going with Rosa. My love.

I stagger at the thought of her, stumbling a few steps and banging into the desk in the corner of the chamber. It’s old, oak, carrying far more age than this building. Than this city. It’s something Vincenzo brought with him from home.

My hands run along the scarred surface, and I almost choke. Something is affecting me, something powerful. I need to counteract it with something even stronger. With her.

I clear my mind, opening the mental channel that exists between us. Will it survive the distance once she’s in Italy? Will it work if she’s flying? Is this like a cell phone, and I won’t get reception because I’m underground? No fucking clue how any of it works, and she’s right. I’m also sick of not knowing.

There’s a buzz and a hiss as I reach out for her. I’m about to give up when I hear her. Luca? Are you all right? I suddenly felt like you weren’t …

Hearing her voice calms me instantly. The nausea doesn’t leave me, but the dizziness does. I feel like I can function again.

I’m fine. I just needed to speak to you. Where are you, cara mia?

On the way to the airport. Few hours to go until the flight. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t sound okay. Minnie wants to know what’s wrong.

Minnie is adept at knowing when we’re talking like this, and I can tell she’d love to join in. Thank fuck it seems to be a two-way street, or my own head would never be quiet.

Nothing, I say firmly. I just felt a little sick is all.

A pause as she relays this. A giggle. Then Rosa says, She wants to know if you’re pregnant?

I shake my head. For a powerful witch, Minnie can be quite the schoolgirl.

Tell her I’ve found some books. They look old, and some of them are grimoires. They were Vincenzo’s, so I’m tempted to burn them.

I wait a second, opening and shutting the desk drawers as I do. The man had a vast rubber-band collection and stacks of files that I’m pretty sure Aidan would like to see.

Minnie says no, do not burn them under any circumstances or she’ll curse you, so you have a boil on the end of your nose for all eternity. And can I say, on a personal level, I’d prefer you without a boil. Are you sure you’re all right? You don’t sound like yourself.

I’m feeling more robust by the second. The restorative powers of Rosa. I promise you. And if anyone could get me pregnant, it would be you. Now go. We will speak later. Ciao, bella.

I close our link and ignore the churning in my belly as I delve into this hidden world of Vincenzo. I find letters, some so old they’re on vellum, others printouts from screens. There is an old-fashioned address book filled with scrawled numbers and no names. I notice a framed picture of his ex-wife, Felicia, which is oddly humanizing, so I place it flat down.

There are stacks of papers all around the desk, piled on it, beneath it, and behind it. It’ll take an age to go through it all, and I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted to burn it. But there might be stuff down here that matters, and it all needs archiving. That, it occurs to me, could be a suitable job for a former investigative reporter who wants to prove herself.

I find that the bottom drawer is locked—the only one that is—which immediately intrigues me, and I tear it physically apart, the ancient wood splintering with ease. I shake my head at what falls out, at the treasure he had locked away. Porn mags from the seventies, dozens of them. I kick them aside, not wanting to imagine how well used they were.

The bright, glossy photos have no effect on me, beyond provoking mild disgust. I notice, as I push them aside, that there’s a little recessed alcove behind the desk. I have no idea why I didn’t see it before. It’s almost like the shadows were trying to hide it.

I shine the flashlight and see a cabinet. It’s more modern, the traditional kind in a dull gun-metal gray, the type you’d find in every office in the land. You could pick one up from Walmart for less than a hundred bucks. It looks incredibly ordinary, and that alone makes it seem out of place. Everything else here is old, reeking of antiquity. Even the chair has carved wooden arms in the shape of the Firenze dragon. It all screams Vincenzo; it’s all touched with his messed-up theatrics, apart from that damn cabinet.