The Chamber of Ten

And they were happy. They laughed over their coffees and pastries, referring to guidebooks as they planned the rest of their afternoons and evenings. She felt detached, and filling the void between them was her burgeoning knowledge of this city’s shady past. If only she did not know this place so well.

“Another cappuccino?” the waitress asked, and Geena shook her head.

“No, I need to be somewhere, thanks.” The waitress nodded, glanced at Geena’s bloody blouse, then moved on to another table.

Geena stood and left a tip. Emerging once again into the late afternoon sunlight, she glanced around to make sure there was no one watching her. If Domenic found her now he’d be angry, but she was her own woman. He was a good friend, but she couldn’t afford to have him looking over her shoulder if she truly wanted to help Nico. He knew so little of what was going on, and though she had already considered telling him, she could not trust that he’d be willing to find out more.

“Where are you, Nico?” she muttered. Still without a plan, she went to buy something to wear that wouldn’t be so conspicuous.

The vision hit her as she was paying for the new clothes. She’d bought a plain white blouse that she could use afterward in meetings, and sensible trousers with deep pockets for carrying knickknacks… but when the image crashed in, such considerations—to do with normal life in the mundane world—felt foolish. She gripped the counter, waving away the shop attendant’s concerned flustering, and closed her eyes.

“Drink of water?” she managed to say, and was aware of the young woman dashing through curtains into the shop’s rear.

Geena gasped and leaned against the counter, hairs on the back of her neck bristling, because this was not Nico. Not entirely. It was him.

He has most of what he needs now, and the next item—the last—should be the easiest to procure. If only this fool would do as instructed without questioning … but really, he does not mind. It is good to be back and see what has changed. Much of it is incredible—boats that move without oars; carriages that shift without horses, on wheels that whisper rather than clatter; lamps without oil, flickering boxes casting images behind barely shut curtains; and strange devices casting smoke-trails across the sky. But what amazes him more are the many things that have all but remained the same. Such as this place …

He’s floating toward the rear of Venice’s old Town Hall, the Palazzo Cavalli, in a water taxi—in the vision, Geena recognizes it because she and Nico have made half jokes about getting married there. The canal is busy, and several people glance nervously his way, as if a chill has passed over them. He alights and approaches the building’s rear entrance. People in suits come and go, a group of attractive women sits on the steps being photographed, a gaggle of children shouts and cheers and their guardians look flustered and tired. He stops, looking up at the great building, and for a moment seeing it as it was back then. The facade’s colors are sharper, cleaner, newer. Gone are the tourists and those dreaming of marriage, and it is the Town Hall again, home to important decisions and policy making for the State … except that’s not quite the truth. Most of that takes place back at the Doge’s Palace, and this place is more a disseminator of decisions.

Be good, the man thinks, and then the feeling is so much more familiar, because this is Nico. He’s scared and tired, confused and muddled, and she cannot for a moment believe that he is letting her see this on purpose. This is spillage, his signal leaking because his emotions and consciousness are shredded, and she must take advantage of every moment that he cannot hold himself in.

He walks toward Palazzo Cavalli looking down at his feet, and for the first time she notices the bags he’s carrying. She has never noticed them before. One has a string-tied top, and looks heavy. The other is a briefcase, and inside—

The tools I don’t know how to use, the keys I’ve never tried, and that knife, that knife—

She gasps and the vision blurs. He looks up at the building again and starts climbing the five steps, and then like the sun slowly setting, the vision fades out until there is nothing.

“Madam?” the shop assistant says, and Geena can tell from her tone that she’s tried several times before.

“I’m fine, fine,” she says. “Just the heat, you know? And I cut my arm building shelving at home, and …”

“Well, take a drink. Come through here and sit down.”

Geena drank the proffered water gratefully, and followed the woman behind the counter and into a large storage area.

I need to get to Palazzo Cavalli!

“Actually,” Geena said, “if I could change into my new clothes back here, I’d be grateful.”

“Of course,” the young woman said, a moment of suspicion and doubt raising her tone. “I’ll be behind the counter.”

And maybe she’ll call the cops just because of that bloody blouse. Geena knew she didn’t have much time. An urgency pressed her, a hot ball in her chest, and it wasn’t only the woman’s reaction. She thought perhaps she had a very real chance of finding Nico … but she had to move.

Geena changed quickly and thought of what she’d just seen. Her skin was crawling. It had never been like that before. She had been looking through Nico’s eyes but with Volpe’s thoughts, and it had felt like invading and being invaded at the same time, a grotesque contrast to the beautiful sensation of when they made love. She felt dirty, and after stripping her blouse and trousers she rolled them up, tipped some water from the glass, and used them to wash herself as best she could. The nurse had cleaned away most of the blood, but the harder she rubbed the more she seemed to remove the traces of Volpe from her.

“Stupid!” she said, but it didn’t feel stupid.

Nico had Volpe inside him, controlling him, and though she had spent a long time immersed in the past, she had never believed in ghosts.

“It’s no ghost,” she said. Preposterous. He’d banged his head and now he was suffering from delusions. Maybe his psychic gift made him susceptible to such flights of fancy. And perhaps in his delusion, it also made it possible to construct an alternate personality that would fool even her. She’d only known him for two years; who knew what he’d been through before they met?

At least now she knew one important thing: where he was. Palazzo Cavalli was less than a mile away, close to the Rialto Bridge, and if she hurried she might reach it before he left.

Or before he did whatever he had planned with those things in his bags. The tools, the keys … the knife.

Time seemed to press in around her, and Geena hurried from the shop through the rear door, opening and closing it as softly as possible. The terrible idea was growing that, unless she found him soon, Nico would end up hurting or killing someone else, or himself.

On her journey along the Grand Canal to Palazzo Cavalli, with the mid-afternoon sun a bright splash over the mainland, Geena kept her mind and heart open. The idea of seeing things through the eyes of Volpe again was abhorrent, but she had to accept that if she was to listen for Nico. Her distaste must be only a fraction of what he was going through, and her discomfort was nothing compared to his. That he was suffering badly was not in question. She only hoped that he could be brought back.

And just how does someone rid themselves of a ghost? she thought, but the idea was too obscure to conceive of any realistic answers. Maybe there were people who might be able to help. Or perhaps once she found him, she and Nico could resolve things together.

As the water taxi powered along she checked her cell phone. Five missed calls from Domenic, but nothing from Nico. Ramus had called as well and left a voice mail. She listened.

Hey Geena, hope you’re feeling better. Er … Howard Finch was wondering what happens now. He’s got his team out here and … er … well, Tonio was wondering, too. I guess today’s out, but let one of us know if you’ll be well enough to come back tomorrow. There was the sound of shuffling, then Ramus’ voice again, quieter this time. Sorry to bother you with this, really, but it’s that fucking Finch. Sleep well. Another pause, awkward and loaded. He’ll be fine.

Damn it, she felt tears threatening. Ramus was a bright kid, and the fact that he could see past the obvious—understand that there might be something more to Nico slashing her than first appeared—comforted her. Geena glanced at her text messages. They were all from Domenic, and all said roughly the same thing: Call me. I want to help. Amazing that he wasn’t ready to give up on her after she had