We dropped our invisibility spells as soon as we reached the car, and I handed Toby the keys. I needed to concentrate on the trail. Dragon senses were the most powerful of all the shifters; even the Froekn, who were known as the best trackers in the God World. I had no problem picking up the trail on the road and directing Toby on how to follow it. It was second nature; as easy as breathing.
What wasn't easy was following the trail to its end. It led us to Florence. You wouldn't think that would be a problem, but it was; especially for our minivan. The streets of Florence are narrow and, in some places, nonexistent. We couldn't follow the trail down a side alley because our car wouldn't fit, and when we tried to look for parking, it became quickly evident that you had to have the luck of the Devil to find a space. Despite Luke's good wishes, we didn't seem to have received it.
We ended up driving out of Florence, parking the van on the side of the road, and then walking in. It was a long hike, and by the time we'd found our destination, I was so hungry that I was hangry. But it hardly seemed appropriate to stop at one of the delicious smelling cafes for a bite to eat. So, I forced myself to trudge on; up a narrow flight of steps within an apartment building that looked as if it were built back when turning on a light required the use of a candle. But it had been built to last and was now home to numerous families. People bustled past us giving us suspicious glances until Toby and I decided to go invisible again.
We came to the end of the trail at an apartment door, and I realized that I had no plan. Should we just burst in? Should we knock? Whoever was behind that door had been one of the last people to see Alan alive—in a way. But that didn't mean that he or she was guilty. I'd hate to terrorize an innocent person.
“Let's try talking first,” Toby said as he became visible. “If that doesn't work, we'll take them into the God Realm for a more thorough conversation.”
“All right,” I agreed as I revealed myself too.
Unfortunately, I hadn't seen the little old lady hobbling down the stairs behind us; decked head to toe in black. She screeched when I made my sudden appearance and ran past us at a speed she hadn't looked capable of; making the sign of the cross and muttering something in Italian as she clutched her lace kerchief tightly.
Toby chuckled and shook his head, but it reminded me of something that might pose a huge problem; neither of us spoke Italian.
“I hope this person speaks English,” I said to Toby as I knocked.
After a few minutes, the door opened and a young man peered quizzically out at us. He was in his early thirties; blond, with lightly tanned skin and dark eyes. He squinted those eyes at us before pulling a pair of wire-rimmed glassed down from the top of his head. Then he blinked he through the lenses and frowned.”
“Ciao, come posso aiutarla?” He asked.
“Do you speak English?” I countered.
“Si, you are American?” He looked over at Toby with interest. “Native American?”
“That's right,” Toby said with a smile. “I'm about as Native American as they come.”
“In a way,” I muttered to him, and Toby grimaced at me.
After so many years of living among and working with humans, most gods thought of themselves as the race they'd aligned with. For those who had become deeply attached to their followers—like Toby—it went beyond racial links and became a family situation. Toby really did see himself as a Navajo, and he resented any implication that he wasn't. In a way, I agreed with him—which is why I had used those words. I thought that Toby deserved to identify himself as such; he'd become Navajo in the way that people who move to an area become local—he'd immersed himself so deeply in the Navajo culture and had acted so often on their behalf that he was now one of them. However, his true ancestry was Atlantean.
“How fascinating,” the man declared. “What do a couple of Native Americans want with me?”
“Oh, I'm not... well, actually, I am part... you know what; never mind.” I shook my head. “We'd like to talk to you about Felisa Bianchi. Can we come in?”
“Ms. Bianchi?” The man's eyes went wide, and he backed up. “I heard that she's recovered. They told me she's fine.”
“She is,” I said quickly, with a glance at Toby. “We just had a few questions for you.”
“I did all that I could for her, but I'm only a student,” he stammered. “She needed a real exorcist.”
“You're an exorcist?” I asked in surprise.
“I'm a priest,” he corrected. “The Catholic Church doesn't employ a lot of exorcists these days.”
“Sure.” I smirked.
“It's not a skill that's encouraged. Most of the Church will say they believe in possession but they don't,” he explained. “But Ms. Bianchi is an... how you say? Upstanding society member?”
“She's rich,” I concluded. “Did her family donate a lot of money to the Church in exchange for an exorcism?”
“Si,” he admitted with a grimace. “But all of the experienced priests were out of the country. They sent me.” He sighed deeply and went to sit in a faded floral chair by the window. His hand strayed to the window ledge; specifically, the
