them had imagined this release for centuries.
Still holding her in his arms, he glanced down at his fallen cane. But she could feel his back straightening, his legs growing stronger under him. She could sense an even greater power than before surging through his body, just as it was doing through her own.
“ Il mio gatto,” he said, a wide smile lifting the ends of his moustache and his strong arms buoying her up. “Still causing trouble, I see.”
But she was too overwhelmed to reply.
He kissed her hard on the lips, then threw back his head in exultation. Snowflakes stuck to his eyebrows and moustache. He let out a loud, braying laugh that cut through the night and reverberated off the walls of the hospice before being carried away on the gusting wind.
“You know what it is, don’t you?” he shouted, in joy. “You know what it is?”
But he didn’t have to tell her. She knew. It was the power of time starting afresh, of life beginning anew. The clock that had stopped, nearly five hundred years before, had started again. The hands that had been frozen in place were ticking. He lifted her off her feet and swung her around, laughing. And though he was holding her so tight she could barely catch her breath, she laughed, too. Cyril, and a couple trudging into the hospice, looked on in amazement. Who would have thought that in a place like this, where death and sorrow reigned, mortality itself could have been so celebrated and embraced? And when her feet touched the ground again, Kathryn-no, Caterina now, Caterina for as long as she lived-felt the pieces of the broken mirror crunching under the sole of her shoe.
Chapter 47
For a January day in Florence, it was unseasonably sunny and bright. As David approached the Piazza della Signoria, he could see not only tourists but locals, too, out enjoying the clear skies and brisk air. Several vendors tried to sell him maps and souvenirs, and one even offered to be his personal tour guide.
But he already knew the best guide in town. An Italienisch Madchen , as Herr Linz had put it in the notebook David had stolen from the Chateau Perdu. He had read it in its entirety on the flight back to Italy. Filled with elaborate sketches and directives, it was the monster’s plan for the greatest art museum in the history of the world, to be built one day-no surprise-in his hometown and namesake of Linz. But far from being a tribute to mankind’s noblest endeavors, the Fuhrermuseum was to be a grandiose testament to Hitler’s own ruthless ambitions. With its five-hundred-foot-long facade and rows of towering columns, it was designed to trumpet the victory of the Reich and show off its master’s hoard of stolen trophies. Everything, apart from his greatest, and most secret, acquisition- La Medusa -was to be on display.
But as David now knew-from Sant’Angelo’s lips-its like would never be seen again. The glass was gone, its magic was done. For those who had fallen under its spell, the spell was over. What was left in its place was simply life-ordinary life, starting up again where it had left off… though clean and unencumbered.
And that was enough. Sarah was fine and healthy. It was as if the disease had never struck. Dr. Ross wanted to make a casebook study of her, and he’d even stopped by the house to plead his cause. But Gary had put a stop to that in no uncertain terms. “Sorry, Doc,” he’d told him as David stood silently by, “but we’ve had all we can stand of hospitals. No offense, but we hope we never see you again.”
Dr. Ross had understood and taken it well. And when he’d gotten back in his car and driven off, Gary had turned to David on the front lawn. Putting a firm hand on his shoulder, he’d said, in a voice filled with gratitude, “I don’t suppose you’re ever going to tell me what really went on that night, are you?”
“It’s a long story,” David said, “and you wouldn’t believe me even if I did.”
Gary nodded slowly, and said, “You’re right.” Then, glancing at David’s hair, he said, “You know, it’s starting to come in brown again.”
“It’s a big relief.”
“I’m sure that girl you told me about-Olivia Levi?-will be relieved, too. That Andy Warhol look wasn’t working for you.”
David had been well aware of that, and to spare her a heart attack when he surprised her in the piazza, he had put on a hat.
Right now, she was off near the loggia, shepherding a group of seniors to the base of the Perseus. He was far enough away that he couldn’t hear what she was saying about it, but he could see her standing on the steps, arms waving with a flourish as the gray-haired men and women on the tour huddled close to catch every word.
By the time he’d crept up to the rear of the group, he could hear her asking them if anyone knew the story of Perseus and the Gorgon.
A professorial type in front said, “Perseus was tricked into promising the head of the Medusa as a wedding gift. But one look in the Medusa’s eyes could turn a man to stone. He had to call upon the gods for help.”
Several others in the group nodded their appreciation of his expertise and, emboldened, he went on. “Hermes gave him a sword, and Athena gave him a polished shield, so he could catch the creature’s reflection. By looking only in the shield, he was able to kill the Gorgon without looking directly into her eyes.”
Olivia, wearing the purple iris on her lapel, applauded. “And the man who made this magnificent statue? Who can tell me that?”
Before the professor could pipe up, David called out, “Benvenuto Cellini!” Everyone in the tour group turned their heads to see who the interloper was.
Olivia, shielding her eyes from the sun, said, “That is correct,” and after spotting him in back, started down the steps. “And who commissioned it?” she said, deftly maneuvering her way through the crowd.
“Cosimo de’Medici.”
“And why?” she asked, as David made his own way toward her, too.
“It was a symbol.”
“Of what?” she said, as they at last embraced.
“Of perseverance. Perseus was always able to beat impossible odds to get what he wanted.”
And then they were done talking. As he bent his head to kiss her, he could hear the members of the tour group speculating among themselves about who this guy was… and then, only seconds later, starting to grumble about the unexpected delay in the tour.
Finally, the professor in front decided to pick up where he’d left off. “I used to teach art in Scranton,” he said, and the group seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “So I know that if you look at this statue from behind, you’ll see just how ingenious it is. The face of its sculptor is hidden in the design of the helmet,” he said, while the tour group dutifully followed him around to the back of the statue.
“These tours,” Olivia murmured to David, “they are not free, you know.”
“So what do I owe you? As the newly appointed Director of Acquisitions at the Newberry Library, I have an expense account now.”
“Really? Then I will think of something.”
He kissed her again, holding her so tight her purple flower was crushed flat and his hat fell off. When she finally pulled back enough to see his two-toned hair, she looked puzzled and said, “What happened here? You did not tell me you had dyed your hair.”
“I was saving that part.” In point of fact, he had spared her all the details of his own experience with the mirror. It was enough that she knew it had saved his sister.
“This was not a good idea,” she said, frowning and ruffling his hair with one hand. “Don’t do it again.”
“I’m certainly not planning on it.”
“But what else have you been keeping from me?” she said, and then, her tone abruptly changing from playful to serious, added, “Your sister-she is still doing well?”
“Yes,” he replied, “she’s doing just fine. And she’s looking forward to meeting you very soon.”
“I look forward to it, too,” Olivia said. “But what does she remember, about what happened that night at the hospital?”
“Not much.” David considered it a blessing. “And what little she does remember just seems like a bad dream
