Fury. Rebecca Lim

issues right now, but she’s struggling to sit up, she’s trying to speak. And, in my book, that’s got to be better than one rung above dead.

      ‘No, really, what did you do to her?’ the man demands. He scrabbles in his jacket pocket for his mobile and starts dialling, as the nurse scoops up the bedding and smooths it back over Irina’s body.

      ‘All she did,’ Gia says crisply, grabbing me by the arm and walking me away, ‘is remind Irina of how good it feels to be alive.’

      I can’t help looking back over my shoulder at Irina, and she suddenly rolls her head and eyes in my direction, raises one long, thin, pointing finger at me accusingly.

      ‘You …’ she gargles.

      Gia pulls me out the door. ‘Irina was convulsing, foaming at the mouth,’ she mutters, ‘clawing at her skin. And her eyes …’ She swallows hard. ‘And the sounds! God. It was like something out of a horror film except it was all real. I almost passed out.’ She stares into my face, crossing her arms tightly. ‘One day, you’re going to have to sit me down, buy me a beer and explain to me what I just saw.’

      ‘It’s because she was fighting me,’ I reply into her haunted eyes. ‘Two sentient souls suddenly sharing one body. It’s never going to be pretty unless something … gives.’

      Gia shudders and says fervently, ‘Let nothing like you ever come after me that way. Please.’

      It’s no comfort, but I say, ‘The sooner we get out of here, the less likely you’ll ever hear from any of us again. What happened at the Galleria was an … aberration.’

      ‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’ Gia’s eyes are troubled as she adds, ‘Now a deal’s a deal, and, by God, you delivered and then some. Tell me what you need and I’ll make it happen.’

      We’re at her open bedroom door now, and I see Ryan’s sleeping form on the bed, his head thrown back carelessly, his dark hair spilling across the pillow, blankets rumpled down to his waist. As if he feels my eyes on him, he shifts in his sleep, mumbling some word I can’t catch.

      Dottore Pellini joins us, telling Gia discreetly in Italian that there’s nothing essentially wrong with Ryan that a little less partying wouldn’t cure.

      ‘What he really needs is rest,’ I tell Gia regretfully when the doctor has moved away again, ‘but there’s something I need to do and he’s insisting on coming with me. So, could you get him some food and drink? I don’t know when his last square meal was. His clothing’s torn, and he needs a new pack. He also needs … props.’

      ‘Props?’ Gia says, confused.

      I frown, unable to think of the right word. It’s my own shorthand for shape-shifting, and Ryan’s no shape-shifter.

      ‘You know, things. He looks too much like himself,’ I say, ‘and too much like him.’

      In my mind’s eye, I see Luc glaring across the catwalk at Ryan, Ryan at Luc, one so dark, one so light, like the negative and positive sides of a single image. With me caught in the middle.

      ‘Oh, the sexy ex,’ Gia replies in sudden understanding. ‘The blond god sitting beside Gudrun who made my mouth go dry with lust the moment I set eyes on him?’

      ‘It’s his speciality,’ I reply, horror dawning in my face as the thought suddenly crystallises. ‘Gia, Ryan’s in so much danger. When they can’t find me, they’ll go looking for him.’

      ‘So it’s best if you stay together then,’ Gia replies, trying her best to sound reassuring. ‘Watch each other’s backs.’

      ‘Which is just as well,’ I say miserably, ‘seeing as I can’t seem to give him up.’

      Gia grins, looking Ryan over again with an expression of amused regret on her face. ‘Like sugar, or cigarettes. I completely get it. Look, I’ll get Tommy onto it. He can put together a man bag for him. But what about you?’

      ‘All I need is information,’ I reply instantly. ‘An update.’

      Gia’s expression sharpens immediately. ‘Shoot.’

      I search her face. ‘Remember how you told me about the fires that destroyed Domaso, Gravedona, Rezzonico, Menaggio, Tremezzo, Argegno, Laglio, Urio?’

      She nods, hugging herself even more tightly, as if she’s cold, the wicked spikes on her shoulders catching the brilliant lights in the room.

      ‘What happened after Urio?’ I ask. Gia frowns. ‘Was there anything … more?’ I add.

      ‘I couldn’t honestly tell you,’ she replies. ‘But Juliana would know. She has a villa by the lake, as did Giovanni. Her staff will be keeping her informed.’

      I trail Gia back across the room to where Juliana is still seated at the dining table beneath vast windows. She seems shrunken in her grief, all her usual vitality, her habitual curiosity, leached out of her. Gia repeats my question to her in rapid-fire Italian, and she looks up, startled.

      ‘I’m told that Moltrasio was partially destroyed before it all … stopped. After Moltrasio there was no more … burning.’

      ‘As if the cause of the fires was interrupted?’ I ask in perfect Italian.

      Gia’s eyes widen for a moment in surprise, before her expression goes bland.

      Juliana nods, looking perturbed. ‘Yes! It is exactly how it was described to me — as if the arsonist was interrupted. Though the arsonist must have been in league with the Devil, for it should be impossible for fire to behave that way, as if it were alive …’

      She shivers and crosses herself, then says to Gia, ‘Bianca St Alban’s family estate is in Moltrasio and I haven’t even called to ask after her, or to let her know that I’ve decided to give to her as a gift the haute couture pieces she ordered. Nothing in Giovanni’s final collection will ever be reproduced again, for anyone. But he would have wanted Bianca to have the gowns she selected before he … before he …’ Juliana looks down, but not before I see her eyes filling rapidly. ‘The police are only letting locals into the area,’ she whispers. ‘I could deliver them myself, of course, but I don’t have the heart to see it. It is too much …’ Her voice trails away.