The Raven (The Florentine #1)(40)
Author: Sylvain Reynard

She wasn’t delusional. She pinched her arm to prove that point.

She reached for her cell phone and quickly scrolled through the photos she’d taken of herself that week. Comparing the photos with her leg, the changes were noticeable. The scar had reappeared and her foot had begun to turn out slightly. Still, it was a far cry from what her injured leg and foot had been before.

Putting her phone aside, she placed both feet on the floor and stood. She found that she could walk without limping, but the pain flared during her first few steps.

When she looked in the mirror in the bathroom, she was surprised at what she saw. Her face was a little fuller, her hair not quite as shiny, and dark circles lay beneath her eyes.

She looked, she thought, as if she hadn’t been taking care of herself. Once again, the changes from her appearance the day before were dramatic, but not so much as to return her to her previous appearance.

It was as if the physical transformation had been undone, but not completely.

She readied herself for work, showering with her favorite rose-scented soap and washing and drying her hair. She struggled into her new green sundress, finding that the linen fabric pulled across her now slightly protruding abdomen and softly padded hips.

She wondered how the dress had shrunk in her closet. She wondered how, in the space of a few hours, she’d gained enough weight to have a rounded belly.

If someone is trying to make me think I’m crazy, they’re doing a hell of a good job.

At least the photographs didn’t lie. She had pictures of what she looked like before she’d lost her memory, a few self-photos of what she looked like afterward, and now she took pictures of the most recent changes.

There was no doubt about it. She’d changed.

The pain in her leg could be explained by overexertion. Perhaps the exercise was catching up with her. But overexertion didn’t explain the reappearance of the scar.

Raven had no scientific explanation for any of her early morning discoveries and so she ignored them, taking two pain pills with her breakfast.

As an act of contempt for superstitions in general and the intruder’s superstitions in particular, she removed the relic from around her neck and placed it in her knapsack. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to discern any noticeable change in her body or her emotions.

She opened her eyes. She felt the same as she had a moment before. However, she was unwilling to leave the relic behind, especially since every time she closed her eyes she could see the so-called feral standing a distance away from her, cursing. With dead bodies showing up near the Arno and in her piazza, she needed whatever help it could offer and so she brought the relic to work with her, hidden in her knapsack.

Raven spent the day in the archives, completing menial tasks and trying not to draw attention to herself.

Her doctor called, informing her that her blood test was inconclusive because the sample had been contaminated with at least two foreign substances of indeterminable origin. Unfortunately, the window to see if she’d been drugged was now closed. The doctor apologized on behalf of the lab, which had obviously made an egregious error in contaminating her sample, but said there was no point in repeating the test.

The X-rays, however, were another matter. The films the doctor had received obviously belonged to another patient, because they showed no evidence of the break in her leg and ankle that had occurred when she was twelve. So the doctor suggested Raven be x-rayed again.

Raven declined, citing a busy schedule. She said that she would follow up with the doctor when things at the gallery calmed down.

She didn’t bother trying to explain that it was possible her injury had been spontaneously reversed. Certainly she didn’t want to have her doctor examine her leg only to see that the scar, which was absent on Tuesday, was once again visible.

Given all the strange and unexplained events swirling in her head, she was grateful for the distraction work provided. She spent the afternoon compiling files on the digital database and staring from time to time at an image of Primavera.

She wanted to ask Professor Urbano, who’d worked on the restoration of the painting, if he’d realized that Mercury’s appearance had been altered. But since, for the moment at least, she was not welcome in the restoration lab, she didn’t.

She spent some time examining the images of Cupid and Venus, recalling the intruder’s reference to the myth of Cupid and Psyche. According to myth, Zephyr, who hovered in the orange grove at the right-hand side of Primavera, had helped Psyche when she was in distress.

I am the monster, hiding in the darkness, the intruder had whispered.

She wondered idly if he was like Zephyr.

Raven was glad she’d studied Greek and Roman mythology as an undergraduate, for it helped her understand Botticelli’s work. She knew, for example, that Maia and Jove were the parents of Mercury and that Atlas was his grandfather.

She knew that Chloris had been raped by Zephyr but that he’d repented of his violence and married her, renaming her Flora. Ovid, who told the story in his Fasti, quoted Flora as claiming she had no complaint in bed, which signified that her husband was kind to her after his former brutality.

She wondered if the intruder was like that—a man who’d engaged in acts of violence, only to regret them later and repent.

She gazed at Zephyr’s face and quivered, recalling how gentle the intruder’s touch had been.

Raven closed the window on her computer and quickly logged in to her e-mail account. Scrolling through a few unopened messages, she found an e-mail from Father Jack Kavanaugh.

Dear Raven,

I hope this e-mail finds you well.

I’ve been transferred to Rome, effective July 1st.

It’s a long, Jesuitical story. The short of it is that I’ve had to resign my position at Covenant House in Orlando. Don’t worry, I’m leaving the house in good hands and I intend to continue helping them in any way I can.

I’m hoping to visit Florence and hear about your good work at the Uffizi Gallery.

How is your sister?

How is your mother?

I remember you and your family in my prayers, praying that you all will find peace, forgiveness, and hope in the extravagance of God’s love,

Fr. Jack

Raven sat back in her chair.

This was an e-mail she had not expected to receive.

She’d known Father Kavanaugh for years. He’d helped her and her sister when they were in crisis. Later, he’d helped her attend Barry University, finding scholarship money to pay for her tuition and residence. Even now, long after graduation, he was still trying to help her by praying to a god she didn’t believe in.