CHAPTER 30
The Casa della Farfalla was called the House of the Butterflies for many reasons, but most assumed it was due to the luxurious gardens. The two-story pink villa sat in the middle of gently rolling hills, given over to gnarled olive trees and neat rows of the old vines. The entrance road served a purpose in being completely in the open. No visitor would arrive unnoticed or unannounced.
The grounds had been impeccably maintained by the caretaker and his wife, Hannah. A terraced garden held pots of tumbling red flowers and small lemon trees. Gemma’s garden, as Christan called it, was once again filled with delphiniums, along with daisies and a riot of fragrant blooms. The remains of an evergreen maze were beyond a white gravel path that held the original well, now capped with wood and iron for safety. An ancient tree stood guard, along with several prowling multi-colored kittens. Lounges were arranged beneath the dappled shade.
Since the villa was used as a secure location there were few places to hide. But those, along with the entire estate, were monitored through a surveillance system that was both discreet and possessing a resolution surpassing anything available to human governments. The system was connected through wireless technology to a secure server, all of it highly encrypted. Arsen explained in depth as he led Lexi down a graveled path. They were walking toward a rustic stone shed that looked ancient because it was. Nearby, a round building with a tiled roof and rusted metal gutters shimmered in the sun. The dove-cote. Lexi remembered it, too.
“The place has held up rather well,” she said dryly, following Arsen inside the barrel-arched stone shed. It housed some of the monitoring equipment, hidden behind an ancient iron bed frame that had once been painted white.
Arsen shrugged. “Christan insisted,” he said.
“He always loved this place.”
Arsen was dressed more severely than usual; his jeans were heavy and the dark shirt looked flexible enough to allow him to move without restraint. There was a leather harness that crossed his back and held a small, black handgun close to his ribs. “I thought guns weren’t that handy if you have to shift.”
“But very handy if you don’t.”
“Yeah, I understand that whole low-profile thing now.”
“You’re safe here, Slick,” he said casually. “Right now, there’s probably three different groups of people watching what we do.”
“Then I shouldn’t reach out and pat your butt?”
“Won’t bother me.”
Arsen was laughing. Lexi watched as he finished checking whatever computer program he was checking. He closed the metal door that looked like any other electrical panel door, other than the small lock. She suspected there was some very secret warrior stuff about that lock.
When they walked back into the bright sunlight Lexi had to squint. Arsen directed her down a gently sloping hill. Rows of green vines twisted on gnarled branches as thick as her wrist. The ground was littered with sharp white stones.
“I’m sorry about Kat,” Lexi said, speaking to his back as he led the way.
“You tried.”
“You never talk about her.”
“I don’t.”
“I can see why.”
“Can you?” Arsen stopped in the middle of the row, bent down, started pruning shoots from the vine.
Lexi watched him work. “You usually talk to other warriors, but men won’t offer you the right advice.”
Arsen tossed a green bit of vegetation to the ground and shifted his weight. “And what advice would you offer, Slick?”
“None. I’m your friend. Advice, especially the wrong kind, would ruin that.”
“Even friends have opinions.”
“I guess you’ve given me your opinion once or twice,” she agreed.
“Because you needed it.”
“And you don’t need opinions,” Lexi said. Arsen straightened and they continued down the row. “I’m not being mean, Bucko.”
He led her in another direction. “What are you being?”
“Honest. You frighten her. I don’t know how or why, but it was fear I read in her eyes when she realized you were there.”
“You don’t pull your punches when you’re being honest. I’ve never hurt her.”
“I know you would never hurt her—do I look like an idiot?” Lexi laughed. “Don’t answer that.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Speaking of dreams.”
“Yes?”
“Is she still having them?”
“I’d have to say yes.”
“Past life or nightmare dreams?”
“She has several memory lines on her hand.”
“I guess that’s one way to tell the difference,” Arsen said as they started down another row.
The gentle walk through the vineyard would have felt relaxing if they hadn’t been checking the security perimeter. The morning sun was warm, the earthy scents of growing plants begging Lexi to push her fingers into the ground, to pull up happy memories from the past—workmen laughing as they harvested the grapes. Girls with scarves tied around their hair, offering jugs of water or wine. Bare toes squirming in the soil.
“Arsen, tell me about this war.”
“You’re in the middle of it.”
“Thank God for honest friends.”
“You need to know.” Sun glinted in his blond hair. Lexi thought of Christan’s hair, dark silk against her palms.
“What do I need to know?” she asked.
“It’s punch and counter punch right now, someone testing for weakness.”
“He’s not weak.”
“Not now.” Arsen looked at her.
Lexi held his blue gaze. “What was that ambush in the alley?”
“Payback. Opportunism. Some hot shots cranked up over the trash we disposed of because they violated the rules. Big rules, Slick. Important rules.”
“That’s where Christan is now, talking about the rules?”
“His job, Lexi, is to enforce those rules.”
“I don’t want him to trade his safety for mine.”
Arsen gave her a pitying look. “You’ve seen him fight?”
“Yes.”
“He’s not Three’s Enforcer because he’s pretty.”
Lexi thought about that and then asked, “Who wanted the hot shots to violate the big rules?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“But you will, won’t you Bucko?”
“Count on it, Slick.