There was also the small matter of William’s anger. He seemed cross with himself for wanting her.
She wondered if his anger was because she was troubling his well-ordered criminal life or for other reasons. Probably he resented his attraction, knowing there were exceptional Florentine women ripe for the taking.
Raven decided not to dwell on the subject. She’d long since discarded the belief that all puzzles in the universe could be solved. Some puzzles didn’t have solutions, and she suspected William was exactly that sort of puzzle.
The internal struggles of a criminal were not her concern.
With a labored gait, she walked to the closet. As she sorted through the hangers and shelves of clothing, she realized it held an assortment of sizes, ranging from the size she’d been a few days past to the size she was before she lost her memory.
Either he’d provided clothes for her while he was saving her life or he’d anticipated her return to a larger size. She didn’t know what to think about either possibility.
She chose a raspberry-colored sundress, calculated to contrast with the green of her eyes; a white cardigan; and a pair of simple, low-heeled sandals. Then she locked herself in the large bathroom to get ready.
When Raven reached the first floor, Lucia was waiting. She escorted her to a room down the hall, which she said was the library; she opened the door, then left Raven to William’s company.
Raven found the term library a gross understatement. The room was larger than the central archives at the Uffizi Gallery. She stared at the books openmouthed, turning in circles as she tried to take in the enormous and varied collection.
She was amazed someone so young could have amassed such an extensive library. What she would not give to be able to spend hours perusing the shelves.
William stood at the far end of the room, in front of a massive window that ran from the floor almost to the domed ceiling, facing the gardens. He did not turn around.
The air was filled with one of Rachmaninoff ’s piano concertos. Raven recognized the music, which seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere all at once. She looked around the room for the source but couldn’t find it.
She resisted the urge to limp and walked to a chair in front of his desk, sitting down with a barely repressed whimper.
“Are you in pain?” he asked, still facing the window.
“A little. The aspirin is helping.”
He turned. “I can make the pain stop.”
“How?”
“Alchemy.”
She wrinkled her nose. “What does alchemy entail?”
“Prepare to have your universe expanded, Jane.”
She stiffened at the sound of her former name.
William rested his hip against the front of the large desk, crossing his arms in front of him. “You said last night there was no such thing as souls. Your disbelief doesn’t negate reality.”
“Your beliefs, however fantastic, don’t create reality.”
William’s expression hardened.
“Your ignorance will get you killed.”
“Then enlighten me.” She mirrored his posture. “You’ve been speaking in riddles and esoteric circles. It’s time for the truth. Who are you and what are you involved in? Why does it put me in danger?”
William’s eyes flared gray fire.
“You saw the feral for yourself. Last night you encountered Maximilian. Either of them could have drained the life out of you in minutes.”
“I thought Florence was relatively safe at night. I’ll be more careful.”
“You need to stop being so damned dogmatic and open your eyes,” William snapped. “You wore a relic, and a feral kept his distance. You ran to holy ground, and Maximilian didn’t follow you. Isn’t that enough empirical evidence for the supernatural?”
Raven opened her mouth to argue, but found herself unable to formulate an intelligent response.
William shook his head.
“Use your reasoning, Use your powers of observation. They weren’t choosing to stay away from you; they were forced to stay away. What more proof do you need?”
“I agree, they avoided me. The question is why. Maybe there’s something to your belief in relics and the power of Sanctuary. But maybe it’s just the placebo effect.”
William lifted his hip from the desk and growled.
Raven leaned back in her chair.
The sound coming from his chest was unmistakable—he was growling like an animal. She didn’t know what to do with that realization.
William moved closer.
“Your leg was healed, temporarily, and you changed in physical appearance. What are your scientific explanations for that?”
“I don’t have one. Listen, Mr. York. I think I deserve the truth. Something strange happened to me. My memory is confused. Just tell me what you gave me so I can go and see a doctor.”
“A doctor wouldn’t know what to do with you. He’d draw your blood, test it, and discover that it contains substances absolutely foreign to human biology.”
Raven started, visibly shaken by what he’d said. She remembered her doctor’s remarks about her blood work and the incompetence of the lab. She’d said the lab contaminated the blood sample.
“What did you give me?” she whispered.
“You’re asking the wrong question. You should be asking who I am.”
Raven pressed her lips together.
“I know who you are. You’re the thief who stole the illustrations from the Uffizi.”
“As I said, I didn’t steal them. They were stolen from me, originally.”
“Dottor Vitali said they belonged to a Swiss family since the nine-teenth century.”
William tilted his head to one side.
“From whom did they acquire them?”
She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“Precisely. They appeared in Switzerland after they were stolen from me.”
“Before the turn of the nineteenth century?” Raven laughed. “But that would make you—”
“Yes.”
She rolled her eyes in disbelief. “What’s your connection with Palazzo Riccardi?”
“None of your business.”
“The painting in your room upstairs, who’s the artist?”
William stopped, pinning her to the chair with a look so sharp, she felt it. “You know who the artist is.”
“I’ve never seen that painting before.”
“You have, actually, when I brought you here to save your life. The artist, of course, is Botticelli.”