Surely he would have to return to the villa sometime. Unfortunately, Raven didn’t have days to wait. She needed to be at the Uffizi early tomorrow morning for work.
What a mess.
In order to keep up the lie she’d told to Lucia, she decided to examine the painting.
She took a few photos of it with her phone, especially of the figures of Mercury, Chloris, and Zephyr. Then she sat, analyzing it.
Seeing William as Zephyr was jarring, especially since she now knewthe story behind his depiction.
She examined the features of Chloris. It was difficult to make them out, since her head was turned. If what William had said was correct, the woman who’d fallen in love with him was the model for Chloris and for the second of the three Graces.
It was at this moment that Raven saw the painting in a new light.
Under the benevolent hand of Venus, Cupid pointed his arrow at the second Grace, who was already gazing with longing at Mercury. Mercury was busy stirring the clouds, his back to the Graces.
On the right side of the painting, Zephyr hovered in an orange grove, having captured Chloris. She was producing flowers from her mouth, marking the result of his fertile breath.
Without the figure of Flora, which appeared in the other version of Primavera, Botticelli’s work was a dark morality tale.
Reading the painting from left to right and substituting the Renaissance persons for their classical counterparts, Botticelli told the story of Allegra, who fell in love with the handsome but indifferent William York. Subsequently, he was revealed as a monster. He captured her and had sex with her, but she fled from him.
Eventually, she killed herself.
Raven stared wide-eyed at the painting. It no longer seemed beautiful and serene to her. No, it was a portrait of horror and despair.
And he’s had this painting for over five hundred years.
No doubt he’d stared at it daily, perhaps feeling guilt over the woman who’d loved him as one being, but killed herself when she realized what he truly was.
No wonder he’d never had a pet. Perhaps he feared the same outcome. If he was capable of feeling remorse.
Raven was fairly sure that William felt remorse and guilt, as evidenced by his reaction to her shaming him. Without guilt or remorse, shame was an empty emotion. Indeed, shame would not be shame.
Raven gazed with sadness at the second Grace.
What a tragic end.
She contemplated what William’s overnight guests thought of the painting—if he’d ever told anyone its dark history.
Raven wrinkled her nose.
She tried not to guess the number of overnight guests he’d entertained over the centuries. The idea sickened her.
She threw back the curtains and opened the balcony doors, letting the night air into the room. She breathed deeply, staring up at the stars and the winking moon. With night blanketing the city, William and his coven would be free to walk the streets.
The hunters would come out in search of their prey.
She hoped William would be safe.
Raven returned to the painting and opened her knapsack, withdrawing some clean paper and her set of charcoals, which she spread across the hardwood floor.
Moving to lie on her stomach, because it was more comfortable than
hunching over the paper, she began to sketch the second Grace.
Soon she was lost in the interplay of light and shadow, black and gray, her fingers ever moving over the page. She drew, she shaded, she blended with her fingers until her skin grew black. And finally, a few hours later, she had a large sketch she was proud of.
She signed her name at the bottom, as was her custom, and walked to the bathroom to wash her hands.
When she checked her watch, it was after midnight. William had not returned.
Maybe he’ll return soon.
She could wait one more hour, especially to help the Emersons.
Raven sat on the bed, stretching her back and neck.
The bed was comfortable and her body was beginning to complain about having lain on the floor.
A few minutes later, she reclined, clutching a pillow.
Then she fell asleep.
Raven felt a breeze on her face.
She opened her eyes and was momentarily confused. She was in William’s bed, his room swathed in darkness.
A light breeze wafted in through the balcony doors, causing the curtains on either side to lift and sway.
Raven turned on her side to face them and saw a figure standing in the doorway.
A light from somewhere in the gardens shone behind him. He was leaning against the doorpost, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at her.
“She awakes,” he murmured.
Raven sat up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“What are you doing here, besides sketching my paintings?” His tone was abrupt.
“I came to see you. Where were you?”
He smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile.
“‘I have gone round about the earth, and walked through it.’”
Raven rubbed her eyes. “I’ll never understand how it is that a vampyre can quote scripture.”
“Perhaps because he was taught scripture before he became a vampyre.”
William pushed off the doorpost and approached the bed, his steps quick and purposeful.
“What are you doing in my bed? You made it quite clear whatever was starting between us ended.”
“I was worried about the Emersons.”
“Of course,” he scoffed. “Raven is savior to the world. I believe someone else lays claim to that accomplishment.
“Go back to sleep. You can leave after breakfast.”
He moved toward the door and Raven’s heart sank.
“Aren’t you tired?” she called.