Finally, Riley said, “Let’s go.”

  They hurried up the spiral staircase, which to Abigail’s concern, made creaking sounds. The iron rail appeared all too fragile, so Abigail kept well away from it. She reached the books directly under the clock before Riley.

  Abigail at once perused the titles on the spines, all gold lettering on old, leather-bound books.

  “Should I look in this section?” Riley asked her.

  Abigail nodded and kept looking. She found what she was looking for in the fifth row. “The Greek Anthology!” she hissed. “Here it is.”

  Riley looked over the railing before turning back to Abigail. “You look for the clue, and I’ll keep an eye out.”

  Abigail thumbed through the book, her hands shaking. She hurried to find the page with the riddles, wondering what she would do next if the book held no clue.

  Relief flooded her. In front of her was the verse encircled in blue pen:

  I look at you whene’er you look at me;

  You see but I see not; no sight have I;

  I speak but have no voice; your voice is heard;

  My lips can only open uselessly.

  Next to it, the words ‘Basilica dell’Incoronata Madre del Buon Consiglio’ were scrawled.

  “Riley!”

  He spun around, and she showed him the book.

  “The riddle is about a mirror, right?”

  Abigail nodded.

  “The words are the name of a Roman Catholic church not far from here.”

  “So, now we have to find a mirror in this church.”

  Riley nodded, before casting his glance around the room once more. “Quick, put the book back.”

  Abigail trembled and fumbled while putting the book back on the shelf. Her heart was beating out of her chest. So far, so good. The clues left by Giles Benedict were all working out. But where did they lead? Hopefully, not to a pit full of vipers. “I suppose we should look at some other books in case we’re being watched.”

  Riley agreed. “Yes, but not here. Let’s try over there.” He nodded to the section at right angles, to their left.

  Abigail and Riley spent another fifteen minutes in the Research Reading Room, pulling out various books and pretending to chat about them. “That should do for now. We can leave.”

  Abigail nodded and followed Riley to the door, but as just as they were about to walk out, Milo walked in.

  He looked just as shocked to see them as they were to see him.

  “What are you doing here?” Abigail was unable to keep the accusatory tone out of her voice.

  Milo frowned. “This is one of the best libraries in Naples,” he said, his tone defensive. “I was doing some research. I believe they have several eighteenth-century commentaries on the works of Eusebius.” He smiled widely.

  “Oh,” was all Abigail could manage to say. Surely, he was following them. This could not be a coincidence. She cast a glance at Riley, but his expression remained impassive.

  “What are you two doing here?” Milo asked. “It doesn’t seem a good place for a date.” He chuckled.

  “Tom kindly accompanied me. I was looking for works by Statius.” That was out of left field, but it was the first thing that came to her mind. At least she remembered to use the name ‘Tom’.

  Milo’s eyes widened. “The Roman lyric poet, Publius Papinius Statius?”

  Abigail nodded.

  “Did you find anything?” he asked.

  Abigail shook her head. “No, so I’ve given up. I don’t seem to be able to find a catalog anywhere. I actually came here hoping to look at the papyri, but the papyri room is closed.”

  Milo nodded slowly. “I believe it’s usually closed.”

  An awkward silence settled heavily upon them. “Well, why don’t we all go and get some coffee?” Milo said brightly.

  Abigail almost admitted she had just eaten a big meal but realized she shouldn’t give Milo any information. More and more, she suspected he was working for Vortex. It dawned on her at that moment that he was probably the one she had seen earlier ducking behind a doorway.

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Riley said in a tone that suggested he thought was anything but.

  Milo led the way out of the library to a café. The wooden chairs outside were painted a vivid shade of red, contrasting with the yellow and white of the graffiti scrawled over the walls in the entire street. The enticing aroma of good coffee tempted Abigail.

  “You seem to know your way around Naples,” Abigail said, suspicious.

  “Yes, I’ve been having a look around while you two have been otherwise engaged,” he said with a wink.

  Abigail wondered if Riley was going to grab him, take him somewhere, and question him, but so far Riley was showing no signs of doing any such thing.

  Riley walked inside the café, so the other two followed. It was crowded, but there were two vacant tables at the back of the room. Riley, as usual, sat with his back to the wall. Abigail sat next to him, and Milo sat opposite Riley.

  The wooden chairs inside were not painted. The walls were a faded yellow color, and huge, faded reproductions of old Italian masters hung a few feet apart over the walls. In the middle of the tablecloth sat a tiny vase of vibrant yellow daisies. Abigail poked one to see if it was real. To her surprise, it was.

  Abigail ordered coffee—she was over-caffeinated, but found the delicious aroma impossible to resist—and spaghetti alle vongole. Riley ordered cheese steak with a basket of bread.

  Milo ordered in fluent Italian.

  “I didn’t know you could speak Italian,” Abigail said.

  Milo looked surprised. “Yes, it’s on my resume. And I can speak Spanish too. I had to learn Spanish, because I needed to read the Spanish scholarship for my thesis.”

  “But learning a language for scholarship and learning a language for oral communication are two entirely different things,” Abigail protested.

  Milo simply smiled.

  Riley tensed and looked over at a man who had just walked in. He then put his head down and looked at the menu, although they had just ordered. Abigail was fairly certain he had recognized a Vortex agent, but she could hardly ask him, not with Milo present.

  Had Milo led them there into the hands of a Vortex agent? It certainly seemed so.

  Abigail could not help but tremble.

  15

  POMPEII 79 A.D.

  3 DAYS BEFORE THE ERUPTION

  Titus was awoken late at night. “Please hurry. Rufus Trebius Valens wants you to pray for a servant who is dying at the house of a friend of his,” the messenger had said. “The servant is a Christian and has asked for you.”

  Titus grabbed his cloak and followed the young man into the street. The streets were very dark and the oil lamps which hung from the front of the numerous bars did very little to dispel the gloom. Bustling people brushed past, many of them drunk and disorderly. Pompeii was not somewhere Titus would normally have ventured out after sunset.

  The messenger was hurrying, and Titus was hard put to keep up, given the poor visibility. Guard dogs barked loudly, and one or two were howling eerily. It was an uncanny sound.

  The messenger led him to an entrance located on a back street, opposite a bar. Titus followed the young man through a dim entrance room into a garden. It was easier to see here, the stars being able to shine in the open space, unhindered by crowded awnings.

  A man emerged from the dark. Titus struggled to hold his breath. The man smelled strongly of garum.

  “Thank you for coming.” His tone was as unpleasant as his appearance. “Forgive me for calling for you at this late hour. I am fond of one of my elderly servants. I had reason to discipline him recently—I will not bore you with the details—but I locked him in the house jail. He was discovered tonight dying, and he asked for a Christian to come and pray for him. I do not know any Christians, so I sent a messenger to Rufus Trebius Valens, who advised we send for you. Hurry, he is not long for this world. Follow me.”

  The man and two servants had oil lamps, and led Titus further into the house. By the lamplight, Titus managed to catch glimpses of columns and paintings on the porch walls. He also saw some statues which were rather obscene, so he averted his eyes.

  They soon reached the private jail, a typical underground jail kept by many of the wealthy for any servants who disobeyed them.

  “I will let you go in and pray for him. Here, take this lamp.” The man handed Titus an oil lamp and unlocked the cell door. The two servants stood back, holding up their oil lamps.

  “He is on that bed,” the man said. “I hope he is still alive.”

  Titus walked into the cell. He lifted the lamp and could see a body on the bed in front of him. He hurried over, anxious to see the state of the ill man.

  Titus reached out and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. It was strangely soft. Titus was seized by a sudden realization. He whipped the covering off the figure, just as he heard the cell door lock.

  Titus looked for a moment at the straw stuffed under a blanket and then whirled around to face the door. The cell door was shut, and Gaius was standing on the other side.

  “What a foolish man you are to walk into an obvious trap!” Gaius gloated.

  Titus walked over to the cell door but stepped back when he was hit by a burst of foul breath.

  “Enjoy your time here while it lasts. Maybe I will release you when you tell me where the Spear of Destiny is.” Gaius cackled, then left with the two servants.

  So he knows! Titus thought.

  Titus walked around his tiny jail cell, holding up the oil lamp. The claustrophobic jail cell was damp, and horrible in every way. Titus thought for a moment about turning off the lamp to conserve the oil, but then realized he had nothing to light it with later. He might as well let it burn out. There was no way out.

  Flavia was anxious; Titus had not arrived that afternoon for dinner. Augusta had sent a messenger to the House of Decima Felix, in which was the apartment rented by Titus, and Flavia had waited at the entrance to the Villa for the messenger’s return.

  The messenger had arrived, out of breath, and informed them that Titus was nowhere to be found. Augusta had then sent a message to Rufus Valens.

  A worried Rufus Valens himself was now standing in the villa’s reception room, speaking with Augusta and Flavia. “I cannot understand what could have befallen Titus. I have been to his rented apartment, and all his possessions are there. I have asked around and no one has seen him.”

  Flavia wrung her hands in despair. She had trouble breathing and gasped for air. Just as she thought things could not get any worse, the porter ushered in Gaius. He was clean for a change and looked as though he had just been to the Baths. He was wearing expensive clothing.

  “I have some news of Titus,” he announced, and Flavia’s heart missed a beat.

  “Yes, what it is then?” Rufus could not conceal his impatience or his dislike for Gaius.

  “It is a little unsavory for the ladies.” Gaius leered at Flavia.

  “Oh my dear Gaius, please speak forthrightly, as this is a matter of some urgency,” Augusta said.

  “If you insist, my dear. I do, however, feel embarrassed to speak of such matters in front of ladies.” Gaius did his best to look uncomfortable. “My good friend, Titus, came to me with a delicate problem late last night. He was caught with the wife of,” Gaius hesitated, “well, I must not name names. He needed to hide. He was unable to return to his apartment, being in fear for his life, so he came to me late at night. I gave him a good horse and advised him to go to Rome and not return.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Flavia! Apologize to our guest at once.”

  Gaius held up his hand. “There’s no need, Augusta. I understand how upset Lady Flavia must be to hear this awful news.”

  It was clear to Flavia that Rufus also realized that Gaius’ story was untrue, and she was distracted for a moment by wondering what Rufus would do.

  Rufus finally spoke. “I will get to the bottom of this.” He said goodbye to Flavia and Augusta, shot Gaius a dark look, and then left.

  Gaius chuckled. “That was difficult.”

  Augusta agreed. “Yes, Gaius, poor Rufus must be horribly embarrassed. He is Titus’s Patron, you know.”

  “Mother, Titus would not do that.”

  Augusta turned on Flavia, her face furious. Flavia didn’t care; she was terrified for Titus’s sake. Whatever has happened to him? she wondered. Has he met with foul play?

  Gaius spoke before Augusta could say any more. “Let us put this nasty business behind us and let us forget that my dear friend, Titus, ever existed, for his sake as well as yours. I would like to invite both of you for dinner tomorrow afternoon.”

  Augusta accepted happily, while Flavia glared at Gaius. He’s obviously done something to Titus. I hope he hasn’t had him murdered. Surely even Gaius wouldn’t go that far.

  “Flavia!”

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “Did you not hear? Gaius asked you to walk him out.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Gaius and Flavia walked out into the entrance courtyard. As soon as they were away from Augusta, Flavia hissed at Gaius. “What have you done with Titus?”

  Gaius laughed and then spoke in hushed tones. “I have him hidden away somewhere special. He is safe, for now, but if you refuse to marry me, I will have him killed.”

  Flavia stopped, and stared at Gaius in disbelief. “I will tell Rufus!”

  “I am sure he already suspects. The man is no fool. But let me make this very clear, if you tell anyone at all, I will have Titus killed at once. I only have to give the signal. The one and only way for you to guarantee his safety is to marry me.”

  Flavia put her hands to her head. This was too much to take in all at once. “But what then?” she stammered. “What if I do marry you? What becomes of Titus?”

  “I shall release him once we are married.”

  “What proof do I have of that?”

  “Why would I lie? Anyway, no matter what you think of me, I always keep my solemn oaths, and I am prepared to make such an oath to you.”

  Flavia was not thinking clearly. She thought she was about to be sick but struggled to keep her mind clear for Titus’s sake.

  “And you say he is unharmed?”

  “Yes, for now. After we are married, I will release him. There will be nothing he can do, as we will be married by confarreatio, which as you of course know, means we can never divorce. And he will not cause any fuss about me kidnapping him, as I shall tell him that I will make your life a misery if he does.” Gaius laughed again. “And not a word to anyone.”

  They reached the door, and Gaius walked out. Flavia stared after him, wondering how any one person could have so much evil in them.

  Gaius had only gone a few steps when he turned around and looked at her. “And be certain to be on your best behavior at dinner tomorrow afternoon, or Titus will pay the consequences.”

  16

  NAPLES

  THE PRESENT DAY

  Abigail gazed up at the Madre del Buon Consiglio, a Roman Catholic church on the hillside that dominated that part of the city. It was close to the Capodimonte Palace and the art museum, and for that matter, to the National Library. That is, she was certain it would have been a short distance had they not driven down side streets and gone in a roundabout route after telling Milo they were going to do something romantic.

  “The basilica is also known as Basilica dell’Incoronata Madre del Buon Consiglio or the Maria del Buon Consiglio, which in English means the Crowned Mother of Good Counsel,” Riley said in her ear. “Come on, it’s best we’re not out in the open.”

  “Do you think we lost Milo?” Abigail’s stomach churned. “Do you think that other man in the restaurant was a Vortex agent?”

  “I thought so at first. I didn’t want to stare, in case he saw me, but I took another look, and I’m fairly certain he wasn’t an agent. Not one I’ve seen before, at any rate.”

  “I thought you might take Milo somewhere and question him.”

  Riley chuckled. “I wanted to, but he could be innocent.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “No, but I didn’t want to make a move until I found out more. There’s more to this than we know.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  Riley chuckled again. “You should always be worried. Stay away from Milo for now.”

  “Right now, I’m worried about finding a mirror in a church. I can’t remember seeing any mirrors in any churches I’ve ever been in. Do you know anything about this church?”

  Riley nodded. “That’s why I was on my phone when we were in the café, leaving you to make awkward conversation with Milo.”

  “It was awkward, wasn’t it! I didn’t know what to say when he asked where we met, or how long we’d known each other.”

  “You did well saying you were a private person.”

  Abigail shrugged. “So, what do you know about the church?”

  Riley pulled out his phone and consulted it. “The history is interesting. It was designed on the model of St. Peter’s in Rome. It’s built on top of the ancient Catacombs of San Gennaro.”

  Abigail shuddered involuntarily. She certainly didn’t want to go anywhere near catacombs.

  Riley kept speaking. “Apparently, the church was built because of a local girl, Maria di Gesù Landi. In 1884, she created a painting of the Madonna del Buon Consiglio.”

  Abigail translated, “Our Lady of Good Counsel.”

  Riley nodded. “Most accounts say she had the painting commissioned to be painted by the Neapolitan painter, Spanò. At any rate, in 1884 there was a cholera epidemic in Naples. When the painting was shown to the people, the epidemic suddenly stopped. Then when Vesuvius erupted in 1906, dense ash clouds hung over Naples and heavy ash rain fell continually. Maria di Gesù Landi put the picture on the balcony, and the ash clouds promptly disappeared. From that moment on, the eruption declined in intensity and stopped a few days later.”