are only average.”
“Idiot.”
He stood up, more mobile already. Even as a human he couldn’t deny the panther in himself. Rosa, on the other hand, was desperately searching for the supple flexibility of her snake form.
“If you can manage to keep your feelings under control,” he said, “then you can also control the transformations.”
“But I don’t have my feelings under control.”
“You did last night. You simply made up your mind to be the old Rosa—and it worked. That was probably how you kept yourself from turning into the snake.”
She frowned. “Is that the kind of thing the animals in the zoo tell you at night?”
“More or less.”
Rosa shook her head. “I don’t even know if I want to understand all this.”
“It’s not about understanding it. All we can do is feel the truth. This whole thing, being an Arcadian, the transformations, none of it is logical. The early Arcadians let their instincts and urges guide them. That’s why now many of them are so keen for the Hungry Man to come back—it’s exactly what he’s promising them. No more laws, no reason, just animal instinct and the satisfaction of their desires.”
“Then we’re no different from them.”
“No one said we were. We can’t reject our own nature. But giving it free rein, no rules, no consideration—that can’t be the solution either.”
“Sounds to me about the same as what the Mafia does…I mean, what our people out there are doing when they deal in human beings and armaments.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe not. But we can’t just press a switch and turn into someone different. I am what I am, Rosa. Same with you.”
“I’m not like Costanza.”
“And I’m not like my father.”
“Too much moralizing first thing in the morning.” She breathed into the hollow of her hand. “Time to brush our teeth. Shower. And then—”
“Breakfast?”
She shook her head. “Then step two.”
Wild dogs were howling in the hills.
The rotors of a helicopter droned in the distance.
The sun was only just above the peak of the mountain. The silhouettes of trees looked like charred matches against the reddish-gold ball of fire, and the scent of pine needles was wafting down the slope to the palazzo, but it was mingled with the smell of dirty animal enclosures.
“They can’t have been lured here by Sarcasmo’s barking, can they?” asked Rosa, looking up at the mountain. She and Alessandro were standing in front of the palazzo, close to the gateway leading to the inner courtyard. They had hurried outside when the howling in the woods grew too loud to ignore.
Grimly, Alessandro shook his head. “Hundinga,” he said. “Dog men. Slaves of the Hungry Man. The helicopter must have dropped them off up there.”
“Slaves?” she repeated incredulously.
“As he sees it, nothing has changed, and classical antiquity never really ended. There are still masters and servants—and slaves. In that respect, he thinks the same as many of the capi. I mean, do you think all the Africans trafficked by your family into Europe from Lampedusa were anything but slaves?”
“I tried to stop that trade.”
“And of course Trevini wouldn’t go along with you, right? The business makes millions.”
Rosa pushed the thought aside. “Do you really think it’s Arcadians up in the woods? Sicily is teeming with packs of feral dogs.”
He nodded again. “Hundinga have always been his most faithful servants. His first, too. The real Lycaon was changed into a wolf by Zeus, remember. Wolves and dogs have always been the Hungry Man’s favorites. At the time of the witch hunts, the wolf men were almost wiped out, but there’ll always be dogs, and that’s also true of the Arcadians among them.” He paused for a moment. “Two of my managers were attacked by wild dogs yesterday. One of them was killed in the garden of his villa in Mondello. And there’s not much left of the other one.”
“You didn’t tell me about that.”
“I warned you how dangerous the Hungry Man is, and you didn’t want to listen.” This time he wasn’t waiting for her protest. “Look, there are three of my men waiting down at the gate. If you won’t hire any bodyguards for yourself, then take mine. They’re reliable; they know what to do.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Probably the first thing they’d do is shoot Sarcasmo.”
“Gianni loves dogs. Real dogs. Not Hundinga.”
“Gianni?”
“You’ve met him. He’s in charge of the armed guard at Castello Carnevare. He likes Mozart and reads Proust.”
“Nine feet tall, six feet wide? Face like the bark of a tree?”
Alessandro grinned. “I’m not asking you to marry