Of Love and Evil - By Anne Rice Page 0,53

prayer of Vitale had been answered, and in some ways, so had the prayers he had uttered in the synagogue, in that he was now, thanks to the inheritance from Giovanni, on his way to being a rich man.

I knew my time was coming to a close. In fact, I did not know why Malchiah had not already come for me.

I visited Signore Antonio at his house just as he was heading for bed, and told him that I would soon be leaving, as my job was finished.

He gave me a long and meaningful look. I knew that he wanted to ask me how or why I’d seen Giovanni’s spirit, but he didn’t, as this was a dangerous subject in Rome, and he was disposed, obviously, to let it go. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was that Lodovico had taken his own life. I tried to think of the words, but I couldn’t. Finally, I put out my arms and he drew me close in a firm embrace, and thanked me for all I’d done.

“You know you can remain with us for as long as you like,” he said. “I am delighted to have a lutenist in my house. And I would love to hear all the songs you know. Were I not in mourning for Lodovico, I would beg for you to play something for me now. But the point is, you can remain with us. Why don’t you stay?”

He was completely earnest in this, and for a moment I couldn’t think of an answer. I looked at him. I thought of all that had happened in these two days, and it felt as if I’d known him for years. I felt the same pain I’d experienced in my first mission for Malchiah, when I’d become so very close to the people in England whom I’d been sent to help.

I thought about Liona and Little Toby, and of Malchiah’s assurance to me that I knew how to love. If that was true, it was a recent bit of learning, and I was still a dreadful beginner at loving and would have to somehow make up for ten years of bitterness and failure to love anyone at all. Whatever the case, I loved this man now and I didn’t want to go. Much as I wanted to return to Liona and Toby, I didn’t want to go.

Niccolò was asleep when I came to his room, and I let my farewell be a simple kiss on his forehead. His color had returned, and he was sleeping deeply and well.

When I got back to the “other” house, I found Vitale in the library where we had first talked. He was already reading through some of Giovanni’s translations, and he had a stack of books ready for further examination.

Those volumes that had been in the cellar hiding place were badly damaged from mold and damp, but he could make out well enough the titles and the subject matter, and would seek replacements far and wide. He was now completely taken with the life of Giovanni, and Giovanni’s accomplishments, and he spoke of seeking out others who had been Giovanni’s pupils in years past.

It turned out Pico had told him of our visit to the house in the early hours, and Pico had overheard my conversations with the ghost and my conversation with Signore Antonio in which I had described the ghost in detail. So Vitale knew it all.

He said that if it were not for me surely the Inquisition would have destroyed him, of that he was well aware.

“It was never your doing, any of it,” I reminded him. He sat there shuddering, as if he could not quite get the earlier danger out of his mind.

“But my prayer, my prayer for fame and fortune, do you think it waked this spirit?”

“The opening of the house itself waked the spirit,” I said. “And now the spirit is completely at peace.”

When we embraced, I was close to weeping.

Near midnight, when all slept, I went up to the synagogue, retrieved the lute from the floor where I’d left it, and sat on one of the benches in the darkness wondering what I should do.

The servants had swept the place, cleared away the fallen chandeliers, and dusted things. I could see all this by a bit of light that leaked in from a torch on the nearby stairs.

I sat there wondering: Why am I still here? I had said my farewells because I’d