Chapter 3

Beyond the terrace was the lake. A couple, two women, walked hand in hand along its bank. A windsurfer drifted offshore. We heard the flap of his sail. The wind was changing, blowing down from the valley. He expertly shifted his weight, pirouetting around, changing his tack.

Further out were three sailboats with furled sails. A powerboat zipped by, and they tossed in its wake. A pretty girl dived from the stern of one and swam to another.

Beyond the lake were stone cliffs, towering, jutting up from the water, flat and sheer, as if the lake had been carved by a giant knife. I didn't rule that out completely. Giants had indeed once lived here.

Our waitress brought our coffee.

"Your first time in Riva del Garda?" she asked.

"Yes -- well at least the two of us," I answered, motioning to Lauren. Fiorella had been here before. She'd recommended this hotel.

"It's beautiful," she pointed out, as if we needed to be told.

"Indeed."

I sipped my coffee. The waitress left. Fiorella sighed.

"I'm bored," she said, "Say -- Why don't we go up to the room and fuck?"

I smiled. My coffee was nearly full. I took a big gulp.

"Lauren."

"Yes?"

"Fi wants to go upstairs and fuck. Care to join us?"

She smiled. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

I glanced again at the lake, the boats, the mountains. They were indeed beautiful, but nothing compared to these two girls.

I gulped down the rest of my coffee. Fiorella and Lauren did the same. We got up, me pressing down my skirt. We each smiled at the others. We headed toward our room, turning our backs on the scene.

When we got to our room, it had been ransacked. Our bags were opened. Our clothes were strewn about.

"Fuck!" Fiorella said.

Lauren rushed over to her bags.

"My shoes are gone!" she cried out.

I checked my stuff, looking for the money. I hadn't left it all in the room. I had stashed a hundred euros in my shoes. The rest was gone.

"The money is gone," I said.

Lauren and Fi looked over at me. I frowned.

"All of it?" Lauren asked.

"No. I had a hundred euros stashed in my sock."

"Fuck!"

"They took your shoes?"

"Yeah."

She sat on the bed. I smiled.

"What?" she asked.

"We can track your shoes."

"Fi," I said in Italian, "We can track Lauren's shoes."

"I doubt it. A pair of black Pradas aren't exactly rare in Italy."

"You underestimate me."

Back to English. "Lauren, take my hand."

I grasped her hand. I pictured her shoes. I thought of her -- her spirit. She loved those shoes. She was bonded to them.

"You understand the principles of contagious magic, correct?" I muttered to Fiorella.

"Of course. That's basic."

"The shoes are connected to Lauren. She loved them."

"Oh! But she has owned them such a short time. The bonds will be weak."

I smiled. I spoke the spell. I opened my perception and saw the image. There was a girl, young, light haired, pretty. She was barking out complaints in an unknown language. Albanian, perhaps? There was a man. He sat on a dingy bed in a shabby room. There was faded wallpaper, an ugly floral print. A dim yellow lamp lit them.

I panned out. There was a window. I let my spirit pass through. The building was white brick. There was a sign. I'd seen it before.

"I know where they are. They're in that tall brick building, across from where we had lunch."

"Let's go!" Lauren said.

I told Fiorella.

"They're going to pay! For interrupting my fuck!"

Their apartment was on the third floor. When we arrived, no light could be seen through the window.

The building had a heavy wooden door set atop a short set of steps. We entered. The small lobby had a chipped tile floor. The door to the stairs was wedged open by a garbage can.

"Should we check with the super?" Lauren asked.

"I don't see an office," I replied, "I think we'll just go up."

We climbed. The third floor had several apartments. Theirs was on the east side of the building. There were two likely doors. I muttered a spell. I sensed through the walls. Both apartments were empty. The one on the left was uncluttered. Children's toys were arranged nicely on a shelf. The apartment on the right was the one from my vision. It was empty, but still, I knocked on the door.

No answer. I cast again. The door opened.

I turned and kissed Lauren. Magic flowed. It tingled and replenished the magic I'd used.

We entered. The room was as shabby as I'd seen. Also, it stunk. A dirty pot sat on the tiny stove. Unwashed dishes were piled in the sink. Opened cans and boxes, emptied of their contents, were scattered on the floor.

Fiorella pinched her face. "How disgusting!" she said.

We searched the room. Lauren volunteered to take the kitchen. We let her proceed, looking away from the horror. I tossed the bed and closet. Fiorella went through the two small dressers.

Fiorella emitted an audible sigh. I looked. She had a bemused expression, holding up a pair of tattered panties. There was a big hole in the butt.

"Stop fondling her underthings," I said.

"Ha!" She tossed the panties back and continued her search.

I found nothing under the mattress. There were shoeboxes in the closet, but none held Lauren's shoes. Several dresses were hung, and a man's suit. All were threadbare and old, except the wedding dress. It was white lace, quite lovely, and protected in a clear garment bag. It seemed about the right size for the girl.

Fiorella found little of interest, except an iPod. Its battery was dead. Lauren found only bugs.

We left.

I cast again. I scanned the other apartments. Across the hall, one was occupied. A man. I went and knocked.

He answered the door. He was tall and fat, but that jolly sort of fat that remains likable. His beard was thick and bushy. He had blue eyes.

"Hello," I said.

He looked at the three of us and got a big friendly grin.

"Hello, miss. How can I help you?"

"Your neighbors across the hall, the guy and the girl --"

His face immediately sagged. His grin vanished. He grabbed the edge of the door, as if preparing to slam it.

"-- So -- uh -- they took some of our things."

"Oh?"

He paused. He removed his hand from the door.

"Then you should call the police. They aren't the type you wanna mess with."

"Yeah? How so?"

He peered at us cautiously, big and graceless. All his jolliness was gone.

"They fight a lot. I mean all the time. He is stupid and brutal."

"Can you tell me where they work? And their names?"

"Honey, just call the police. I'm serious. Do you want to use my telephone?"

"I'd rather not. I don't want to deal with the police."

I stared directly at him. My eyes got wide. Something crossed his face. Resignation? Pity? I let him assume things about me.

"Fine. She works at the Bellariva hotel as a maid. He doesn't work -- well -- at least not at a job. I think you know what I mean. He's in the Piazza Novembre a lot, fleecing tourists."

"Their names?"

"I don't know his. She says it a lot, but it is some unpronounceable Albanian thing. She's Donjeta. Is that all?"