Argan shook his head and bent to get the money. The door swung open and he stood up. A guy his age stood barefoot at the door, all dressed in white.
“I remember you,” Noah said.
“Hey,” Argan said, picking up his backpack.
“Hey,” Noah said. “You look like shit.”
Argan gave him a look. “Dude, don’t pretend you know me. I slept on the floor of a boat all night, I’m not in the mood.” He didn’t wait for an invitation; he walked inside.
“Where can I use the bathroom?”
“Down the hall.” Noah pointed lackadaisically.
“Thanks.” Argan walked down the hall, but before he found the bathroom, Vivienne appeared.
“Bel ragazzo!” she exclaimed. Argan glanced back at Noah, and saw a look of jealousy overtake his face. Vivienne enveloped him in an immense hug and kissed his face a dozen times before she let him go.
Argan was confused. He had met Vivienne two times before. Both times, she’d been very reserved. It seemed Italy warmed her up a bit.
“Thank you for the warm welcome, Ms. DeClaire,” he said.
“Oh, child, please call me Vivienne. You must be hungry from your journey.”
“Yes, but I’d love to clean up before breakfast,” he said.
“Of course,” she said. Noah was soon at her back, following her the way he had followed Milicent in the White House. He scowled at Argan.
Before he went into the bathroom, Argan chomped in the air at Noah, who startled backward. Argan laughed.
After a fair amount of cleaning up, Argan opened the bathroom door to find Milicent standing in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Hello, Mrs. Grayer,” he said, almost in singsong.
“Argan,” she said, all business, “when are you leaving to retrieve Skylar? Because I’m planning on going with you.”
“I’m not sure. I just got here,” Argan said.
“No fucking way, Mil,” Noah said, now substantially more upset than ever.
“Noah, you work for me, remember?” she said. As the two of them started bickering in the hall, Argan slipped past them unnoticed.
He found his way to the kitchen, the delicious scents of bacon and fresh biscuits guiding him in.
“Are they at it again?” Vivienne asked.
Argan shrugged, assuming yes.
“It really is the most bizarre relationship,” Vivienne said. “I haven’t been able to make sense of it.”
Argan smiled politely.
“Dig in, child,” she said, and Argan wasted no time piling breakfast items onto his plate. He hadn’t eaten since the day before.
He was on a second helping before Milicent and Noah made it into the kitchen.
“Grandmother,” Noah said, “please talk sense into Milicent. She insists she’s going to see Diana.”
“Noah, stop calling her that,” Milicent barked.
“What makes you think wherever Skylar is, she’s near Diana?” Argan asked. “Magus can’t reach Diana. If he could, he would have control of the citrine wall and all of this would be over.”
Vivienne busied herself with tea making and Milicent studied her. “You’re awfully quiet, Grandmother.”
“No more than usual,” Vivienne said.
“What do you know?”
“Milicent, you have developed a very unattractive paranoia about you,” Vivienne said. “It’s unflattering and, quite frankly, aging you prematurely. I would suggest you take a vacation.”
“I’m on vacation,” Milicent barked.
“Then go out in the sunshine and have some fun,” Vivienne said. “You are making the rest of us miserable. Better yet, take a trip to Rome or Sicily. Or Milan! You’ve seen none of the big cities since you’ve been here.”
“I didn’t come for the culture, Grandmother,” Milicent said. “We’re on a mission.”
“Child, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you don’t have much of a role in this mission. You’ve done your part, rest assured.” Vivienne smiled at her. “So now maybe buy something new. Clothes used to make you happy.”
“You are sending me shopping?” Milicent asked, insulted.
“Yes, and take Noah with you. He’s absorbed a fair amount of your toxic energy. I can call a douser I know in Sicily to see if she’ll see you while you’re there.”
Noah perked at the idea. “I have to say, Mil, I could use some new Ferragamos.”
Milicent shook her head in protest, but Vivienne gave her a look, and she soon acquiesced. “Fine, but I have no interest in being doused.”
“Of course you don’t, child,” Vivienne said.
“I’m going to pack!” Noah was off in a flash.
“This isn’t over,” Milicent said before she turned to leave.
“Of course,” Vivienne repeated.
Plans were quickly made and bags quickly packed. Milicent and Noah were saying their good-byes in less than two hours.
Vivienne waved good-bye as their car pulled away. She closed the door behind them, and Argan felt the energy in the apartment turn.
“She wouldn’t have left if she thought she’d get anywhere with me,” Vivienne said. “She knows better. But she will just complicate things, and Noah is likely to screw up everything. It’s better they’re out of our hair.”
Argan knew it wasn’t his place to comment; he stayed quiet.
“Follow me,” she said.
Her apartment was deceptively large. From the outside it looked like any other on the street, but inside, it was palatial. It had a fair amount of Italian marble and fixtures from the early twentieth century mixed with very few modern furnishings. She led him out of the kitchen and down the long hallway framed with artwork he could have sworn were original Rembrandts, but he didn’t ask.
“I know you’ve had experience going through the Portas,” she said.
“Yes, well, just the one,” he said.
“Right. So you know there were six original doors,” she said as they continued down the never-ending hallway.
“Yes.” His curiosity was building.
“And you’re probably assuming I have one of the doors.”
“Yes.”
“You’re right,” she said stopping at the last door in the hall. “This one is the closest in proximity to the one in Palombara.”
Argan studied it. It looked exactly like the one in the cabin at Silverwood.
“Child, how many times have you been through the Porta?” she asked.
“Once in and once out,” he said.
“That’s good,” she said. “It ages you when you go through.”
“Yeah, we found that out.” He touched the tinge of gray in his black waves.
“The Portas are magical doors,” she said. “They were created by early alchemists to cheat death. It’s a gateway out of mortality if used properly—or to succumb to it, if they got their calculations wrong.”
Argan moved his gaze around the frame, refamiliarizing himself with the symbols.
“Masters such as Magus know how to use these doors to create their reality. Meaning, they visualize, perform their incantation, and step through to the place they intend to go.”