Page 11 of In the Garden of Monsters

Ignazio shook his head, his eyes catching mine. “There is no reason to turn back. Theboschettowelcomes you, Julia.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he waved a hand at my companions. “All of you.”

He moved back down the path and the others followed dutifully behind. But I paused to look back at Proteus Glaucus and his empty stone eyes and big square teeth. His mouth was wide open, as if in a shout. Scylla’s twelve feet and six heads came to my mind, sharpening the warning he was casting into the garden.

To not fall in love.

I thought of Jack and his bright blue eyes and of the heat of Ignazio’s touch. And almost on cue, they both paused and turned back to look at me. When Gala realized the reason for their halt, she screamed at me, her mouth open wide like the stone sea god.

“You stupid girl, keep up!”

I swallowed hard and picked up my pace.

Farther down the footpath, we came to another fork, three thin trails in the brush. One of the forks led down a perilous set of stairs. On that lower trail, an enormous head rose above the stone retaining wall. Dalí gave a cry of excitement before charging down the steps, and we followed after him. As we neared, we could see the giant held another man upside down by the legs. The giant’s face was well wrought, etched with lines. His hair was curled, and his carved beard was lush and full. His body was thick with muscle. The man he held showed his agony, his mouth open in a scream, his eyes empty and wide. Gala knelt to pick the moss off his face.

“There is more going on here!” Dalí went close to the statue and pointed up between the two stone men.

Indeed, it did look as though the giant might be performing some intense sexual act upon the other man.

Ignazio pointed to a partially eroded plaque on the nearby wall. He put his finger on the wordAnglante.

“If you know Ariosto’s epic poem,Orlando Furioso,then you know that Orlando was the Lord of Anglante. The story is that Orlando was driven mad when the beautiful Princess Angelica did not return his love. In his fury, he raged through the land, destroying anything in his path. In this vengeful state, he met two woodsmen with a donkey pulling a cart of logs. Rather than waiting for them to move aside, he kicked the donkey so hard it landed over a mile away. Then he took one of the terrified woodsmen by the legs and tore him in half. And clearly, you can see here the giant is ready to tear this man in two.”

Ignazio paused to watch Gala stroke the tortured man’s face. When he continued, his voice took on an ominous tone. “This is one of my favorite statues in the garden. I think of it as a warning, that passion may render love into something evil. It can light the fire of desperation, anger, or even hate.”

Ignazio looked off into the depths of the garden. I followed his gaze through the greenery but did not see anything. I wondered who among us this warning was for—it seemed more than just a story to me.

Dalí startled me with a shout. “Paolo, get your camera!” Dalí and Gala posed with the giants, then motioned for me to come forward so Paolo could take a couple of photos of me standing next to the statue before we went back up the crumbled stairs.

To my dismay, Ignazio walked with me. My body hummed with his nearness, a humming that filled me with conflict. It may sound like a terrible cliché, but he truly was the most attractive person I had ever laid eyes on. Still, there was something about him that seemed off,wrong, even, and I wasn’t sure I wanted this man’s attention. And yet he was all I could think about, especially since I had found that damned tarot card under my pillow. I wanted to ask him about it, but I hesitated, thinking that by doing so I might encourage him, which was certainly not what I wanted.

“How long have you lived in Bomarzo?” I asked to cut through the silence between us.

“A long time. It feels like centuries.”

“You don’t like it here?”

“This is where I need to be—now. With you.”

Distracted by this proclamation, I stumbled on the stairs. I don’t know how he caught me so quickly, but suddenly his arm was around me, preventing me from pitching forward and breaking my face or, at least, mucking up my dress. His warmth spread through me, quick and hot, pooling in all my limbs, making me think of lava bubbling inside a volcano. I made a strangled noise and he let go, and the sudden absence of such heat was even worse. I shivered despite my cape and the sun upon my face. My head swam with dizziness, and I began to wonder if perhaps I was coming down with something.

We continued up the stairs, and at the top was a massive, decrepit rectangular rock, covered in moss. “A toppled mausoleum with Etruscan images,” Ignazio said as we neared. It didn’t look like a mausoleum, but rather it seemed to be a broken block of stone with carvings that were difficult to make out. “A woman is buried beneath it.”

“Really?” I couldn’t see how the rock could be moved at all, much less to bury someone there. “Who?”

His eyes found mine. “Her name was also Julia.” He smiled at me, a smile that would melt any woman’s heart. But his words chilled me to the bone. He didn’t explain further, instead leaving me there, staring at the massive block of stone, as he went up the path the others had taken.

I didn’t know what to do. Was he threatening me? Something told me he didn’t wish me harm and was merely imparting information. Compelled to touch the moss-covered sculpture, I laid my fingers against a spot where the tufa was bare of moss.

Julia...A woman’s voice whispered in my ear. Dear god, was Jack right about the ghosts? Was she saying my name, or the name of the woman buried beneath the heavy rock?

“I’m here,” I whispered back, hoping if I made light of the situation, I would dispel the ridiculousness of my imagination.

Attenti al mostro...

Beware the monster.I jolted back from the stone, short of breath, thinking my heart might never slow again.

Julia...

The whisper grew louder, seemingly coming from somewhere on the trail in front of me. I moved toward it.

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