Page 68 of Vesuvius

And Felix, who had nothing at all.

It slapped Loren with brutal irony that Felix, a flighty thief, had become the true constant in his life. Not just in the past days, but years now, ever since the angry ghost first stepped into his nightmares. Because if no one else believed his visions, Ghost-Felix did. Loren searched for Felix now with a desperate ache, for any sign he wasn’t some fool alone in the world, but his thief was long gone.

Felix had no reason to stay. He wasn’t Loren’s friend. He’d made that clear.

Finally, Loren turned back to the gathering. These were people he saw daily in the market and tavern, exchanged smiles and handshakes with, but they glared now with anger and distrust. The cheesemonger he waved to only yesterday flashed a crude finger-sign.

‘I don’t have any,’ Loren admitted. The crowd tittered. Any rapport he had garnered quickly faded. ‘No, but you must listen—’

‘Start the music!’

The kitharist, having recovered from the sandal assault, shot him a horrible glare, made uglier by his freshly bloodied nose. Hestrummed his kithara defiantly. After a beat, the flautist and drummer joined in.

‘No,’ Loren whispered. Then, louder, ‘Please, trust me.’

‘Get out of here!’ A cold, wet splat hit Loren’s shoulder, fruit that dripped and stained his toga. Sniggers erupted.

Loren fled.

He hopped from the speaking stone and ran. The crowd didn’t part for him, forcing him to weave and stumble as people jostled and shoved and laughed. Loren kept his face down, fighting back the humiliating sting of inevitable tears. One foot was still bare. Somehow, that made everything worse.

Finally, he crashed outside Isis’s temple, the only place he could think to run to. With Julia’s manipulations revealed – that she only meant to use him for his family name – returning to her estate was unthinkable. Facing Elias at the brothel would be worse. Here, Loren could at least be quiet for a while.

He shut the door behind him and leaned against it.

‘Tell me,’ said a gratingly familiar voice, ‘are you finished humiliating us yet?’

‘Don’t, Camilia.’ Loren opened his eyes to find her braced over the altar. She wouldn’t look at him, just stared at embers in the bowl. ‘Please. I can’t bear it.’

‘Youcan’t bear it? You overstepped your role, so the Priest dismissed you. Now you gallivant around with people far above your station.’ Camilia shook her head, lips pursed. ‘You mock us, but still you come for sanctuary. You used us as a stepping stone into the council and the Temple of Jupiter, like Celsi did. Worse, because he had the excuse of being a child with no choice.’

Loren crossed the courtyard. Smoke filtered the air with grey haze. ‘You know I’m loyal to Isis.You know me.’

‘Do I?’ She looked up at last, eyes ringed with smudged black liner. ‘I thought I did. We were friends once. Now I’m not convinced.’

‘I’ve never lied to you. Not when it mattered.’

‘Everything about you is a lie, Loren. When was the last time you were honest? Not with me. With yourself. And don’t say a damned thing about your visions.’ Herbs snapped and sizzled. Shapes seemed to twist in the smoke, but Loren’s eyes were too tear-blurred to make any out. ‘Everyone knows you in this city because you can’t keep your nose out of things. Everyone knows you as Isis’s temple boy, and everything you do reflects on us.’

‘You didn’t want me here in the first place,’ Loren said, flushing hot all over again. ‘None of you did.’

‘We tried to include you for years. But from your first day, you looked beyond us.’ Camilia shoved off the altar and stripped her temple robes. ‘Our reputation has suffered enough. You should go.’

‘I still follow Isis. I have the right to be here.’

‘I don’t mean back to the brothel, or wherever you sleep now.’ She paused hanging her garments. ‘I meant go home. Back where you came from. Don’t bother us here anymore.’

His gut clenched. ‘Why are you saying this?’

The cabinet door shut with a resolute snap. ‘Because I’m not the only one tired of indulging your saviour complex.’

Camilia left without looking back. Loren waited until the door slammed and her footsteps faded before he let the last of his walls crumble. Eyes burning, he stumbled for the cabinet and what he knew was stashed inside.

A clay jug of wine, stamped with that familiar emblem: a sternL, looped in vines.

‘Cheers, old man,’ Loren said. He popped the top and drank.

Chapter XVII

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