Page 44 of The Slug Crystal
I glance down at his feet and grimace in sympathy at his waterlogged shoes.
The rich aroma of fried calamari and sweet wine drifts down from a bridge above us, where vendors have set up small carts to serve the festival-goers. My stomach growls, reminding me we haven't eaten since the plane.
"We should stop soon," I say, accepting the terrarium from Jake and lowering it carefully back to my lap. "For food, and to figure out our next steps."
Marco points ahead. "There's a small dock just beyond that bridge. We can disembark there and find somewhere to eat."
Our gondolier steers us toward the indicated spot, but the crowded waterway makes precision difficult. As we bump against the wooden dock, the gondola shifts unexpectedly. Luca jumps out first, landing lightly on the weathered planks.
"Hand me the snail," he says, reaching back.
I pass Alex's terrarium to Luca, then accept Ben's steadying hand as I step from the rocking boat onto solid ground, with Ben following right after me. But as Jake and Marco try to follow, another gondola slides in beside ours, forcing our gondolier to push off prematurely.
"We'll meet you at the dock ahead!" Marco calls as their gondola drifts back into the canal traffic.
Just like that, our group is split. Luca, Ben, and I on the dock with Alex, while Jake and Marco float away, quicklyswallowed by the festival crowd and the fading light of evening.
Wednesday, 1:53PM. "We've lost Ben too," I mutter, scanning the crowd that flows around us like water around stones. The festival has transformed Venice into a labyrinth of noise and color, every narrow street packed with revelers, every corner offering a new path to get lost down. I hold Alex's terrarium close, grateful that at least I haven't lost him in this chaos. Luca stands beside me, his height giving him a better vantage point as he searches for any sign of the others. "This way," he says finally, placing a hand lightly at the small of my back to guide me through a gap in the crowd. "There's a bridge up ahead where we can get a better view."
I follow him, threading through pockets of tourists and locals until we emerge onto a narrow stone archway that curves over a quiet side canal. It's a relief to step away from the press of bodies, to find a space where I can breathe without someone's elbow in my ribs. The bridge is slick with a light layer of water, the stone worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. Lanterns strung between buildings cast buttery light across the water below, their reflections stretching and compressing with each gentle ripple.
A few couples linger on the bridge, speaking in low voices, their silhouettes merging in the half-light of the shaded sun. The distant sounds of the festival, echoes of laughter, music, and shouting, blend with the closer notes of an accordion playing somewhere down an alleyway, the melody sweet and melancholy.
"Do you think we'll find them?" I ask, leaning against the stone railing. The cool dampness seeps through my shirt, but it feels good after the sticky heat of the crowd.
Luca shrugs, his profile sharp against the softness of the evening. "Venice has a way of bringing people together again.The city is a maze, but a small one." He turns to me, a half-smile playing on his lips. "And if not, is my company so terrible?"
I laugh, surprising myself with how genuine it sounds. "I'm just worried about Jake. He's probably having a conniption thinking I've lost Alex in a canal."
"The terrarium looks secure enough," Luca says, glancing at the glass box where Alex is exploring a fresh piece of lettuce I tucked in as we wandered by a street vendor. "And Jake strikes me as a man who can handle himself, even in a foreign country."
I nod, watching a gondola glide silently beneath us, the passengers' faces upturned to take in the bridge and the buildings beyond. "This place is unreal," I murmur. "Like something from a dream."
"It is special," Luca agrees, turning to rest his elbows on the railing beside me. "I used to come here as a child. My father has business associates here. He has business associates everywhere." There's a slight edge to his voice when he mentions his father, a tightness around his eyes.
"Do you not get along with your father?" I ask.
He's quiet for a moment, watching the water. "My family is... complicated. Very traditional, very wealthy. Very certain about what a Bianchi son should do with his life." He runs a hand through his coiffed, dark hair, and I notice how the gesture loosens something in him, makes him look younger. "My father wanted me to run the family business. Import-export, investments, property management, all boring stuff that makes lots of money."
"But you wanted to fly," I say softly.
His smile returns, genuine this time, lighting his eyes. "Yes. Always. Since I was eight, and my uncle took me up in his small plane for the first time. The freedom of it..." He trails off, shaking his head. "How do you explain to someone who has never flown a plane what it feels like tobreak away from the ground? To rise above everything that seems so important and permanent, and see how small it really is?"
I watch his face as he talks, the way his shoulders relax and his hands move more freely. The tension that usually hovers around him, the calculated charm, and the careful distance, falls away. In its place is passion, pure and unguarded. It transforms him from merely handsome to something luminous.
"So, you left them behind," I say. "Your family, the business."
He nods. "Not all at once. First, it was flying lessons as a hobby. Then a pilot's license, for convenience. Then chartered flights for my father's associates, which he approved of because it saved the company money." His mouth quirks in a half-smile. "But eventually I had to choose. Live the life they planned for me, or live my own."
"That takes courage," I say, thinking of my own life, the safe choices I've made, the risks I've avoided. Except, of course, for the spell that turned Alex into a snail. But that was not so much courage as reckless impulse there.
Luca turns to face me fully, his gray eyes searching mine. "It wasn't courage. More necessity. Some people can compromise who they are. I couldn't." He pauses, then adds more softly, "I think perhaps you understand that."
Something shifts between us, the conversation turning from casual to intimate in the space of a breath. I'm suddenly very aware of how close we're standing. How the mist rising from the still water beneath the bridge has left tiny droplets in his dark hair. How his cologne, something woody and expensive, mingles with the scent of the canal and the distant aroma of festival food.
"I don't know if I do," I admit. "Understand it, I mean. I've never had to make a choice like that."
"Haven't you?" His gaze drops to the terrarium, then backto my face. "You're here, in Venice, chasing a witch to fix a magical problem. That's not exactly playing it safe."
