You would fall asleep on Johnny's shoulder for hours, and even though you knew he wouldn't mind, you apologized. Your voice was weak from crying and your face was now hot and congested. You stood up, keeping your back to Johnny so he wouldn't see your sorry state, and looked down the street for any sign of Gyro.
It was now snowing just enough to cover the ground white as flour on a mill floor, but that worried you. You didn't like to think of Gyro alone in that hectic city with the constant presence of danger hovering over everyone. Nothing could guarantee that a terrorist would not arrive and kill everyone there. Even if you believe that Gyro would be the last to die at the hands of a terrorist.
It was relatively close to dusk and Agno had already settled on Johnny's lap to spend what seemed like the whole day there.
The sun was still shining on the horizon and, with luck, you saw the distinct figure of Gyro standing over Valkyrie, his hat covered in snow and his cape fluttering in the light city wind. His shadow was dense over the road, or what was left of it, which was completely covered by a thick layer of snow.
Gyro managed to get three rooms on the outskirts of town. As soon as he entered the barn, he asked you to get your bags and leave Cadichon and Agno hidden in the barn with water, food, and enough thick blankets to keep them warm. This time, Johnny had to give you another ride, but he didn't mind; he also offered to help you carry your things. You were taking only enough to spend two days in an inn, because you didn't intend to expose yourself in any way.
If you were dead, you would have to be as discreet as a ghost. Anyone would recognize your mule from a distance, as well as your wagon and even you, if you didn't know how to camouflage yourself well in the crowd – and God knows you can't do that.
The afternoon chill was falling fast at that time of the year and your heavy cloak was hardly sufficient protection against the sudden gusts of icy wind that harried you in the open spaces of the city. As if he realized this, Johnny began to hold Slow Dancer's reins so that his arms would protect you from most of the cold.
You were torn between horror at that day and excitement at the idea of finally being able to sleep in a real bed and maybe bathe in water warmer than the springs in this place. With your thoughts racing like fleas, you felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the freezing air running down your spine.
The inn was far from being as fancy as the halls, but it seemed comfortable enough. The rooms and the restroom were on the second floor, while the first floor was reserved for breakfast or lunch if requested. You three were the only guests. In this climate, fancy hotels with heating systems were more desirable than traditional inns.
You got off the horse and entered the inn. Johnny quickly put himself in his wheelchair and Gyro escorted you as if you were a wounded and scruffy horse. You felt like a cold, hollow shell. The words babbled by Gyro and Johnny echoed somewhere in the empty pit of your stomach. Your first reflex was to sit down on one of the chairs, hoping that the place worked as a restaurant. To your surprise, Gyro had already ordered a pot of tea to save you time.
Until then you had avoided looking at them, but now you raised your eyes and found Johnny staring intensely at you. His face was livid and carefully impassive; it had the same expression as when you were lying on his shoulder. You tried to smile politely, but the corners of your mouth wobbled precariously.
There was a small stained-glass window high up on the wall beside your table. Green and blue shadows floated across your skin, reminding you of a tavern, and you fervently wished for a drink. But you kept this wish to yourself, figuring that neither man would let you drink in this condition. Knowing that you were deplorable made you particularly angry.
You looked into the steam of the hot tea and tried to distinguish the aroma. Something like chamomile and raspberry. Or ginger and raspberry. You looked again at Johnny, who was now watching Gyro talking to the manager behind the counter. He was pale with cold and you couldn't notice anything but the warmth of his face.
There was a sudden stirring and, at a glance, you saw the tall figure of Gyro sitting next to Johnny.
''The question of the food and the inn has been settled.'' Said the Italian with a humorous tone. "All we have to do is wait.''
You weren't hungry anymore, and you didn't want tea, and you especially didn't want to get up. But Johnny was already taking the teapot, and you couldn't find the words to dissuade him. Suddenly, it seemed as if you had run out of words.
Gyro somehow guessed your feelings. He leaned forward and took the teapot from Johnny, muttering something in a voice too low for you to hear. Johnny looked at you with a worried frown, examining your state. You were covered in blood, dirt and bruises from head to toe.
''This inn has hot water, don't you want to take a bath before the food arrives, (Y/N)?'' He asked in a discreet tone.
''Oh, I think so.'' You said, your shoulders drooping with relief and gratitude.
You tried to get up, but your legs were wobbly and you nearly collapsed when you leaned on the table. With what little dignity you could find, you climbed the steep stairs of the inn and made your way to the restroom without looking back. In front of the door, you saw a little man who looked very much like the race workers hurrying down the stairs. You thought it strange, since the racers were not concentrated in that part of town, but the sudden steam that surrounded you when you opened the door made you forget about it, blurring your vision and reducing the irritation in your nose.
You let out a sigh of relief, suddenly things didn't have to make sense anymore. Along with that sigh of relief, a whimpering moan escaped. Despite the tone, it was not a whine. It was like the cry of a bird of prey, iridescent and intractable. A silent cry of relief at being alive and being able to feel warm again.
Slowly, with a shy smile of complacency on your face, you took off each piece of clothing one by one until every inch of your skin was warmed by the steam and the lavender scent. You feel the water in the tub, it was hot enough to cook a lobster and not exactly the voluptuous escape that a candlelit bubble bath could be, but "escape" was the important word at that moment. A little solitude could do wonders, as you knew from experience. And if cleanliness didn't take one to paradise, having clean feet, hands and face definitely improved one's perspective on the universe, especially after a day of blood, sweat, gunpowder and strangulations.
The question was: did you really need more escapes? You stuck your hand in the steaming bath water and swirled it from side to side, watching the dancing shapes projected into the background. Did you need to look for more escapes after all this?
Yes, warm baths like this were good, but not for escaping everything. The water had cooled down enough to be tolerable. You stepped into the tub, letting yourself sink and relax. Hot water was nothing more than an insignificant distraction.
You dove back in, wetting your hair and bending your knees as you slowly emerged. A long time went by like this, dipping in and out of the water, muffling the sounds of the place as you stayed under as long as you could.
But your attention was diverted from these mechanical movements by a growing sound behind you. Someone knocking on the door.
"Hey, (Y/N)." You heard Gyro's voice hiss from behind the door.
It took you a moment to answer, but then you sighed.
''What?''
''Are you okay? Do you need anything?''
"Of course I'm fine.'' You replied impatiently, glaring angrily at the door. "What do you want, Gyro?''
You heard a short mocking laugh from behind the door.
"You forgot your clothes, your towels and... everything. I think you'll need your sunflower soap and... oh, pot marigold essence? Johnny found it in your bag. You're quite vain, aren't you?''
Your teeth gritted at the voice that rang out from the other side of the door like an annoying robin. Squirming a little at the warm temperature, you hugged your knees.
"Fine.'' You sighed. ''Can you bring it to me?''
You heard the door behind you creak and a few reluctant steps echoed.
''After seeing all those essences you keep, now I know why you always are so...'' Gyro's voice sounded distracted and was soon interrupted by his choking. In less than a second, you heard a rustling and the door closing again.
"Huh?'' You looked over your shoulder. Gyro wasn't there, but his clothes and shower items were lying on the floor. "Gyro?''
Your eyes widened for a second at the sudden shock. A stand user? A terrorist? No, no. Calm down, (Y/N), it's probably not a big deal, you thought, still traumatized by the events of that day fresh in your memory. The thought then occurred to you that someone had surprised him from behind and slit his throat, as the sound he made was worthy of such a scene.
"Damn, (Y/N)!'' You heard him say, a tone of astonishment in his voice, but that relieved you. ''Why the hell did you tell me to come in?!"
"For you to give me my things?'' You retorted.
"I came in because I thought you were still dressed!''
"Oh, for God's sake, Gyro!'' You snorted, unable to help but let out a laugh. ''Don't be ridiculous, what did you see? My shoulders? Oh, how lewd!''
''Next time you call me to a room, tell me when you're naked!''
You laughed softly, unable to stop yourself.
"Next time?''
"You understand what I mean, (Y/N)!'' He choked again.
With a smile, you rubbed your hands over your face to wipe the excess water off. Gyro had rather elegant manners for a brute like him. You glanced at the door, still hugging your knees, reassured by the fact that Gyro couldn't see you naked even if he had intended to. You swore you heard some hushed whispers from behind the door, as if Gyro were saying something to himself.
"Are you still there, Gyro?'' After a few seconds of silence, you asked, feeling a slight chill in your stomach.
"What?'' It took him a while to answer. This time, his voice was strangely soft and muffled by the closed door.
"You still have my things.''
''No, I don't.'' He retorted. "Look behind you, they're in front of the door.''
''I'm not going to wet the floor just to get my stuff, Gyro.'' You said, impressed, in spite of yourself. Your sense of decency dropped a bit as you said your next sentence. "Bring it to me, you won't see anything!''
"Normally women are more concerned with being decent, bambina.'' He said, and you heard the handle turn, but the door still didn't open.
"You're acting like a little boy." You sneered, slightly impatient. "You've never seen a naked woman in your life?"
"Don't be ridiculous, (Y/N)!" He said, this time entering the room without hesitation, as if that had encouraged him. "I've seen plenty of naked women, but none who would treat me like a butler."
You laughed, hugging your knees more firmly, without looking back. He quickly left your things on the little table beside you and stepped back, but you interrupted him with simple words.
"Thank you, Gyro." Why were you saying his name so much? It sounded so soft on your tongue, it was like discovering a beautiful new word. "What were you going to say?"
"What?" His voice sounded especially resigned to you.
"You were saying something before you startled with my shoulders."
"What makes you think I'm going to say that now, after you've offended me?"
"Offended you?'' You let out a small laugh, incredibly comfortable with the presence of that man in the room. "You just said I'm not decent.''
"Am I wrong?''
"Maybe."
Gyro left the clothes and towels at your side and was about to hand you your sunflower soap when the smoothness in his movements dissipated into a sudden hesitation. Gyro stopped behind you, and you felt his gaze cut into you like a shower of razors down your back.
"What's the matter, Gyro?'' You asked when you noticed that he was very still, finally looking at him over your shoulder. "Something wrong?''
''No... I mean...'' He started. ''You're not feeling anything different?''
"No, why?"
He cleared his throat and you frowned. He was acting the way someone acts when he sees a giant spider on his friend's back and needs to warn you without causing panic.
''It's just that your back... When Dio strangled you, how long were you lying in the snow?'' He questioned with a careful tone in his voice.
"Well, long enough for Wekapipo to be sure that I was dead.'' You answered. "A little over an hour, maybe. Why?''
"Shit, (Y/N), didn't you see your back? Didn't you feel anything?''
These two questions were enough to terrify you. In fact, your whole body was still numb, so the sensations you had were restricted to sharp pains from cuts and a scratchy throat. The bruises and the distended muscles were not aching as they should have been. Intrigued, you began to feel your back frantically and without bothering to cover your breasts, since your back was to the man. You stayed that way, looking for any relief that resembled a giant eight-legged creature or any fatal injury; but you felt nothing worthy of the way Gyro was acting.
''It's not an injury, not what you're thinking.'' He said, urging you to give up looking, so you returned to your starting position while looking over your shoulder at him. He walked over to the wooden sink, then picked up two small hand mirrors, handing one to you and projecting the other onto your back so that you could see. ''Superficial frostbite. Second degree.''
It was the first time you had ever seen such a case, and the fact that it happened to you made it all the more alarming.
The entire region of your shoulder blades was covered by a whitish layer of dead skin, and now that you were aware of this frostbite, you began to feel it too. Some blister-like protuberances were beginning to sprout and a part of your shoulder was red like living flesh.
"Second degree?'' You asked, your voice low with shock.
''That's what it looks like. You don't feel anything?''
"Well... now that you've shown me... Yeah, it's burning a little.'' You replied, handing the mirror back to him. "I've never seen frostbite like that.''
''I've seen plenty, it's very common. If you're feeling your skin burning, that's a good sign.''
"A good sign?''
''In some cases, it can necrotize the skin, and you won't feel anything ever again.'' He explained, straightening himself as he knelt behind you. ''May I take a look?''
You looked down at the shimmering waves of water and groped your neck gently. Your skin was so numb that the bruises didn't hurt, but you could feel them as if you were wearing a collar of thorns. You soon allowed Gyro to tend to your wounds without saying anything. Someone, you thought angrily, might come to you and finally say something like "your journey is over" and put you out of your misery.
"Gyro.'' You said. There was a hesitation, almost a question mark, in the name. You two were no more than thirty centimeters apart.
He twitched as if an electric spark had sparked between you, and his calm expression faded.
"Yes?''
You remained silent, not knowing what to say. Why had you said his name? Well, it didn't matter now, you had to be quick.
"You... You never told me about your life in Italy. You only mentioned it a few times. Why don't you tell me a little about it?"
You knew he smiled when you felt a breath of air tickle the back of your neck. His hand dipped into the water just beside you, assessing the temperature and making gentle waves.
"What do you want to know?'' He asked, reassuringly.
"Hmm... What does strega mean? You always call me that, but you never told me what it is.''
''Ah, well...'' He hesitated, a little embarrassed. It had been a long time since he had referred to you that way. Not in Italian. ''It's... sorceress. I thought you already knew.''
"I thought it means witch.'' You felt the corners of your mouth lift slightly.
"Ask another question, (Y/N).'' He inquired, as if begging you to change the subject.
His hands rose in a shell shape, they were large enough to take a reasonable amount of water and spread it over your back. The heat relaxed the area stiffened by the cold and soothed the redness as Gyro applied a very gentle massage to your shoulders and shoulder blades, using mostly his fingers.
''When we left Milwaukee... you mentioned your father.'' At that moment, you felt his hands hesitate, then you nodded your head to the side and looked at him. "Your father was a doctor too, wasn't he?''
"Yes, he's a doctor, just like me.''
"Do you have any brothers?''
"You like personal questions, don't you?''
"You told me to talk about something else. I'm trying hard.''
Gyro laughed, shaking his head from side to side.
"Yes, I have four little brothers.'' He replied, there was a certain tenderness in his voice. ''You have brothers?''
''Not that I know of... oh, look.'' You glanced at the nightstand beside the tub. On it was a bottle of port. Carefully you stretched out your arm and took it, showing it to Gyro. ''This is better than a luxury hotel! Can you open it, Gyro?''
''I don't think you should drink in your current state.'' Gyro protested, but took the bottle and you could hear the clink of his holster opening.
''Johnny thinks so too.''
''And you're still drinking?''
''Your friend Wekapipo drank all my Scotch whiskey, the most expensive one I had. I deserve some wine, don't you think?''
Gyro humorously clicked his tongue and within a few seconds you heard the sound of the cork popping out of the neck of the bottle. He passed it to you. Your hand rested, open and relaxed, on the edge of the tub while your other hand tilted the wine bottle toward your mouth. You trusted for the moment that your bent legs would do the job of hiding your breasts, although Gyro seemed much more focused on the burn on your back.
''This could be our secret. Don't tell Johnny I've been drinking.'' You said, offering the bottle of wine to him. ''Alright?''
"Alright.'' He said, smiling and accepting the wine. ''This isn't the first time I've had a drink with a patient. But this is much neater than my father's office.''
You giggled, and for a second imagined what Gyro's father looked like, as well as his mother. You imagined them, therefore, with an obvious physical resemblance to their firstborn. The skin was not as golden as Gyro's, since they appeared to live comfortably in Naples. The protruding cheekbones, the straight, chiseled nose, and the broad bones with elegant muscles. A direct inheritance from the Zeppeli, perhaps.
"Let me think...'' You began, staring at the damp stained ceiling as you thought of a question that wouldn't be too inconvenient. ''Why did you come all this way to enter the race? I imagine I already know why, but I'd like to hear it again.''
He opened his mouth to answer, then reconsidered, holding the bottle gently in his hands and taking a sip of wine. You were getting dangerously close to the border of his secret past.
"Well, that's a long story, (Y/N).'' Gyro replied, avoiding the question. ''I'm here to get an amnesty from the king, fifty million dollars for the life of a boy. I will only tell you this, and you better not tell anyone, understand?''
''They had bounty hunters after you at the beginning of the race.'' You continued, shuddering vaguely at the memory of the fatal shot you had taken at L.A. Boom Boom. ''The king isn't being very friendly, is he?''
He was silent for a few seconds; then he handed you the wine and poured the hot water over your wounds again.
''You have a good memory.'' He said. ''I can tell you more about it later, but for now, how about we talk about you? Do you want to tell me about your family? If you think you can, of course.''
You thought for a moment, but there really seemed little risk in telling him about your mother and Reverend Innes. There was, after all, a certain advantage in being raised by two travelers. So you told him a few things, omitting small details like young William, and, of course, the map of Joseph of Arimathea and your theories about the saint's identity. As you spoke, he listened attentively, asking questions from time to time, showing conterness with your mother's death and the Reverend's fragile health, and showing interest in your travels.
''And then I arrived in California. More specifically, in San Diego.'' You closed, not sure what else you could tell him without entering dangerous territory. Luckily, Gyro saved you.
''And after that only things we already know.'' He said, understanding. You shook your head without uttering a word. The frozen tissue of your skin slowly regained sensitivity to Gyro's magical touch. "Can you feel anything else now?''
"Well, yes... That's much better. What did you do? I don't think warm water alone could have cured me.''
"Warm water is indispensable, but I used the spin to relax your muscles and keep you warm. You may feel a tingling sensation afterward, but it's normal.''
''That's... This technique of yours is very strange, Gyro.'' You said, the corners of your mouth wobbling as you turned to look at him. "And you still call me a witch? You're the strega!''
He laughed. This time his voice sounded warm and deep, with a deep breath that gave you goosebumps. His hands were still warm and heavy on your shoulders. You didn't want him to take them away.
"Stregone.'' He corrected. "You're the strega, I can be the stregone.''
"La strega... il stregone, right? Italian isn't very difficult.''
''Yes, that's right.''
Unconsciously, he went back to massaging your already warm muscles. He focused his eyes on the curves of your shoulders, already oblivious to the fact that you were completely naked before him - although he struggled to maintain his composure every time he caught a glimpse of the relief of your skin and the faded and aged marks of your tattoos. When was the last time he had seen your skin so exposed and vulnerable? He missed that.
Gyro's hands were large and his fingers were both strong and delicate. They glided across the surface of your scapulae with a gentleness you had never experienced before. In fact, he had a special gift for touch, and even with his massive fingers he could be gentle.
As he massaged you, you could notice a change in your state of mind. It seemed as if you were floating, even though you were standing still in the tub for a moment. With each touch of his hands, you felt a sense of pleasure that left you relieved and relaxed.
At the same time, you couldn't help but think about your memories of the president and the girl you killed in the desert. You were no longer tormented by these memories, but you knew they would never leave you.
Numb from the heat of the steam and the neck massage, you felt in a state of blissful aloofness, so relaxed that you were almost caught asleep. He was saying some things, but you had no idea what he was talking about.
"Are you listening, (Y/N)?'' He asked, his voice sounding clearer.
"Huh?''
"Have you fallen asleep?'' Mocked the Italian. ''Really?"
"Oh, shut up, Gyro.'' You grumbled, resting your forehead on one hand.
He gave an adorable little laugh, and continued teasing you.
''Do you like my technique that much? I can even make you sleep?''
''Anything can make me sleep...'' You replied, calmly.
''I still think only my hands can do that.'' He said, this time stopping the massage, but keeping his hands on your shoulders and bringing his face close to your ear. ''That's lovely of you.''
You were grateful for your back to him for a moment. You could feel the blood rising in your face, and your complexion had succumbed to a pathetic redness. He was right; you fell asleep with his touch, but it was nothing more than that. You turned almost completely toward him, staring straight at him with an incredulous expression. Though flushed and tormented, you kept your dignity.
''At least I don't need a teddy bear to fall asleep with.'' You replied with a smile just like his on your face. "But, it's true, the massage is also very good.''
Gyro's face stopped, in a shocked expression and his eyes widened. With the vague realization that you were holding back from a frightening-sounding laugh.
"How... did you know that?'' He asked, but he didn't sound really upset and that made you laugh.
"I'm a witch, did you forget?'' You joked, glad to see that he was blushing more than you at the revelation of your terrible secret.
This time his expression looked more frightened than teasing, but he still smiled.
"Oh, boy. This way I'll end up going to the bonfire with you.'' He said, intrigued. "And even to hell. But may Jesus have mercy on my soul and yours, strega. How the hell do you know about my teddy bear? I never took it out of the bag when you were around.''
"A witch never reveals her tricks...'' You said, pretending that you didn't just see him hiding in his things the night after Milwaukee.
''That's fair. Witches are always discreet... which is why I don't truly believe that you are a witch, (Y/N).'' He teased you again, this time holding out the bottle of wine.
You smiled and accepted the bottle, taking a long sip.
"Don't worry.'' You said, in gratitude for the wine. ''Your secret is safe with me. I'm a friendly witch.''
"That's good.'' Squinting, Gyro watched you drink the wine. It seemed to get better with each sip. ''So, my witch friend, you have asked me many questions, and you know my secret. I think it's only fair to ask you a few questions as well.''
"What do you want to know?'' You asked, handing him the bottle of wine, but he refused.
"Tell me about yourself. Not about your past, not about your motives. Just tell me about yourself.'' He asked, looking straight into your eyes. "A witch, hawker and traveler. I already know you're a woman of many faces, but I want to know more.''
"What more do you want to know?'' Now, your face was fully facing him.
He smiled at you. His mouth quivered slightly, but he smiled.
"How old are you? I never thought I'd ask.''
''That's not something you should ask a lady, you know.'' You said, pretending to be offended.
''Oh, I'm sorry... I didn't know I was talking to a lady!'' He joked, and you laughed.
''Very funny, Gyro. How old do you think I am?''
''From your looks and your manner, I'd give you less than twenty, maybe... But you have so many stories, there's no way you're that young.'' He thought for a few seconds, but soon gave up. "I have no idea. Maybe you're the same age as me.''
"And how old are you?''
"How old do you think I am?'' He retorted.
''I don't know... forty?''
''What?!'' He exclaimed in revolt. ''You're kidding, right, (Y/N)?''
You burst out laughing, stopping to take a sip of wine and then enjoying his face a little more.
"Stop kidding, (Y/N)!'' He interrupted you. ''Goddamnit, how old are you?''
''I'm twenty-four, Gyro.'' You replied, smiling.
''Then I was right, we are the same age.''
"You're twenty-four? Damn, I'm much more preserved than you are!''
You and he laughed again. You talked some more, stopping now and then, but long enough for your fingers to wrinkle in the water. You felt numb with exhaustion, but happy, like a rabbit that has managed to escape from a fox and find temporary shelter under a log. It wasn't a sanctuary, but at least it was a truce.
You tried to avoid mentioning any element of the conversation you had with Johnny, as had been promised, but something still hammered incessantly in your mind like a woodpecker on an oak log.
''Hey, Gyro, can you wait for me outside? I'm going to put on my clothes... and I need to talk to you about something.''