"So, you're interested in how I dealt with your loss, are you?" Max asked as they continued to stroll amongst the dead; however, he didn't wait for Reine's encouragement to continue.
"With you gone, I had even less of a reason to remain in Florence for extended periods of time. The ghost of your presence haunted me constantly, but more so at home. So I avoided it as much as I could," he said.
Although his story was fueled by death, everything around them was a reminder of life: the spider continuing to industriously spin her web, the butterfly fluttering from one flower to the next, and the crow perching on the edge of a nearby tomb, surveying his domain.
"Three years eventually passed." He sighed. "By then, I had spent the last six months in Milan, securing partnerships with merchants that would build my family's business to greater heights. Having gotten word that my mother was ill, I was on my way home when it happened." Pausing briefly again, he focused his eyes on the gravel path.
"I usually preferred to travel alone, but as it happened a representative of Ludovico Sforza, the Duke of Milan at the time, was on his way to reaffirm the Florentine Republic's pledge - made after the temporary ousting of the Medicis - not to seek any claims upon his territories. You see, Milan had enough trouble from the French and wanted to make sure that they didn't have to worry about their neighbors to the south, as well. I'd met this man in court several times over the previous months and found him to be good company, so I agreed to his offer to travel with him."
"We were but a half day's ride from the city walls when we were ambushed. Outnumbered by a group of outlaws three to one; we had no chance. They were there for the gold and jewels that Sforza meant as tokens of his friendship. Had I stuck to my usual method of travel, I would have avoided the whole affair. But instead, it became the day that I died."
Reine drew in a sharp breath. She knew that the explanation was coming, but it still affected her more than she had imagined.
"They couldn't leave any witnesses behind, so the envoy, the carriage driver, and I all met with the sharp end of their swords. I'm not sure how long I was out, but by the time I had awakened, night had fallen. The pain was unbearable, and I couldn't understand why I had no visible injuries. But I was thankful to be alive and would worry about the details later. However, I also knew that I couldn't tell anyone the whole truth about what happened since I couldn't remember anything myself. So I changed out of my bloody and tattered clothing and drove the carriage back to Florence under the cover of darkness. The less people who'd see its arrival, the better."
Max paused again, as if turning to another chapter of the story.
"I left it, along with the bodies of my unfortunate companions with the local guard. They didn't detain me for long after they learned I had amnesia. They'd obviously recognized me given the nature of my status within the city, and they promised to keep the matter from the general public. Even if the bandits had somehow found out that there was a survivor, I had hoped that my anonymity would deter them from exacting any future revenge."
He pushed his fingers through his hair. "I wanted to go back to living my life the same as before, and I didn't want to run. Just to be cautious, I grew out my beard, in case any of them came upon me by chance. But I remained in my parents' house and tended to the business locally for more than a decade. It was only when those around me - my family and friends - began to show signs of age and ill health that I could no longer avoid the persistent curiosity within me of why I wasn't doing the same. That's when I met Antonio Della Catena."
Reine remembered the name from an earlier conversation. "The Marchese who founded the Confraternity?" she asked with piqued interest.
"That's right. He became my mentor," he said.
She wiped away a tear that had rolled down her cheek. "You know, I have the hardest time figuring you out."
"Oh yeah? How so?" He stopped and faced her again.
"You're being so calm and forthcoming," she said. "It's not what I expected."
He shook his head and smiled. "There's no pleasing you, is there?"
"That's exactly what I mean," she scolded. "But this is good. It's more like the Max I used to know."
"The one you used to love," he stated flatly.
"I still love you, Max," she admitted before looking past him into the shadows of an abandoned tomb. "Things are just different."
He sighed. "They sure are."
Reine scoffed. "You're agreeing with me? Wow, you have changed!" she exclaimed.
Max, however, remained serious. "I'd do anything for you. You know that," he said.
Looking into his hazel eyes, she knew he was telling the truth. "Yes. I do. But I won't ask you to." She held on to his arm again and pulled him along.
Walking further into the center of the cemetery, it increasingly became quieter until all that was audible was the occasional coo of a dove or chirp of a sparrow. Finally, after scaling a set of gently sloping stairs up a hillside, they reached a neglected, overgrown grave with a plain, weathered tombstone.
The inscription simply read: M. Baldovini 1901.
Reine nodded toward the marker. "So there was a reason you wanted to meet here. Did you leave one of these behind everywhere you went?"
Max sat down on a bench opposite the grave, gently pulling her with him. "Believe it or not, apart from the family crypt in Florence, this is the only one I have," he said.
She put the bouquet of wildflowers down beside her. "Why here? What happened in 1901 that you want to memorialize?" She searched his face for an appropriate reaction.
He looked both sad and confused. "It was the closest I've ever come to truly losing my life, and I never wanted to forget what that felt like."
"But you were already immortal with almost four centuries of experience," she said as she leaned back against the bench. "Surely you couldn't have been so vulnerable?"
"I got in with the wrong crowd. Isn't that how it always is?" He laughed and put an arm around Reine's shoulder. "It was an incredible bunch. Artists, philosophers, politicians. Some of the most brilliant men of their generation. Come to think of it, a few are actually buried here."
He paused to look around. "There were a couple of Englishmen in the group. It was through them that I met Emery Wescott."
"Wescott. Why does that name sound familiar?"
"He's the leader of the Order of Westminster. He sent Jameela Singh to get information about you, remember?" he said over the top of her head before kissing her hair gently.
"And turned Noor against me." Reine pouted.
"That's not true. That poor girl is devastated by losing your friendship. She had no idea what she was getting herself into by agreeing to be the Order's spy," he said.
Reine turned her face up towards him. "How do you know all of this? Have you seen her?"
"She moved up to Philadelphia right after graduation."
"Into your house with the Confraternity?" She wrinkled her brows. "So she knows everything now?"
"Don't sound so surprised. Gabe wasn't like us, and he kept our secret," Max said. "This is no different. Besides, I had no choice."
"Mal told her?" Reine guessed.
"What can I say? The boy is in love." He sighed. "But we were talking about Wescott, no?"
"Right, right. Sorry, go on," she urged.
"Westcott had already been around for a very, very long time, and he was immensely powerful. He was the emperor of the British Isles, in a way. And not just over the immortal community. He had anyone and everyone who mattered wrapped around his finger. But he had never been able to expand across the channel."
"Why were you so against joining forces? Were you so opposed to sharing your influence?"
"Not at all. That had nothing to do with it." His expression hardened. "But I was not about to play by the Order's rules."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Max pulled away and took his arm off Reine's shoulder. "I haven't been quite forthcoming with you about how I got some of my memories back. You see, there is a very simple, but very dangerous way to ensure that an immortal can remember his past. It's what the Order has built their power upon. Because knowledge - of the past, present, and future - is key to dominate your opponents. And that is one thing Wescott has definitely mastered."
Reine's heartbeat accelerated, and her patience waned. "Get to the point, Max."
He stared at his fingers in his lap. "Gin. The secret is in drinking gin." He looked up. "Any derivative of juniper, really. But being British, they've come to rely on the vile spirit."
"What does it do to them?" She straightened her posture. "To us, I guess."
"The effects are threefold," he said before taking a deep breath. "First, it allows you to age. As long as you maintain it in your system, your body will get older. When you stop drinking it, you'll slowly reverse these effects. Second, you will regain your memories during this time, as well."
She stared at him, wide-eyed. "And the third?"
"In essence, it makes you mortal while you take it."
She gasped. "So you can die."
"Yes." He nodded. "Some people using this method have learned to take care of themselves, while others can't handle the effects. I had become careless, taking unnecessary risks that almost killed me."
Reine shifted in her seat. "If juniper is so bad, why didn't anyone warn me about it? For all you know, I could be sipping gin and tonics, and literally drinking myself to death!" She threw up her hands in emphasis.
He scoffed. "It doesn't quite work that way. You see, gin to us is like citrus is to a cat."
"I have no idea what that means," she stated flatly, but Max rolled his eyes.
"Cats hate citrus. It's a natural repellent for them. In the same vein, we instinctively avoid anything derived from juniper. The reactions are Mother Nature's way of protecting both of us from something that otherwise would be toxic to us."
"Well, that's where you're wrong," Reine said, crossing her arms. "I distinctly remember drinking a small bottle in my hotel room back in Venice."
"You must be mistaken." Max sounded unconvinced. "If that were true . . . well, the consequences would be inconceivable."
"No, it would be quite conceivable." She nodded emphatically. "I should be dead right now, correct? But I am absolutely positive it was gin. I can still taste it." She instinctively licked her lips. "It was awful. I threw the bottle in the waste bin. How come you didn't know?"
"Sylvana never mentioned it." He looked off into the distance. "Either she didn't see it or she kept it from me."
"Well, that's not a surprise, is it?" Reine grabbed his upper arm, forcing him to look at her again. "If you didn't know, then why are you telling me all of this now?"
"They're bad news, Reine," he whispered. "You can't get tangled up with them."
"Who? The Order?" She smirked. "Why should I worry? I don't want anything to do with them."
"They're the ones who want you." Max took her hands into his. "Living in London, you're on their turf now and believe me, they'll do everything they can to woo you."
"To get to you, right? That's what you're afraid of? Why can't you just refuse them?" She pulled her hands from his grip and gently touched the side of his face. "What are they holding over you, Max?"
He put his hand on hers and closed his eyes. "They know that if I agree to join them, everyone else from the Confraternity will too." He looked at her again. "I can't have their lives depend on me."
Overwhelmed by the revelations, Reine picked up the flowers, stood, and walked the few steps to the grave. Crouching down, she placed the bouquet in front of the headstone. Although she knew that Max was very much alive behind her, she still mourned for the pain he must have felt all those years ago. She was also unsure of what role she really played in the struggle between these two powerful organizations, but she knew she didn't want any part of it.
She slowly rose and turned toward around. "I think we should go," she said.
Max stepped forward and unexpectedly pulled her into a comforting hug. But as soon as their bodies touched, he released her just as quickly. Looking with shock at her midsection, he didn't hold back his reaction. "Holy fuck! You're pregnant?"