"My name's Amber by the way, short for Ambrosia Swan," I introduced after the man I had 'rescued' bought me lunch. Seriously, if you are ever in Italy, just know that you will likely have the best lunches of your life if you know where to go.
Now that I wasn't preoccupied with getting him away from rabid tourist girls, I managed to get a clearer look at the man now sitting across the table from me. Aside from long dark hair, slight accent, handsome and male, he was of about average build, standing half a foot taller than me, and wore classy, semi-formal clothes that wouldn't be out of place just about anywhere. He was very pale too but not the sickly kind of pallor. In a way, it was more translucent with a papery texture if that makes sense, kind of like garlic or onion skin. Last of all, he also exhibited a pair of pretty blue eyes, though I suspected that they were contacts from the lack of pupil dilation. Odd...why would he feel the need to hide his true eye color? Protection perhaps? Or maybe he was just a creatively unique person? Hopefully though, if that was the case, the man would not turn out to be like those finicky asshole designers I once met during fashion week in New York.
At any rate, the still unnamed man's lips quirked, making his almost otherworldly beauty stand out even more if that was possible. I'm pretty sure I heard some women in the background sighing dreamily if that was enough indication. "Ambrosia? As in the food of the gods?" he questioned.
Nodding in his direction, I'm pretty sure my eyes lit up a little at the apparent surplus of background knowledge he possessed. Unlike people native to the southern Europe areas, I had not met many knowledgeable people or those interested in mythos besides college professors and high school English and history teachers. But even then, not all of them shared the same appreciation since they often were paid to teach such subjects.
"You know your Greek mythology well I see. Anyways, yes, but please call me Amber. No one uses my full name unless I'm in trouble," I insisted with a toothless smile. "And what's your name? Or should I just keep calling you Mario?" The last part came out in a teasing tone, showcased by the glittering of my eyes and a humorous grin.
He chuckled but nonetheless responded, speaking with that odd yet musical accent I had picked up on earlier. "Marcus, Marcus Volturi," he introduced. "It is a pleasure to meet you Amber. What brings you to Volterra all the way from America?"
I raised a brow. "What makes you say I'm not from here?"
Okay, I knew it was kind of glaringly obvious that I wasn't from Italy, due to certain key characteristics, traits, factors and all, but I was still slightly curious as to how an apparent civilian picked it up. Not many people outside of law enforcement and the psychology field perhaps were as observant. Well, either that or they just chose to be oblivious like everyone else.
"Besides the obvious?" he queried with an arched brow, likely referring to the fact that we were speaking English and not Italian. "The accent for a start. I am guessing America considering you speak English quite fluently but lack the mannerisms and speech pattern native to England. Plus, a couple other things I noticed too," he admitted.
Wow, he really was a keen observer and likely very book smart if all the large words being bandied about were any indication. Who knew I'd be lucky enough to find someone to have an intelligent conversation with?
"Very astute observation Detective Holmes though I could say similar about you and your accent," I congratulated in a posh English accent that could have fooled your average Joe into thinking that I might very well be from England after all.
Marcus seemed surprised that I had picked up on that, but neither of us commented further on it.
In any case, I heaved a long, dramatic sigh. "Anyways, to answer your previous question, I'm taking a forced vacation I am afraid. Apparently, according to the people I work with, I don't know how to take a 'real vacation' so they set this up for me." I rolled my eyes in a fond manner at the last part, waving a hand lazily through the air.
He chuckled, and I swear I shivered from the tremors ran down my spine at the sound. The deliciously good kind of shivers if you catch my drift. "You must be very special if your coworkers paid for a trip a quarter of the world away."
I held back a snort, knowing it was pointless to complain over what was a really sweet deal on my part. Besides, I am truly grateful for this chance, even if my boss practically forced it on me. "I guess you could say that, though I don't think I would use the word special when referring to myself. Stubborn perhaps, and a workaholic when the mood strikes me. Not to mention a complete house-hermit and crazy, shut-in writer; but never special."
"Modest too it seems," he added with slight amusement. "In any case, you write stories? What genre's?"
Poor guy did not seem to understand that he had just set a horrific beast loose; and he would soon come to dearly regret the action. Everyone did eventually after they asked.
"Action-adventure, poetry, thriller, the occasional mystery and, of course, romance since I'm a sappy romance whore. Pardon my French. But I do fiction mostly. I really like writing supernatural, fantasy, and the random sci-fi novel. I guess it's just something about the 'magic' of them that pulls me in. Which is ironic since everyone in college thought I was going to write pure mystery and crime novels thanks to my double majoring in criminal justice and creative writing." I paused, realizing how much I was running my mouth. "Sorry, I'm talking your ears off aren't I?"
Marcus however, shook his head lightly, a small smile playing on his aristocratic features. "No, no. I find it refreshing that someone is as passionate about what they do as you are. It's very rare occurrence these days unfortunately."
Man, did this guy act several years older than his couple years my junior or what? He talked like a Tolkien book, but that might just be my imagination.
Still eating, I nodded, absently running a hand through my ponytail and twirling the end around my fingers before remembering my table manners. Dad drilled it into my head that you should never play with your hair while you eat with company, (barring close friends of course, since they never really cared). "True. Honestly, I think the only reason I don't complain more about writing—despite it being one of my true loves in life—is because my other job keeps me busy enough that I don't stress over making new manuscripts. It sort of balances me out in a way, so I can stay sane, having equal footing in both reality and fantasy."
Nodding, he made a tiny amused note in the back of his throat. "Spoken like a true wordsmith."
Finding myself enjoying the conversation and company, we talked for a while more after that, even after I finished my meal. I told him about some of my life in the US, about my artistic hobbies and pursuits and about my jobs, though foregoing any mention that I worked for the FBI specifically, not just law enforcement in general. People always acted weird around law enforcer-types unless they were also in the same gig. In turn, I learned that Marcus had two brothers, both of whom lived here in Volterra with him. Apparently, they and their family sort of oversaw the management several of the older monuments and historic structures here in the city, including the beautiful clock tower in the main square and the castle there. Marcus in particular though, oversaw the restoration of historical texts ranging from the Mycenaean age all the way to more modern times. Their family apparently came from really old money, and I mean old as in before the city was originally built kind of old. (No wonder his last name sounded familiar; Volterra was named after his family who practically founded it)!
In any matter, neither of us really spoke about ourselves in great detail, remaining vague when asked before changing the subject. But part of me (the nosy, investigative half) still wondered why he looked so sad, carrying around the aura like a mourning shroud despite the smile he wore. And I didn't even need powers to come to that conclusion.
Still, it amazed me how much he knew about the city as we walked around, pointing down some streets or gesturing to some structures and regaling me with the stories of their history. Sometimes, his descriptions sounded so detailed and realistic that I could imagine myself being there, reliving the past hundreds of thousands of years ago. As a matter of fact, a lot of what he said seemed to be beyond anything you could find in a history book nowadays. Truthfully, his in depth knowledge almost made me wonder if he had some sort of gift like I did too, if he didn't experience the events himself, which was impossible. No one could live that long.
Back to the point, I must have looked so enraptured with what he was saying that Marcus said thoughtfully, "Well how about this: tomorrow, I shall see if my brother's and I can give you an exclusive tour throughout the city, hm?"
Like a dog catching the smell of bacon, I perked up. "Really?"
Back in school, I remembered that I had always recalled historic events and places better when I was either really interested like with mythology, or I experienced it 'firsthand' so to speak as I had learned from a five-day trip to Washington DC and New York City. I probably remembered more facts from that trip than I did from any history class in my life (barring this one awesome teacher from sixth grade).
Marcus nodded, watching my reaction, though I don't think he expected what he got.
Without thinking, I launched myself at him in a hug. "Thank you!" I practically squealed, before remembering myself and having the grace to look embarrassed as I pulled away.
However, as I did so, one of my sleeves had slid back a little from the previous motion, revealing enough of my forearm for the bare skin of his hand to accidentally brush against it.
I didn't even realize what was happening before it was too late.
He could hear the triumphant howls of the wolves in the distance. The sound was mocking, even in his own ears as his heart seemed to both plummet from a great height and stop altogether.
"Didyme? Didyme! No! Didyme!"
Suddenly, a horrible, bellowing scream of anguish beyond comprehension tore its way out of the speaker's throat, sounding almost inhuman, shaking anyone who heard to the core of their very soul, as well as instilling fear in the hearts of those who caused it. There was so much pain and sadness and rage!rage!rage! as mortal ash slipped through his fingers and rubicund eyes narrowed before turning pitch, soulless black.
He was going to slaughter them all.
Returning to the present, I gasped and stumbled a little, fingers shaking as my heart raced. There had been so much blood.
"Cara?" (Dear)
My eyes snapped to Marcus, who looked at me with concern.
Suddenly, I felt quite small and exposed, despite the chaos-induced high that part of me drifted on. I just could not get over that feeling of irrefutable, crushing rage from the vision. There had been so much bloodlust, so much hatred, so much hunger for violence and bloodshed.
"Cara mia? Are you alright?" Marcus asked again, drawing my attention once more to his increasingly worried features. (My dear)
He took a step closer, caution in his features. But for the first time, I felt nervous in his presence and very vulnerable. His emotions seemed genuine. I mean, I wasn't picking up any palpable ire from him with my extrasensory perception. But that didn't change one simple fact:
Marcus was the one in the vision, and I think, no, I'm pretty sure he may have killed someone.
"I– I'm fine," I quickly amended, suddenly very wary of him though attempting to not show it. If he picked up any indication that I was spooked, things might not end well, and I knew that quite well from experience with undercover work in the FBI. Conjuring a small, but undoubtedly feeble smile, I said, "Sorry, just feeling a little under the weather all of a sudden. I should probably head back to my hotel room and rest for a bit. The jetlag is probably just catching up to me at last."
That look of fretful unease on his face only seemed to get worse, and again, I was struck by how genuine it appeared. Did he really care?
"Would you like me to escort you back?" he then politely enquired as if hearing my thoughts.
"No, no, I'm fine. I can make it back on my own. But thank you for offering," I quickly assured, mind scrambling for some brilliant but viable excuse to just get him away from me.
Hesitating, Marcus, the sweet guy he appeared to be, did not look thoroughly convinced, either by my assurances or my lie, I'm not sure, maybe both. Eventually though, he sighed and let it go, much to my relief.
"Here then," he said, thrusting a small business card into my hands. "This has my name and number on it. Feel free to call or text me if you need anything at any time while you're here in Volterra."
I wanted to protest. I didn't need help. But he cut me off with a serious but meaningful expression.
"Please, just take it." Marcus used his oddly chilly hands to curl my own fingers around the card, pushing it back towards me. Why was he so insistent on this? Was he planning on running a scam or something on me? But then, he mustered a small smile as he added lightly, trying to diffuse the tension, "Who knows? Maybe I will see you tomorrow and you can let me give you a tour around the place."
Though I still wanted to protest, wary of him due to my vision, eventually I just nodded, tucking the card into a back pocket. "Thank you Marcus. Maybe I will see you around." I doubt it though, I mentally added.
—Marcus' PoV—
Racing back to the castle as quickly as possible without drawing attention from the humans, Marcus sought out his brothers with all apparent haste. He didn't care what the others thought of him as he flew by, no doubt leaving them gaping and wide-eyed with astonishment as he went. After all, he hadn't been this active in a very long time.
Heading towards Aro's study where he'd likely find at least one of his soul brothers and maybe catch the other as well (though Caius might also be in his studio), Marcus barely withheld himself from breaking down the door in his haste as he knocked, waited for his brother to allow him entrance, and proceeded to do just that. Of course, the palpable excitement emanating from him (or maybe it was just the show of emotion from him in general) earned Marcus a very startled look from both Aro and Caius.
Not waiting for either of them to speak, much less comment on his current demeanor, he said the few words that would change all their lives:
"Brothers, I have found her. I have found our mate."
And just like that, with as little as ten words, some sort of perverted, emotional explosion seemed to detonate in their midst.
———
A/N: And there you have it! The third chapter of The Musical Mind!
Anyways, before I sign off, I just want everybody to be aware that I'm mostly going to base everything in this story off of the book, not the movie, since I've only read the books. So Marcus is going to be the youngest-looking and Caius the oldest looking.
Second of all, I'm pushing back Charlie's and Renee's birthdays by six years in here since in the original cannon (am I using that word right?) Renee was nineteen (born 1968) when she had Bella and Charlie was 23 (born 1964) at the time. So in my story, they will have Ambrosia at those ages (19 and 23) and Bella will still be born six years later in 1987 like in the cannon. Okay? Okay!
Have a wonderful day! And look forward to the next chapter The Meeting of Mates!