MacKay? Definitely not an Italian name. Mace was an eye-catching man, broad-shouldered and dark-haired, with a wide, rough-hewn face that wasn't quite what she'd call handsome, but was definitely arresting. His eyes, in particular, were the most vivid green she'd ever seen.
He gave her hand a firm shake. At least he didn't kiss it. Reive held out his gloved hand and winced when Mace shook it.
Jess noticed Mace's clear green gaze lingering on both of them, but especially her, even after they sat down at the table. It wasn't leering or lustful. It was just very, very interested.
Reive, she noticed, had quietly positioned himself between her and the two men.
"How do you know Gio?" Mace asked her. His accent was subtle and lilting, like nothing she'd ever heard before. Irish, perhaps? Scottish? That was the closest thing she could think of. Yet not quite.
"We don't really know each other," Jess said. "We've exchanged emails, that's all. I'm very sorry to drop in on you with so little advance warning."
The woman, Maria, bustled in with two glasses and an open bottle of wine, and Gio leaned forward to pour.
"Not at all," Gio said. "It is no problem." He handed her a glass of wine. "I could tell from your emails that you are a young lady who appreciates books. I am always pleased to meet a fellow bibliophile."
Reive had his hand resting on his bad arm again, as if it hurt him. When Gio handed him a wine glass, he took it with his left hand, took a sip for politeness's sake, and set it down on the table.
"Unfortunately, we're in kind of a hurry," Jess said. "My library was recently attacked by thieves who stole an extremely rare manuscript—the counterpart to the one I emailed you about. We think they might be after yours as well. Has anyone—er—approached you about buying books lately? Other than me."
Gio laughed. "You need fear nothing. My library is quite secure. No one comes or goes except for me and those I choose to let in."
Reive spoke up, lightly chafing his forearm with his other hand. "These are very determined and very dangerous thieves."
"Ah, but what if you are the thieves?" Gio asked lightly. "I let you in, you convince me to show you my library, and then you take my book."
"We're not thieves!" Jess said.
"You have no reason to trust us, it's true," Reive said. He kept glancing at Mace as he spoke. "But we are here to warn you about a very real threat."
Maria came back in with crusty, steaming bread and several small plates. She passed the plates around and poured a dollop of olive oil in each one.
"We should eat before we talk business," Gio declared. He tore off a piece of bread and dipped it. "Did I mention the olives are grown here? My family has been growing them for generations. You must eat the bread in the Italian style. Here, like this." He leaned across the table, his fingers not quite brushing Jess's; at her elbow, Reive stiffened. "See, you dip like this. You don't have this at home, eh?"
Thoroughly flustered, Jess decided not to mention that she'd eaten oil-dipped bread like this in Olive Garden. But as soon as she tasted it, she knew that she had never really had it before after all. The bread was amazing, warm and fresh and perfectly crusty, and she'd never tasted olive oil that was so full of flavor, or really had any flavor at all.
Reive, she noticed, was tense to the point of rigidity. He ignored the offered bread, sitting on the edge of his chair, and looked like he was trying to keep watch on both of their hosts simultaneously.
Mace also seemed aware of the tension in the air. Only Gio appeared relaxed and cheerful, as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary.
"Are you feeling well?" he asked Reive, and Jess turned to look at Reive with worry. It wasn't just tension; he was grayish under the bronze tint of his skin.
"Tired," Reive said tightly. "It was a long drive. Actually ... do you have a bathroom?"
"But of course," Gio said, and rose. "I'm being a poor host. You have had a long drive. This way, please."
Moving with the grace and sure stride of a younger man, he ushered them through an arched doorway to a pair of bathrooms across the hall from each other. Jess hesitated, unsure how to read Reive's glance over his shoulder at her, but he slipped into his bathroom, so she went into hers.
The facilities were completely modern and also ample in size and opulence, with a state-of-the-art toilet and what she thought at first was a second toilet and then realized was a bidet, which she had never seen in real life before. She washed her hands and face in a gorgeous sink supported by a plaster cherub, and pinned her hair back up from its wind-wrecked disarray.
She came out to find Reive waiting for her, leaning against the wall beside the door. He was rubbing his gloved hand; he jerked his other hand away when she came out. Gio and Mace were nowhere in sight.
"They're just leaving us alone?" she asked quietly. "Why?"
Reive gave a slight, one-shouldered shrug. "Maybe they want to see what we'll do if we think we aren't watched. It's an opportunity to speak alone, anyway."
He glanced both ways down the hall, and took a step back, into a recessed archway half concealed by a man-sized potted plant. He made a slight beckoning motion, and Jess followed.
The arch was big enough to accommodate two people as long as they didn't mind being very snug ... which she certainly did not. Not when the other person was Reive. Her pulse accelerated.
"And what are we doing?" she whispered.
"I needed to talk to you alone." His voice was barely a breath, his face near hers. "I think gargoyles are coming."
Well, that stripped most of the romance out of the moment.
"How do you know?" she asked softly.
"My ... uh ... my friend, the one who was poisoned—"
"Is you," she said.
Reive stopped, mouth half open.
"Yes, I figured it out. Go on."
"I ... huh. How long have you known?"
"Well, you keeping a jacket and gloves on in hundred-degree heat was a tipoff. Also, you've looked like you've been coming down with the flu ever since I met you."
"Huh," he said again, giving her a thoughtful look. He peeked around the plant again, then tugged off his glove.
Jess was braced for anything from visible signs of decay to claws and scales. The reality was more mundane, but also eerie. His hand looked like a carefully sculpted stone model of a hand, complete with veins and little creases in the skin and even impossibly fine hairs on the back. It was mottled gray, the color of old granite. A few hints of his bronze skin tone were visible on his slightly curled fingers.
"Can I ... touch it?" she asked hesitantly. "Would that hurt?"
"Go ahead."
She put a careful hand on it. It was cool to the touch but not cold, like rock that had been warmed slightly in the sun, and just as hard and unyielding as it looked. Her stone sense told her nothing else about it, but she had only an instant to try to examine it because Reive staggered, his knees almost buckling. He leaned into the wall.
"What?" Jess asked, alarmed. She jerked her hand back. "Did that hurt? I'm sorry!"
"No ... no, it's the opposite of hurting." His eyes were half closed. "When you touch me, it stops hurting. It's the only time it doesn't."