The Wishing Hour

Wishing -

Four

Jolted awake by the sound of the plane's wheels touching down on the runway, I open my eyes, squinting against the sunlight shining through the window, unable to believe I slept through the whole trip. Turning, I find him watching me and I wonder if he has slept at all, or if he even needs sleep.

“Yes, I do,” is his reply to my unvoiced question. “I just don't need as much sleep as the average human.”

“There is definitely nothing average about you,” I say, giving him a tired smile.

His hand covers mine. “Nothing at all.” He opens the yellow envelope and takes out a passport. “This is for you.”

Opening it, I glance at my photo a moment before flipping through it. It is even stamped already. There is no point in me asking how he managed it, so I don't.

He gestures out the window. “This is a privately owned airstrip. We are half an hour away from Venice.”

I look out the opposite window. The whole area is paved and there are a few small planes parked a short distance away. And they all look expensive. It seems all his connections are very affluent. Looking out the other window again, I peer at the small white building with a control tower on top.

“Since there are no cars in Venice, we will take the train into St. Marks Square then take a water bus from there.”

I've seen photos of Venice in travel magazines and read that the through streets are canals, but that is all I know. Despite not knowing what I am heading into, I am excited and eagerly anticipating seeing the city, myself.

When we get off the plane, a black Mercedes sedan is waiting to take us to the train station. The driver's face is expressionless as he opens the door for us. He and my protector nod at each other before we get in, and we are immediately on our way.

* * *

No words my brain can come up with will ever do justice to the sight before me. Venice is incredible! Coming out of the train station and entering St. Mark's square, my eyes dart everywhere at once as I try to take everything in.

The huge, old buildings are various colors of stucco and old brick, and the palaces along the canal boast elegant arched windows, some with colorful flower boxes lining them. Shops line the walkways, heavy with the traffic of tourists as they bustle in and out of doorways carrying bags of souvenirs.

But the crowing glory of the square is St. Mark's Basilica, the most famous church in Venice. The granite and stone building is a glorious work of art, covered in arches and topped with dozens of steeples. I stop and stare in wonder.

Feeling the warm squeeze of my hand, I turn my awe-filled gaze to my protector, and the feeling inside me is magnified as his adamant gaze produces in me the same wonder.

Gripping the straps of both our bags in one hand, he keeps his other firmly wrapped around mine as we walk down to the docks to hire a water bus, attracting a few stares from tourists along the way, which cannot be helped. It isn't everyday that you see a gorgeous eight-foot god walking by.

When we reach the dock, there is a boat already waiting. Evidently he knows the driver because when we are seated, the man heads out, obviously already knowing where to take us.

We ride in silence, his hand holding mine, the hum of the boat engine filling our ears, and I relish the breeze whipping through my hair as I take in the passing scenery. Since it is still tourist season, the walkways are packed and I am glad we don't have to walk the distance and shovel through hoards of people.