Penance ↠ Volturi Kings {2} ✓

07

The night was still. It was still chilly, despite the warmer days, and I drew my coat tighter around myself. I crept down the cobblestone roads even while being safely concealed within the shadows, following the dim glow of streetlights in the distance.

"Can't believe the masters are making us wander around out here," said an unfamiliar voice. Just ahead I spotted two of the lower guard, dressed in plainclothes but clearly discernable by their red eyes.

"They didn't win two wars against the Romanians by hiding in the castle and pretending nothing was happening," his companion said. I held my breath, flattening myself against the wall as they passed within inches of me.

"Too true. Doesn't make this job any more exciting, though." Their voices faded as they continued walking down the street.

I continued my trek through the city, pace a little faster than before. I needed to get out of the city before I was discovered, and fast. I had already determined my best bet to get to the airstrip in time would be to hail a taxi, but with the late time - or early, as it was - I had to walk several blocks before I could stop one.

"Where to?" The driver asked gruffly.

"You know the private airstrip a little outside the city?" I asked.

He nodded. "Sure."

I buckled in and made sure to keep low in the seat; I couldn't use my shadows for concealment with the taxi driver in the front seat, so I kept my head ducked and hoped that I wouldn't be recognized by any of the guard currently prowling the streets of Volterra. I didn't let myself breathe a sigh of relief until we were well outside the walls of Volterra.

I checked my watch. 1:42. I leaned forward, knocking against the glass that separated me from the taxi driver. He slid it open. "Sorry to bother, but how much longer?"

"Ten minutes," he said gruffly, and slid the pane shut again.

Ten minutes. That was cutting it a little too close for comfort, but I wouldn't be late. The taxi slowed to a stop and I shoved one of the twenty-euro notes in his hand without waiting to hear the total. "Thanks. Keep the change."

I swung out and sprinted towards the aircraft hanger, ignoring the baffled look the taxi driver gave me before he drove away.

"I'm looking for the pilot Matteo," I said, out of breath, to the first person I came across.

"Scusi?" He asked in Italian. Right. I was in Italy. Not everyone here spoke English.

I was suddenly thankful for the many grueling hours of learning Italian I had spent with Santiago, who was a surprisingly difficult teacher. "Sto cercando il pilota Matteo," I repeated in Italian this time.

"Ah! Proprio laggiù. L'aereo con la striscia blu," he said, pointing towards a white plane with a light blue stripe cutting across the middle.

"Grazie," I said, jogging over to the plane he had pointed out. It wasn't nearly as lavish as the Volturi jet, but still large enough for a party of five or ten to travel comfortably.

"Ciao! You must be signora Rowan. I am Matteo, I will be your pilot. I am finishing checks on the plane. There is a restroom there if you wish to relieve yourself before we embark. I will be but a few more minutes," he said. He was probably in his forties and seemed unduly cheerful for being up at just before two in the morning.

"I will, grazie," I said. Matteo had finished his checks by the time I returned from the bathroom.

"The items you requested are already on the plane," he informed me, boarding the plane with me following shortly after. "This is a two hour flight, the estimated arrival time being 5:05 Romanian time."