By Caroline Smith

 

 

 

Captain Magenta stood at the dockside in the port of Mestre, northern Italy, and waved at Captains Scarlet and Blue as they disembarked from the super-liner, La Serenissima. The Spectrum agents had foiled a Mysteron plot to destroy the fabulous ship with its compliment of VIPs on its maiden voyage. The bomb had been primed to detonate as the liner docked in Venice, the first port of call, just across the lagoon from Mestre.  Magenta, Captain Ochre and Lieutenant Copper had been in charge of ensuring civilian safety, whilst Scarlet, Blue and two Spectrum bomb disposal technicians had deactivated the device in the bowels of the ship.

“Nice job, Lieutenant,” Magenta said, smiling at Copper.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied in a thick Irish accent, a faint blush on her cheeks in response to his appraisal. Grainne O’Brien had been assigned to Cloudbase six months ago.  This had been her first big field assignment and she had acquitted herself admirably. It didn’t hurt that she was a good looking lass either, with her wavy shoulder-length chestnut bob and lively green eyes. He smiled wryly to himself as he imagined the tongue lashing he would have got from any of the Angel pilots if they could have heard that remark. 

 “Imagine the loss to the art world and civilisation if they’d destroyed the city,” Scarlet said, as he and Blue joined the other three officers on the ground.

“Yeah, it seems such a shame to get so close and yet not see it. I’ve heard it’s an incredible place,” Magenta replied.

“I was lucky, my parents took me on a trip there when I was nine, only thing is, I wasn’t into anything remotely resembling culture at that age, more’s the pity.”

“Who is?” Ochre replied laconically. He saw Captain Blue’s sorrowing look and grinned – the Boston-born blue-stocking was steeped in ‘culture’….

Scarlet handed his high-powered binoculars to Magenta. “You can probably see her from here.”

“She?” Ochre said in an amused voice.

“La Serenissima, is an old nickname for Venice. The city is an ageless marvel, somehow just managing to survive against the ravages of the time and the sea.”

“Jeez, Scarlet, you sound just like you swallowed a poetry book. Either that, or you’ve been spending far too long in Blue’s company,” Ochre said, laughing good-naturedly. Blue rewarded him with a pointed stare and Scarlet rolled his eyes.  

Magenta chuckled at their banter and focused the lenses onto the horizon of the lagoon at the distant water-bound city. The flat lumps of the islands floating in the silver-grey lagoon looked ethereal, mysterious. They were almost level with the water that surrounded them, save for the punctuation of the campanili and domes. He’d certainly heard of her canals and marvellous architecture, but he had never desired to visit the place. Now, as he looked at these distant silhouettes, so close through the powerful lenses that he felt he could almost touch them, that desire rose inexplicably.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Once the idea had lodged in his head, he found himself searching for articles and images of Venice, of which there were plenty.  Its mix of seductiveness and salaciousness had drawn people down the ages: artists, poets and writers, and its influence on the world was out of all proportion to its size.  It made him all the more determined to take his next vacation there, so he could wander its labyrinthine streets, squares and canals and see for himself what continued to draw people there. Finally, his furlough slot came through, and it just happened to coincide with Halloween.

“You sure you don’t want to stay here for the fun and games?” Ochre said, as Magenta popped into the Officers’ Lounge to say a quick farewell just before he departed. “Gonna be a good party…you might even have managed a couple of dances with Ms O’Brien…” he tapped his nose in a conspiratorial manner.

Magenta didn’t rise to the bait.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

He landed at Venice’s mainland airport, Marco Polo, and he decided to treat himself by arriving in style via water-taxi. Initially the driver sped the powerful little boat across the lagoon towards the island; but once within the confines of the city, it threaded its way at a more sedate pace along the Grand Canal, in accord with the local speed-limits. He stared, mesmerised at the pillared and balconied palazzos, their multi-hued walls jostling against one another on both sides of the famous stretch of water, and at the ubiquitous gondolas, their glossy black hulls bobbing in the wake of faster traffic. At last, the taxi throttled to a stop at the side of his hotel; a converted palazzo, its muted pastel shades of ochre, green and pink bringing a smile to his face, a subtle reminder of home. The driver smiled secretly too, mistakenly thinking that once again, yet another tourist had fallen under the spell of La Serenissima almost as soon as they arrived in her welcoming bosom..

“Quanto?” he asked the man.

“Cinquante. Fifty euro signore, per favore.”

Magenta handed him his card and the driver swiped it on his terminal. After bidding him a good day, he throttled noisily back the way he came, leaving Magenta to carry his own small valise into the hotel.  It was only a four day trip, not including this evening, and he hoped it would be enough time to capture the essence of the city.

 

He settled into his room. It didn’t have a great view, but he figured he could find these just as cheaply by wandering the city and ascending one of the numerous campanili. He smiled again to himself as he unpacked his clothes onto the elegant bedspread. Not so very long ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about staying in the most expensive hotel in any city; however, since he had renounced his previous life for one which paid a far more modest salary, he couldn’t quite afford his former luxuries at the drop of a hat.

The sun had finally gone down, and he felt hungry. Airline food in coach class gave him stomach-ache, and it had been some time since he'd left Cloudbase. He would have dinner in the hotel and an early night, so he would be fresh for sightseeing the following day.

 

He had already decided, during his numerous bouts of research on the history of Venice, to start with a trip to the island of Torcello, the cradle of the Venetian civilisation. The island was remote, at the north end of the lagoon, and was obviously not the most popular  excursion, especially at the end of October; so he found himself travelling with only a handful  of people, a couple of whom didn’t even look like they were tourists. They had the rugged weatherworn look of the fishermen he remembered from the coasts of Ireland, seemingly ageless. Anyway, he didn’t mind at all; it was one of the reasons he jumped at the chance to come in late fall to avoid the tourist hordes.

He stared out of the mud-smudged windows on the battered craft as it rumbled gently through the silvery water. The lagoon had silted up towards the north and the outbreaks of malaria, in the 14^th century, started the decampment of people to the other islands, and now only a handful of people lived here any more. The boat slid into the jetty at the vaporetto stop and he jumped lightly onto the paving, looking around to get his bearings. A canal towpath was signed for the Basilica, the oldest building in the lagoon.

He spent a lazy hour wandering around the 6th century interior, marvelling at the fabulous Byzantine mosaics. The Last Judgment sequence seemed particularly apt for the season, with its angels and devils and disembodied corpses. He appreciated art, and had been quite an avid collector in the past; although, as a part of his pardon agreement, his beautiful sculptures and paintings had been auctioned for charity, as the world government had considered them ‘ill-gotten gains’.

When he returned into daylight again, he squinted, even though the sun had been replaced by a thin veil of cloud, and he felt a sudden chill in the air. The weather was unseasonably cold for the end of October and he pulled up his collar, glad of his sports coat. He wandered away from the solemn architecture towards the lagoon, with no particular destination in mind. In fact, apart from the expensive locanda near the Basilica, there were no other tourist attractions.

As he ambled across the silent countryside, he was struck by the poignancy of the place, and as he approached the lagoon’s edge, over a low ridge of marshy sea-moor, he stopped there to stare out across the silvery water. After a while a strange melancholy overtook him. Perhaps it was the feeling he was the only human being on this island - so near to thriving humanity, and yet in another instance, so far removed. The land seemed feathered with the shades of ghosts long departed. He felt the wind pick up again, and saw it whip up the silver-grey water and slap it noisily against the sand. The sky had grown darker and he wondered if he was going to get caught in a sudden downpour.

Then all at once, he thought he had heard a sound.

He stood stock still, his eyes flicking around the land, and then he heard it again - a strange sound; rising and falling with an eerie intensity, if the lagoon itself was whispering a lament.  It was so beautiful that for a moment, it brought a lump to his throat and he felt the hairs rise against his forearms and the back of his neck, even through the layers of clothing he wore.  A sea-mist had rolled in from the lagoon with surprising speed, becoming inexplicably thicker by the second, and he shivered with the sudden chill. And then, a movement caught his eye. It was a female figure – it has to be with such long blonde hair, he thought – and was pleased to have his deduction confirmed when he saw her pale flesh as she raised one arm.

He thought it odd that someone would be out here, obviously not dressed for the weather, and he wondered if she was in some sort of trouble. But she continued with her ethereal refrain, and he found himself oddly drawn to her.

“Signorina, are you all right?” he called out to her in his halting Italian. There was no reply, and he saw a flash of movement, and the sounds of a large wave crashing onto the rocks where she sat.

The singing stopped abruptly and she disappeared from view.

His heart raced, and without thinking he sprinted to the promontory, his eyes frantically searching the waters. He had no idea how deep they were, but people could drown in an inch of water if they were unconscious.

Then through the mist, he espied an arm grasping out from the water, a disembodied limb that for one second, sent a shiver down his spine.

It was slender, a woman’s arm, the five fingers clawing through the mist.

He leaned out, stretching to his limit, his feet grappling for leverage on the uneven rocks. Horrified that she was drowning   he grasped hold of it.

“Hold on, I’ll get you out!” he cried, not knowing if she could hear him.

But as he pulled with all his might, the nails on that grasping hand, long and sharp, dug into his fleshy palm, scoring the skin. The sudden pain caused his hand to jerk open for a second, just enough for it to slide out of his grasp. It disappeared into the foaming waters, the mist swirling around the spot.

“God, no,” he breathed in horror. And without warning, his vision blurred and he was overcome with dizziness. Then his world went black.

 

When he came to, he found himself lying face down on the coarse sand. For a moment he was disoriented, until the stinging in his right hand reminded him of the girl he had tried to save. He hauled himself up and raked his eyes across the water, but saw nothing.

Barely thinking, he threw off clothing down to his shorts and splashed out into the water of the lagoon, breathing in sharply at its chill. He took a deep breath and plunged down into the dank waters. But he struggled to see much in the murk; there was a lot of disturbed silt in the shallows. He felt his lungs start to burn as his oxygen ran out, and he broke the surface. He tried several more times, but he couldn’t find a body.  He hauled himself wearily back onto the rocks and shivered as he pulled on his clothes. He stared at the three cuts on his palm with bewilderment, unable to understand why she had injured him like that, unless for some reason, she hadn't wanted to be saved.

With a heavy heart he knew he should return immediately to Venice and report the incident to the local police. If he was honest, cops of any nationality weren’t top of his list as favourite people, bar one obvious person in particular, and he figured it would be difficult trying to explain this to the authorities with his restaurant Italian. He sighed. His dream vacation had suddenly taken a nasty turn for the worse.

Gloomily, he trudged back to the vaporetto stop and caught the boat back to Venice, where he immediately contacted the nearest local polizia in San Marco. He recounted his story to the young officer at the duty desk, and his rather disbelieving look told Magenta that he imagined he had been hallucinating or imbibing rather too much of the local prosecco.  He was almost at the point of waving his Spectrum identification under his nose, but he thought better of it. The young man finally recorded everything and promised they would look into it.

The incident had marred his entire visit and he considered returning immediately to Cloudbase, however, a small voice of reason told him that it was over, there was nothing further he could do and he might as well make the best of it. After all, he might never have the chance to return to the city. So, after a bite to eat, which made him feel a lot better, he strolled aimlessly down the fondamenta by the hotel with no particular destination in mind. His meanderings took in both the sublime and the mundane. Exquisite buildings, little food shops full of exotic delights, majestic churches chock full of magnificent artworks and flapping lines of washing strung out over the warren-like lanes like a rallying cry against the modernity of the 21^st century. Slowly, La Serenissima began to exert her magic upon him.

After getting lost several times, he finally found himself at the furthermost point of the Dorsoduro, the Punta della Dogana, on its triangular point jutting into the Grand Canal.  He stared out across the pale-blue waters of the most romantic waterway in the world at the incomparable view. The magnificent filigreed bulk of the Palazzo Ducale and its soaring Campanile seemed to glow in the muted autumn light. Venice was truly a city built for lovers and he felt a sudden pang of loneliness, a feeling that, in this unique city, there should have been someone at his side to share it with him.

Perhaps he should have taken heed of Ochre’s not-so subtle teasing about Grainne O’Brien and asked the Irish girl to come with him to Venice. He wasn't dense; she was interested in him, romantically speaking, but was obviously waiting for him to make the first move. His former life – before Spectrum – had left little room for romance. He enjoyed women’s company, but he hadn’t allowed anyone to get too close, his main concern being that someone he might come to care for would be considered an easy target by his rivals. After he joined Spectrum, he found himself attracted to Karen Wainwright – Symphony Angel – but it didn’t take him very long to figure out that she was interested in the tall blonde type.

 I'm in my thirties, he thought, life’s slipping away.

Just as he wondered why he was suddenly feeling so morbid, a movement caught his eye, pulling him out of his reverie.

He saw a woman, dressed for the autumnal weather in a flowing black velvet cloak, the wide hood covering her head. As if she became conscious of his sudden scrutiny, she turned slowly to face him, and for a few seconds all coherent thought left Magenta’s mind and he was literally dumbstruck.

She was, quite simply, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life, and he’d seen quite a few. But he couldn’t tell if she was twenty or forty; her face seemed ageless in its oval beauty, as if one of Giotto’s Madonnas had come to life. A tiny smile hovered around her perfect mouth as she stared back at him, a gesture both bold and innocent at once. In short, she was totally beguiling. And then, before he could open his mouth, she spun on her heel and turned quickly, to walk back along the fondamenta. As she left, cloak billowing in her wake, he caught a flash of turquoise belonging to her long dress, and his mind spun with a sensation of deja-vu.

He stood for a moment at the water’s edge, feeling his heart hammer against his ribs.

 

            The incident had unsettled him yet again, although he couldn't quite understand why, but he figured the only solution was a cup of double espresso at Caffe Florian, so he caught the vaporetto across to Piazza San Marco. He settled down at one of the geometrically positioned tables, as if the waiters considered their placement as much of a work of art as those hanging in the galleries and churches.  The waiter brought him his ridiculously tiny coffee, accompanied by a tall glass of water, and left him to enjoy the view for as long as he wished; it was after all, included in the price.  Magenta’s first sip almost brought tears to his eyes. Now this was coffee, not that insipid muck Adam insisted on making back at base, and one of the things Italians did best, along with shoes and clothes, not to mention the odd car. He let his gaze wander lazily around the square, taking in the mix of sights: elegant locals, moving quickly with a purpose, a gaggle of Koreans, all wide eyed and camera-snapping. A lonely street-sweeper sang an aria to the low-pitched accompaniment of his ponderous vehicle, while a trio of jugglers amused a small crowd with their skills.

            And then, from the connollade across the piazza, a sparkle of turquoise caught his eye. Standing beside one of the pillars was the young woman he had met on the Dogana - and she was looking directly at him. He felt his pulse race as seconds slipped by, and then she melted into the gloom of the portico.  On sudden impulse, he leapt up to follow her, throwing several notes upon the table in his haste, (the waiter would smile at the gigantic tip), and he sprinted across the square, dodging the tourists and the pigeons, the hawkers and the performers. He whirled around, his sharp eyes scanning the milling street up ahead; just in front of a group of tourists he saw the tell-tale banner of her dress and cloak as she disappeared into a tiny sottoportico.

 He followed her, trying to keep that flash of turquoise in his sights as she threaded her way through the tiny alleyways, always staying tantalisingly ahead of him, as if she was actually enjoying leading him on this merry dance. He had no idea what he was doing following her; an inner voice whispered that he was crazy, even as his limbs propelled him with volition of their own.  He followed her for what seemed like forever, and he ran across yet another little bridge over a small canal and sent a cloud of pigeons fluttering upwards from the tiny campo.  He stopped, disoriented, and realized he was hopelessly lost.

He took a few deep breaths, and with a strange feeling of disappointment, turned around to try and retrace his steps. And then – she was there – on the bridge, and for a breathless moment, the entire world stopped. Still she stood, regarding him with opalescent eyes, until finally, his legs moved once again and he walked to stand eye to eye with her. Feeling caught in some enchantment he asked, “Who are you? Why are you following me?"

She gave a curious smile, tilting her head back, and as the black hood fell, a thin shaft of sunlight emerged from the overcast sky and bathed her golden hair in a nimbus of glowing light. His breath left him suddenly, as if he had been punched in the stomach. His palm throbbed and he rubbed it, remembering the drowning girl on Torcello.

She shook her head, her dark eyelashes fluttering, her expression amused.  “It would seem you are the one following me, signor,” she replied. Her accent was definitely Italian, yet laced with overtones of something else, something he couldn’t put his finger on. Her voice sounded archaic, as if she belonged to another time and place than this one

He flushed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me, it’s just that you, I mean –” he stopped, momentarily at a loss for words, realising the absurdity of his actions and totally unable to convey his reasons for them to her.

She smiled that secret ‘Mona Lisa’ smile again.  “Then again, perhaps I wanted you to follow me.”

He shook his head, and laughed, a little self-consciously.

“Don’t you believe me?” she asked him, the smile still playing around her perfect lips. He found himself staring at them, wondering with part of his mind, what it would feel like to kiss her, whilst the other part wondered what the hell he was doing, even thinking this about someone he’d just met.

“It’s the sort of thing that happens in movies, not in real life,” he said lamely.

She moved against him, without warning, and he felt a jolt at the unexpected coolness of her fingers against his.

“The islands, they are magical, are they not?”

He blinked at the change of subject. “Sure, sure they are,” he replied.

“And Venice is a city made for lovers, that was what you were thinking, on the Dogana, was it not?”

He blinked. Still, it was an obvious thing anyone might deduce. “Yes, I was thinking along those lines,” he admitted.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“I'd like to,” he replied, and watched as she took his hand and drew it across her cheek, then kissed the palm. He felt the hot wet dart of her tongue flick against the thin scores where the young woman on Torcello had dug her hand, and his head swam, hot desire arcing inexplicably down his spine. 

“Who are you?” he repeated, almost to himself.

“Whoever you want me to be,” she replied enigmatically.

“This is crazy. I can’t believe I’m standing here having this conversation with a complete stranger.”

“But we are not complete strangers, we have already met! And you followed me because you are attracted to me, are you not?"

“Yes – no! I mean, you’re a beautiful woman, who wouldn’t be  –”

"Just as I am attracted to you. But, perhaps you would feel better about the inevitable if we acquainted ourselves with one another?” she said softly.

“The inevitable?” he said, stupidly.

“As truly as the sun rises and sets, caro, we are destined to be one.  I can see such things.”

“Are you making a pass at me?”

“If, by that expression, you mean do I want to make love to you, then the answer is yes.”

His look of astonishment brought a low peal of laughter from her, her head flew back, exposing the fine column of flesh of her throat, and Magenta fought the longing to press his lips onto that skin. Instead he wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead, for he seemed to be burning up inside, despite the chill.

“Surely you cannot be afraid of me?” she asked, amusement filling her grey-blue eyes.

Magenta looked around, wondering if he was being taken for a fool, and she had some male companions ready to cut him up for his credit. As if she sensed his reticence she said, “Do not be afraid. I am alone, and merely a woman. Come, why not let me show you the city?” and she took his arm but he stopped her.

“I have to know your name before we take another step.”

“My name is Lia, and now we will go,” she said, in a tone that brooked no further argument.  Magenta found he was unable to resist her, and they walked arm in arm, through the city. They talked little, and he couldn’t help notice the glances people stole at them as they passed. She was like a small sun, bestowing the dazzling light of her beauty on everyone within the sphere of her influence, and the whispering voice of good sense receded with every minute he spent in her company.

As it turned dark, they happened upon a small trattoria.  He ate, but she merely nibbled some shell-fish and drank a little wine. They talked of inconsequential things, as people who have just met often do, all the while knowing, on a subliminal level, that their bodies were speaking the language of desire.  As he put her cloak around her shoulders and stepped into the chill of the evening, his thoughts whirled between desperation at parting with her, and not wanting to commit to anything that he might regret. So for a while they walked along the fondamenta, the moon glinting silver off the Grand Canal, and Magenta continued to wrestle with his conscience.

Finally, she stopped and prevented him from walking any further.

“You must know how I feel about you...I don’t want to leave you this night.”

“Lia, I’ve had a wonderful evening, but I’m only here for a few more days. It would be better if we didn’t - get intimately involved with one another.”

“But we already are. I feel the passion between us, to deny ourselves would be foolish.”

“Lia, I’m really flattered, I mean it, but it would be wrong.”

“Who is to decide that? I offer myself to you, not for money, but for our mutual pleasure. There is no offence in that. Why did you follow me, if you had no desire to claim what was in your mind, and your heart, when you first saw me?"

“I didn't –” he protested, but before he could say anything more she leaned into him, and brushed her full, soft lips upon his in a kiss that tasted of the sea and night-blooming honeysuckle; a kiss filled with delicious promise. His thoughts tumbled awry as her touch invoked sensations too impossible to understand and his heart pounded with the crazy desire to make love to her. It caught in his throat, turning his veins to molten fire, making him dizzy as he stood there pressed against her.

After an eternity, she pulled away from him, “Patrick,” she said it like an incantation. “You have nothing to fear from me....”

Throwing caution into the canal, he acquiesced, making his way back to his hotel with her as if in some dream. The night porter smiled beatifically at them, or rather, at her as they entered the lobby. Once in his room, he locked the door and turned to see Lia standing against the wide bed, her eyes weirdly luminous in the silver light cast by the disc of the full moon outside the windows.

Magenta padded slowly across to her, and shook his head in wonder at what had brought him so rapidly to this point. It was if his body required him to do this, to worship her with everything he possessed. He knew it was madness but he seemed powerless to resist her.

“It is time,” she whispered, taking his hand and kissing his palm, and the warm swirling fog of desire swept away everything except the two of them. He peeled away the layers of her clothing, his hands trembling as her translucent skin was revealed.  He pressed his lips against her skin; her salty-sweetness like the morning lagoon, and her yellow hair spilled in long coils around his face. He abandoned himself to her, losing time and place in her embrace, hour slipping into hour, aching and sweet.  Finally, exhaustion overtook him and, as he spiralled down into sleep, she entwined his body with her own as if she feared to be separated from him, even in repose.  They remained clasped together until the dawn crept slowly in to replace the night.

 

When he awoke, his first thought was of her, and the instance of fear that she might somehow have vanished like a wraith in the night, was replaced by relief as he realised she was still right there beside him, her golden hair fanning out across the silken pillow. Whatever she wanted, it truly didn’t seem to go beyond pleasuring him beyond his wildest dreams. Then, her eyes opened and she gazed at him with such longing that he bent down to kiss her softly.

“About last night,” he began.

“You will tell me it was wonderful?”

 He sighed, long and deep, and kissed her perfect nose. “It was wonderful, you were wonderful, but –” the words clogged in his throat. He wanted to tell her he only had a few days to spend in Venice, that he had to return to his job, and yet it all seemed so far away, so inconsequential, compared with the bliss of lying in her embrace.

 She touched his lips. “Do not speak of it, we will break the magic. Just tell me that you will stay with me today.” 

He smiled. “I will, but all that exercise makes a man hungry. I’d call room service, but…” he trailed off. 

She stepped out of the bed in a slow movement and gave him a knowing smile. “Do not worry, I will go to your bathroom and bathe, and that will save you the embarrassment.”

He looked contrite. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

She bent to kiss him again, and his head swam with the pleasure of her tongue swirling against his, his body heat rising as it answered her summons.

“Nor I, caro, I hunger for you again, even now. But you need your strength for me I think, so go and order your food,”

“You don’t want anything?”

She shrugged. “I eat very little.”

He watched her with hooded eyes as she padded to the bathroom, the fine line of her body a poem of movement. After she closed the door he heard the sound of water running and he sat for a few more minutes, shaking his head in remembrance of the long blissful night. He had no idea what was going to happen after this, for he was still caught in her enchantment, and the whole encounter was taking on the aspect of a dream. However, his stomach rumbling brought him back to reality and he dialled room service. Within a short while a bellhop arrived with a tentative rap at the door and a loud cough. The staff evidently knew all about his ‘companion’ and, with typical Latin understanding in matters of romance, were choosing to be perfectly discreet about the whole thing.

He tipped the man generously and he left. As if on cue, Lia appeared from the steamy bathroom, her hair wet around her shoulders.

“Good soak?” he asked

“Perfect, grazie,” and she settled down beside him on the enormous bed.

He tucked into his eggs and ham while she picked delicately at a pastry, and he felt her eyes following his every move, although he pretended he didn’t notice.  It was hard not to feel incredibly flattered by her attentions.  I mean, what guy wouldn’t be? he thought, his stomach fluttering in response to memories of the previous night. Instinctively, he turned his gaze upon her and she held out her pale arms to him in invitation.

An entirely different hunger consumed him.

 

For the next twenty-four hours they didn’t leave his hotel room. He ate sparingly, just enough to keep his hunger at bay. It was as if the real world didn’t exist any more. She was like the ocean, and his need to drown in her depths was a desperation that shook Magenta to his core. Nothing seemed as real as their two bodies becoming one, their minds fused in their shared adoration of one another, blotting out the reality of his life.

From time to time, during a lull in their lovemaking, he would feel a pang of regret at missing out further explorations of the city. But, almost as if she could sense his feelings, she made him realise that they were secondary to their shared passion.

But, even someone as physically fit as he was, has to call a halt somewhere. He awoke on the third day of his vacation, feeling boneless and drained of energy.  As he lay in the wide bed, he imagined his mother’s lilting voice admonishing him: ‘Too much of a good thing, my boy.’

He could hear Lia humming tunefully in the bathroom; her showering and bathing only seemed to take only second place to her unalloyed enjoyment of his body. He dragged himself out of bed and opened the windows to allow the fresh air to circulate into the room. As he took deep breaths and watched the water traffic below on the canal, he wondered with bemusement just what had happened to him in the past couple of days. Lia was a drug in his system; the more he had, the more he wanted. He was Odysseus in thrall to the siren. And yet, nagging doubts continued to chew at the edges of his consciousness. 

His realised wryly that he didn’t even know her surname, or she his. His heart ached at the thought of her, and yet, they were still strangers to one another, in everything but the intimacy of their bodies. In the daylight and the cool air their mutual obsession seemed odd and unhealthy and beneath the simmering pyre of his infatuation, he knew he had to go back to Cloudbase in twenty-four hours, and all of this just had to come to an end.

He was thirsty, and needed more air than that provided by the windows in his room. He’d get a coffee from the dispenser in the lobby downstairs, and go for a much need walk.  And perhaps he could think about how to tell her he had to leave soon. He pulled on some clothes and his shoes, and padded across to the door. Just as he opened it, the other door to the bathroom opened, and Lia stepped out. There was a look of hurt and anger in her eyes as she saw him about to leave the room.

 “Where are you going?”

“I’m sorry. I just need to get outside for a bit, you know we haven’t left this room for two days. It’s not really healthy, Lia.”

She was at his side in an instant, draping her body sinuously against him. And for the first time, he felt a small shiver of distaste at her touch.

“Then we can go together, I do not want to part with you for an instant,”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you. I have to leave Venice, tomorrow morning.” There, it was out.

Her eyes grew wide, and there was sadness etched on her lovely face. “You cannot leave me, I love you, you must know that, how I feel about you,”

He took her hands in his. “I know, I feel the same way, but I have a job, an important job, I have to go back, people need me.”

Her eyes flared wide and her mouth turned petulant. “I need you too!”  

His heart sank. “I don’t want to leave you. Look, this doesn’t have to be goodbye; next time I get some vacation I’ll come back to see you,” 

“You don’t understand, I cannot live without you, and you cannot live without me!”

He shivered again, a trickle of unease along his spine.

“I have to go, Lia, I’m sorry.” He tried again, “Don’t make it harder than it already is.”

“Hard?” she cried, in a pitiful voice that tugged at his heart. He tried to ignore her entreaties, knowing that it was so easy for her to crumble his resolve. “You cannot leave, I shall die.”

“Don’t say things like that, it isn’t the slightest bit amusing. I knew this wasn’t a good idea for us to – become involved. I should have listened to myself, I should have –” his voice rose in sudden agitation.

She appeared so distraught that his anger died and he pulled her into his arms.

“Oh please hold me, I need to know you still feel something for me,” she whispered, her lips against his cheek.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead, for he didn’t dare kiss those lips that dissolved his will. “Silly girl, of course I do.” But what exactly do I feel? He wondered.

Tears shimmered in her eyes. “But you do not love me enough to want to stay.”

He frowned. Her clinginess was beginning to unnerve him. How could he have been fool enough to believe that such pleasure would really come without a price?

“C’mon, we have one night before I go,” he said finally, “let’s not spend it feeling miserable. After all, you were the one who told me not to have regrets.”

“So I did,” she said quietly and then her face brightened with a smile, “Then, perhaps we shall go outside as you wish, and take the air and see the city.”

He smiled gratefully. “I think that would do both of us a lot of good.”

 “Very well,” she answered, and hummed happily as she pulled on her clothes. 

They wandered arm-in-arm through the warren-like streets, crossing the tiny bridges to take them from one jewelled fondamenta to another. Magenta felt a blissful happiness steal over him once again. It seemed that in this moment, he had everything he wanted. They spoke little, other than for her to point out some important building or sculpture. Oddly, she refused to go into any of the churches, saying she didn’t like the smell there, and he didn’t press the point.

Every now and then, as if reacting to some unspoken need, they stopped and embraced and kissed and she murmured endearments into his willing ear. He surrendered once again to her touch, both she and the city working their magic upon him again.  He was dimly aware of the benevolent scrutiny of the other passers-by, and occasionally he would hear their murmured voices as they passed. ‘Amore,’ or ‘bellissimo’.  Wherever Lia went, she seemed to draw people’s eyes to herself.

Before he knew it they were at the quayside, at the northern point of the city, where the boats left for the islands. "Where are you taking me now?" he asked her.

“To my home,” she answered simply.

“You live on one of the islands?” The sense of foreboding stole up on him again.

She nodded, and pulled him towards a boat which was about to depart. Magenta allowed her to, but all the while a ridiculous thought insinuated itself in his head. A frightening thought. His mother’s tales came back to him and he shivered with premonition.

As the boat continued past the islands of Murano and Burano, he said in a toneless voice. “We’re going to Torcello, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” she whispered back, and gripped his arm as if he should suddenly take flight, but he didn’t move. He remained outwardly calm, even as his stomach rippled with some nameless dread.

The boat docked at Torcello, and then departed, leaving the two of them standing alone on the quayside. She started to walk, and he followed, like a sleepwalker in a dream.

 “Soon, we’re nearly there,” she said, her grip tight on his arm. He felt his palm throb and he curled his fingers to rub them.

She led him towards the lagoon, near the place where the girl drowned, and he suspected that he had known all along whom she was.

“You’re the drowning girl, the one who scratched me, aren’t you?” he said in a weirdly calm voice.

Her chin lifted defiantly, an unfathomable sadness etched into her eyes. She slowly nodded her head.

“Why me?” he asked.

Lia touched his face. “I was drawn to the darkness within you…”

Magenta swallowed hard, shocked by the implications of her words. He did have a dark past, and although he had worked hard to expiate his sins, they had already been imprinted on his soul.  Was that what she saw?

“What are you…really?”  he said in a whisper.

She didn’t reply. Instead she turned away from him and walked a few steps closer to the water’s edge, and looked out across the lagoon. Magenta watched her, and saw a peculiar sea-mist roll in, its tendrils curling around the base of her velvet cloak, as if the lagoon itself welcomed her into its embrace.  His heart was a lump of ice as she slowly undressed, leaving her clothes strewn on the sand. Still mesmerised by her beauty, even as his mind recoiled with the thought of what she might be…she slipped naked into the water.

Magenta closed his eyes, and his scalp prickled as he was pulled by the forces of curiosity to the water’s edge. As he heard the splash on his boots he opened them again. And there she lay, floating on the water; her golden hair streaming out around her perfect face…and where her legs should have been…was a long curved tail of iridescent turquoise scales…

Mermaids really do exist.

“I am a water-sprite,” she said, as if reading the words from his mind. “Our kind is nearly gone and I am the only one who remains here in the lagoon. I am so lonely. And so are you. That is why I responded to your emotions when you came to this spot.”    

He looked at his hand, at the three scores which still throbbed faintly, even as his blood surged at her command. Somehow this injury she had inflicted upon him that first day in Torcello had created a link between them. And he looked at her again, and the sight of her sent a mixture of revulsion and desire through him. But there could be nothing between them, they came from different worlds.

“I’ve got friends, colleagues, people I care about, and who care about me,” he said, automatically.

“But you have no one special, a soul mate.  I can fill that void! You know I can!” Her pleading voice and her wide eyes tore at his resolve.

“Lia, it can’t work, you’re –”

“Stay with me, I only take this form when I must. I can be a woman for you, only for you, to love.”

She rose from the lagoon, changing slowly as he watched in horrified fascination, still so beautiful it made his heart ache with the memory of her languorous hands over his willing body.

“I’m so sorry. I never should have…”  He couldn’t finish.  He gritted his teeth and turned away, feeling the wind whip chilly fingers in his hair, as if she had sent it to admonish him.

She let out a keening howl, which froze the blood in his veins, but he kept walking. And then her voice shrieked in the wind, “If you go I will curse you! You cannot refuse the love of a naiad and remain unpunished!”

 He ran, legs pumping along the beach, as if the hounds of hell were after him, away from this madness, knowing that if he turned back, he might very well be lost for ever.

As he tumbled across the moor her voice was a sibilant whisper on the wind, frigid and brittle, “If I cannot have you, then no other shall have you either!”

His senses swam, and nausea flared in his guts. But he continued to keep running, fighting it, until the sound was gone.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

“So – did you have a good vacation then?”  Captain Ochre asked him, as Magenta wandered into the Officers’ Lounge after returning to Cloudbase.

“Sure, it was fine, thanks,” he replied, heading off to the coffee machine. He took one sip from his cup and grimaced.

“Fine?” Ochre glanced at Gray, who gave a slight shrug. “This, from the guy who kept chewing my ear about how he was so desperate to go there? What about the great art, those pretty Italian signorinas, the wonderful coffee…”

“The coffee was – great,” he interrupted Ochre’s flow, and then paused, during which time both captains continued to look at him expectantly.

“So, what’s been going on here while I’ve been away? How did the Halloween party go?” he changed the subject hopefully.

Ochre raised an eyebrow. After all Magenta’s exuberance about visiting Venice, he’d expected his ear to be  pummelled with everything he’d been up to, so he  wasn’t fooled by his partner’s forced nonchalance. There was a pale gauntness to Magenta’s cheeks that hardly spoke of an invigorating vacation, and he could figure enough about his body language in the time they’d worked together to know his field partner was hiding something. And he also knew that nothing would drag it out of him before he was ready to talk about it.

“Well, let’s see…”

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Magenta couldn’t shake off the image of Lia, despite trying to throw himself into his work with a vengeance. For the first two weeks he lay awake every night on his bunk, staring at his ceiling, imagining that he could hear her whispering sweet endearments in his ear one minute, and her parting words in the next. His depression and fatigue grew by the day.  Colonel White even drew him aside and questioned his commitment after an elementary programming error almost led to a disaster on Cloudbase.  He felt that whatever he touched was cursed... Lia's powerful presence was everywhere in his life....

By the third week he was sneaking extra shifts in the Room of Sleep, anything to try to drive away the memories of cool flesh and warm mouth and the total loss of self to which he had, so desperately, surrendered.

When Fawn caught Magenta out (which didn’t take very long), he received the proverbial lecture about misusing the facilities, and, of course, he had to admit he was having difficulty sleeping, and, no, he didn’t know why. (He could still lie with a straight face.)  But Fawn clearly saw that the Irishman was suffering from sleep deprivation and grudgingly prescribed some medication

His behaviour didn’t go entirely unnoticed by the others; even though he was extremely careful to maintain a cheerful façade to everyone who didn’t know him well enough to realise, that was exactly what it was.