Pax Demonica Read Online Free PDF

back to Mrs. Micari. “This is the best hotel ever!”
    Mrs. Micari’s grin widened. “In that case, it is not necessary for me to give you this?” She indicated the basket she held in her hand. “Is biscotti and fruit. And also,” she added with a sideways glance toward me, “the Torta Barozzi .”
    “Seriously?” I’d started to rise from the bed. Torta Barozzi wasn’t a traditional Roman dessert, but I absolutely love it, not in small part because it provides a massive hit of both chocolate and espresso, two of the major food groups.
    Allie got to her feet before I did and took the basket from Mrs. Micari’s outstretched hand. “Best. Hotel. Ever,” she repeated.
    “Bed and breakfast,” I corrected, but she waved off my words.
    “Can I see it? Can I see my room?”
    “That you share,” I clarified.
    “Yeah, yeah,” Allie said. “You know he’s gonna want to sleep with you guys.”
    I considered arguing. After all, wanting and getting were two different things. And I fully intended to delve into that whole amore thing that Mrs. Micari had so expertly advocated. But time enough for that later. Right now I was just pleased to have a daughter who’d sloughed off her initial disappointment and was giddy about the accommodations.
    Mrs. Micari smiled wide and stepped out into the hallway. Stuart and I followed. The B&B had five rooms, two on the first floor and three on the second. Our rooms were on the second (a fact that confused Allie since, in Italy, the first floor is the ground floor, the second floor is the first, and the third is the second). The room Stuart and I shared was on the left side of the landing, next to the huge, modernized bathroom. Allie and Timmy’s room was the first of the two rooms on the right. The third room had been let to a young woman who, according to Mrs. Micari, was traveling Europe with a backpack and a train pass.
    The kids’ room had two beds, a recliner, and a small television, which attracted Timmy like a magnet. “ Blue’s Clues, Momma? Blue’s Clues?”
    “Not here, kiddo.”
    “There’s probably something for him,” Stuart said, flipping it on. “Disney’s international, right?”
    Mrs. Micari laughed. “You speak Italiano? Is no English on television channels here.”
    “Seriously?” Considering her tone, Allie might as well have cursed out loud.
    “Allie.” Hopefully from my tone she could tell that she was walking a fine line.
    She shot me an apologetic smile then glanced at Mrs. Micari. “It’s no big. We’re so totally not going to be watching television. And if the kid gets bored, we’ve got movies for him on the iPad.”
    As she spoke, she took the remote from Stuart and randomly hit the channel button. Commercial. Commercial. Italian soap opera. Commercial. I Love Lucy (dubbed). News. Commercial.
    News .
    My mind caught up with the image. “Allie,” I ordered, interrupting Mrs. Micari’s rundown of the room’s amenities—fresh towels, bottled water, treats every evening. “Go back.”
    My daughter shrugged and complied. A second later, she and I were both staring at a televised scene from a familiar airport concourse—right in front of the men’s room.
    A reporter was speaking in rapid-fire Italian as paramedics and armed polizia moved in and out of the facility. “—found dead, although authorities have released no additional information other than the man’s identity,” the reporter said in Italian.
    Allie looked at me, waiting for me to translate. I was just about to do that when the reporter continued speaking. “The victim has been identified as Los Angeles resident Thomas Duvall, a passenger on TransAtlantic flight 832.”
    “Which TransAtlantic flight?” Stuart asked as the image on the screen changed, the view of the concourse replaced by a single passport photo.
    I didn’t answer. For that matter, I’d barely heard the question. All my attention was on the screen—and the larger-than-life image of Mr. Pepperdine