Page 17 of Never Quite Gone

CHAPTER 16

Watching

Florence, 1587

R ain slicked the cathedral walls as I made my way through darkened streets. William's footsteps echoed behind me, my brother's presence as constant as shadow in this life. Something about the way he watched over me felt both comforting and strange - like he knew things I didn't, saw dangers I couldn't recognize.

“You don't have to follow me,” I called without turning. “I know you're there.”

“Someone has to watch your back.” He emerged from shadows that seemed to know him too well. “The Medici have eyes everywhere, Alessandro. And your artist friend has drawn their attention.”

I paused beneath a stone archway, studying my brother in flickering torchlight. William had changed lately - his movements carrying weight beyond his years, his eyes holding knowledge that made my soul stir with almost-recognition.

“Elia's paintings carry no threat to them.”

“His paintings show truth they'd rather keep hidden.” William moved closer, something ancient flickering behind his careful words. “The way he captures light, the healing in his brush strokes - it speaks to something older than their power. Something they fear.”

The words sent shivers down my spine, though I couldn't say why. Before I could question him, movement caught my eye. Torchlight revealed armed men surrounding Elia's studio, their weapons poorly concealed beneath fine cloaks.

“Medici guards,” I started, but William cut me off.

“Not guards. Assassins.” His voice carried command I'd never heard before. “Go. Get him out through the back. I'll handle this.”

“William-“

“Go!” For a moment, power seemed to crackle around him - impossible power that made reality feel thin. “Keep him safe. I'll find you later.”

I wanted to argue, to protect my younger brother, but something in his eyes stopped me. This wasn't the William I'd grown up with. This was someone older, more dangerous. Someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

By the time I got Elia safely away through the hidden exit, five bodies cooled on rain-washed cobblestones. I never saw William fight them, but something about the precise blade work felt practiced, ancient. Like he'd been protecting us forever.

He found us later at our emergency chapel. His movements were steady as he produced Elia's most important works, saved somehow despite the chaos. No blood stained his fine clothes, no evidence remained of what he'd done to protect us.

“Your studio...” Elia began, his hands shaking as he cleaned paint from his fingers.

“Is being cleaned as we speak.” William's smile held secrets I couldn't read. “No evidence will lead back to any of us.” He set down a leather satchel carefully. “Your most important works are here. The rest...” A shrug that carried too much understanding. “Art is temporary. Life matters more.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly, squeezing his shoulder. “Brother.”

Something flickered in his eyes - pain or knowledge or both. Like the word meant more than I could understand, carried weight beyond this one life. But his smile remained gentle as he watched us, protective as always though I couldn't grasp why it felt so ancient.

“You should rest,” William said, his voice carrying that strange double quality I'd noticed more often lately - both my younger brother and something far older. “The Medici won't try again tonight.”

“How can you be so sure?” Elia asked, his hands finally steady as he examined his saved works.

William's laugh held edges of something I almost recognized. “Because they learn quickly when their lessons are written in blood.” His eyes met mine across the chapel's candlelight. “Some warnings only need to be given once.”

I wanted to question him - about the bodies in the street, about how he'd known exactly when to be there, about why watching him move in battle had felt like remembering something I'd seen a thousand times before. But the words stuck in my throat as another wave of almost-recognition hit me.

The way he stood between us and the door, guardian position as natural as breathing. How his hands moved over Elia's paintings with reverence that felt older than art. The precise way he'd arranged our escape route, like he'd spent lifetimes learning how to protect us.

“There's something you're not telling me,” I said finally, the words falling into candlelit silence. “Something about why you're really here.”

Pain flashed across his face again - ancient and raw and gone so quickly I might have imagined it. “I'm here because you're my brother,” he said softly. “Because family protects its own.”

But the word 'family' carried weight I couldn't quite grasp. Like he meant something larger than blood ties, something that encompassed Elia too though we'd only known him months in this life.

My head ached suddenly with pressure that felt like trying to remember dreams. Images flickered at the edges of my vision - William in different clothes, different times, always watching. Always protecting. Always carrying that same ancient pain behind his careful smile.

“Alessandro?” Elia's voice pulled me back. His hand found mine with familiar ease, though we hadn't known each other long enough for such intimacy to feel natural. “You look pale.”

William's expression shifted as he watched us, something desperate and loving and terrible crossing his features before his careful mask slipped back into place. For just a moment, I thought I saw tears in his eyes, though when he blinked they were gone.

“Dawn soon,” he said, voice steady despite what I'd glimpsed. “I've arranged rooms at the monastery. Brother Thomas owes me a favor.” His smile turned wry. “Several favors, actually.”

“You always know exactly what to do,” I mused, studying him in the fading candlelight. “Always turn up exactly when needed. Almost like...”

“Like what?” He kept his tone light, but something hungry flickered in his expression.

“Like you've done this before,” I finished quietly. “Many times.”

William went very still, and for a heartbeat I thought he might actually tell me something - explain why everything about him felt like echoes of older truths. But then his smile returned, carefully measured once more.

“Get some rest,” he repeated gently. “Both of you. I'll keep watch.”

As Elia and I followed Brother Thomas through torch-lit corridors, I glanced back one last time. William stood in the chapel doorway, candlelight painting him in shades of gold and shadow. Something about his posture made my chest ache - the lonely vigilance, the weight of watching, the love that felt too big for just this one life.

“Your brother,” Elia said softly as we walked, “he's... different. Like he knows things he shouldn't. Sees things we can't.”

“Yes,” I agreed, though the word felt inadequate. “He's always been that way. At least...” I paused, frowning. “I think he has. Sometimes it's hard to remember, like trying to hold onto water. ”

Elia's hand found mine again in the darkness. “Does he ever remind you of someone? Someone you can't quite remember?”

But before I could answer, the pressure in my head returned - images of other times, other places, William's face watching through centuries with that same desperate love. I shook it off, clinging to what felt real. This life. This moment.

Leave the mysteries for tomorrow.

But in the chapel below, my brother kept his vigil. The brother who moved like he'd fought a thousand battles, who loved with fierce desperation I couldn't understand, who watched over us with eyes that had seen too many endings.

London, 1650

The plague doctor's mask felt suffocating in the summer heat as I made my way through London's cramped streets. Normally, a lord shouldn't be tending to the sick himself, but something about the physician working in the poor district had drawn me here - like a hook behind my ribs pulling me inevitably closer.

“You shouldn't be here, Lord Blackwood.” William Rivers' voice carried no surprise as he materialized from the shadows. The merchant's influence had grown considerably in recent months, though something about his bearing spoke of older power than mere commerce could explain. “The fever district is no place for nobility.”

“And yet here you are.” I studied him in the dim light, trying to understand why this merchant felt so familiar, so trustworthy despite our brief acquaintance. “Always appearing when needed.”

“Someone has to watch over things that matter.” His smile held secrets as he fell into step beside me. “Especially when noble lords are drawn to things they don't understand.”

The narrow street opened into a makeshift hospital - an old church repurposed for healing. Inside, Dr. Elliot Crow worked with quiet efficiency, his hands moving with knowledge that shouldn't exist in this primitive age of medicine. No plague mask covered his face despite the risk. Something about the way he touched the sick made them heal faster than any medical knowledge could explain.

“The Church is watching him,” Rivers said softly. “They don't understand how he saves so many. Think it's witchcraft or worse.”

A chill ran down my spine despite the summer heat. “They wouldn't dare-“

“They're sending investigators tomorrow.” He produced papers with practiced ease. “Unless someone with proper authority intervenes.”

I studied the documents - royal pardons, letters of protection bearing signatures that would have taken months to obtain. All dated perfectly, all exactly what we needed.

“How did you-“

“I have my methods.” Rivers' eyes never left Eli as he worked. “Some things are worth any price to protect.”

The way he said it made my head ache with almost-memory. Like I'd heard him say similar things in other times, other places. His presence beside me felt both new and ancient - a stranger who somehow knew exactly what we needed before we needed it.

“My lord?” Eli's voice pulled me back. He'd finished with his patient, hands steady despite hours of work. “You shouldn't be here without protection.”

“He has protection,” Rivers said quietly. Something passed between them - recognition that shouldn't exist, trust that felt older than this brief acquaintance.

I watched them carefully, trying to understand why everything about this felt like echoes of older patterns. Why my heart pulled toward this common physician. Why this merchant moved like he'd orchestrated this meeting across lifetimes.

Later, after Eli returned to his patients, I cornered Rivers in the church's shadowed alcove. “Tell me the truth. Why are you really helping us?”

For a moment, his careful mask cracked. I saw someone ancient and tired, someone who had watched this scene play out countless times before. Someone who loved us enough to reshape reality itself, though I wouldn't understand that truth for many lives to come.

“Because some things matter more than power or position,” he said finally. “Some bonds transcend time itself, though you can't remember why yet.”

The summer night pressed close as we left the makeshift hospital. Through the windows, I could see Eli still working, his hands moving with knowledge pulled from lives he couldn't remember. Rivers watched him too, ancient love and pain mixing in his expression.

“Will you tell me someday?” I asked quietly. “What you're not saying? Why everything about this feels like remembering something I've forgotten?”

Rivers' smile held centuries of secrets. “When you're ready to understand. When you're ready to remember everything.”