Page 30 of The Slug Crystal

As we step across the connection between carriages, the train takes a sharp curve.

I stumble slightly, the terrarium nearly slipping from my grasp.

Before I can fall, Marco's hand is at my elbow, steadying me with a light but firm touch.

His dark curls brush against his collar as he leans forward, concern etched in his features.

"Careful," he says, his voice low. "These older trains can be unpredictable. "

I regain my balance, acutely aware of his hand still on my arm.

"Thanks," I say, turning to face him. This close, I can see the flecks of green in his hazel eyes, shifting like sunlight through leaves.

His scholarly appearance, with wire-rimmed glasses perched on a straight nose and dark curls just slightly too long, featuring the faintest peppering of gray, contrasts with the quickness of his reflexes.

We continue forward, more carefully now.

Marco keeps a respectful distance behind me, but I can sense his readiness to catch me again if needed.

When we finally reach the snack car, it's less impressive than I'd hoped. It’s just a small counter with an espresso machine and a glass case displaying a few sad-looking pastries.

"Not exactly gourmet," I comment as we join the short line.

Marco smiles, the expression warming his academic demeanor. "Italian train food is... variable in quality. But the coffee should be decent at least."

While we wait our turn, Marco gestures to a small table where I can set Alex's terrarium. The blue snail is active, exploring his glass home with vigor. Well, vigor for a snail.

"He seems curious about his surroundings," Marco observes. "That's a good sign."

"You really know a lot about snails," I say, realizing I've never actually asked him about his background. "How did you get into... what did you call it? Malacology?"

Marco's face lights up with genuine enthusiasm.

"My mother is American, my father Italian," he explains, his accent subtly shifting as he speaks of his heritage.

"I spent my childhood summers at my grandmother's house in Tuscany.

She had this magnificent garden, wild and overgrown in the most beautiful way, absolutely teeming with life. "

The line inches forward, but I'm caught up in his story, the way his voice softens with nostalgia.

"One summer, when I was perhaps seven or eight, I became fascinated with the snails that appeared after the rain.

My grandmother, instead of shooing me away from what many would consider pests, encouraged my curiosity.

She helped me build little habitats for them, taught me to observe their behaviors. "

We reach the counter, and Marco orders in rapid Italian. The barista nods, immediately starting on what I assume are espressos.

"So, you turned a childhood hobby into a career?" I ask as we step aside to wait.

"In a way," he says, his tall frame leaning slightly against the counter.

"I studied biology at university, but I always found myself drawn back to gastropods.

There's something... philosophical about them.

Their patience, their persistence, the perfect mathematics of their shells.

" He glances at Alex's terrarium. "Though I've never encountered one quite like your Alex. "

His intellectual passion is so different from Ben's brash humor or Luca's confident charm. Jake has his own intensity, but it's more physical and grounded in action than in thought. Marco exists in a world of ideas and observations, finding wonder in what most people overlook.

"What about you?" he asks. "Have you always lived in Boston?"

"Most of my adult life," I reply, surprised he remembered where I'm from. "It's home now, though sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live somewhere completely different."

"Like Italy?" Marco's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.

"Maybe," I laugh. "Though my Italian begins and ends with 'grazie' and 'per favore.'"

"I may actually be experiencing the reverse journey soon," Marco says, selecting a few pastries from the case. "My mother hasn't been well lately. I'm considering a position at an American university to be closer to her."

"Oh, I'm sorry about your mom," I say. "Where in America?"

"Massachusetts, actually. A small university just outside Boston. Westfield College. Do you know it?"

The name hits me like a physical shock. "That's less than an hour from my apartment," I say, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.

Marco's eyebrows raise slightly. "Is it really? What a remarkable coincidence."

But is it a coincidence? In the past few days, I've learned to question whether anything happens by pure chance. First, Alex becomes a snail. Then, we somehow assemble this unlikely group of men to help me fix it, and now Marco, brilliant, gentle Marco, might be moving practically to my backyard?

"The universe works in mysterious ways," I say, echoing Mirella's words from Venice.

As I reach for my wallet to pay for our coffees, Marco places his hand on top of the terrarium, stabilizing it on the counter. "Allow me," he says, gesturing to the cashier, then accepting our coffees from the barista, and handing one to me.

"No, it's fine, I can—" My words cut off as his fingers brush against mine on the glass surface. The touch is brief, innocent, but it sends an unexpected jolt through my body, like static electricity but warmer, deeper. Our eyes meet over Alex's blue shell, and for a moment, neither of us moves.

Then the train lurches again, breaking the spell. I steady myself against the counter, heart racing from more than just the movement of the train.

"We should get these back while they're hot," I say, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.

Marco nods, carefully lifting the tray of additional pastries we've selected for the others. "After you," he says, gesturing toward the corridor with a formal little bow that somehow doesn't feel pretentious coming from him.

Walking back to our compartment with coffees and pastries balanced precariously in our hands, I find myself hyper-aware of Marco beside me.

The narrow corridor forces us to walk closer than necessary, our shoulders occasionally brushing when the train sways.

I wonder if his interest is genuinely in me or if I'm just a convenient gateway to studying Alex.

The thought is unexpectedly disappointing.

When did I start caring what Marco thinks of me? As if my life wasn't complicated enough with Jake's confession, Ben's lingering flirtation, and Luca's Italian charm offensive.

"Careful with that step," Marco warns as we approach another car connection. His voice has lost some of its formal academic tone when it's just the two of us, becoming warmer, more natural.

I navigate the gap successfully this time, but the momentary triumph is short-lived.

The train rounds a curve, and I stumble slightly, the coffee in my hand sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

Marco's reaction is immediate. Despite holding a pastry tray and balancing a holder of four coffees, his free hand catches my waist to steady me, his touch firm but gentle.

For a brief moment, we're pressed together in the narrow space, his tall frame supporting mine.

"Sorry," I mutter, though I'm not entirely sure what I'm apologizing for.

"No need to be sorry," he replies, his voice closer to my ear than I expected.

When I glance up, his clear hazel eyes meet mine, the green flecks in them catching the light filtering through the train windows.

This close, I can see the faint smile lines at the corners of his eyes, softening his scholarly appearance.

His curls are slightly tousled from repeatedly tugging at the ends of them, a habit I've noticed when he's deep in thought .

The moment stretches a beat too long before we both step back simultaneously. I adjust my grip on Alex's terrarium, using it as an excuse to look away from Marco's searching gaze. The blue snail is pressed against the glass, as if watching our interaction with interest.

"I hope he's not too stressed by all this travel," I say, desperate to fill the silence with something safe.

Marco nods, his expression shifting back to professional interest. "Helix species are surprisingly adaptable. Though I imagine the transformation itself was quite traumatic." He pauses, then adds more softly, "For both of you."

The gentle understanding in his voice catches me off guard. Unlike Ben's constant joking or Luca's flirtatious remarks, Marco's concern feels genuinely focused on my well-being rather than how it might benefit him.

"It's been... a lot," I admit.

We continue down the corridor, and I notice how different Marco seems when we're alone. His scholarly demeanor isn't entirely an act, but it's clearly a professional shell he can step out of when comfortable.

When we reach our compartment, the sounds of an argument greet us before we even slide the door open. Jake's voice rises above the others, his tone exasperated.

"That route will take twice as long!" he insists as we enter. His light brown hair is rumpled from repeatedly running his hand through it in frustration, his blue eyes bright with conviction. "We should head straight to the historic center."

"The historic center will be packed with tourists," Ben counters, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

The afternoon light streaming through the window catches in his light beard, highlighting the auburn undertones.

His green eyes gleam with the pleasure of debate.

"If Sarah's running any kind of mystical shop, she'll be on the outskirts where rents are cheaper. "

Luca, one arm stretched casually along the back of his seat, observes their argument with amused detachment.

His dark hair remains perfectly styled despite hours on the train, and his warm brown eyes light up when he notices our return.

"Ah, the provisions have arrived! Perhaps food will improve everyone's mood. "

"What are you arguing about now?" I ask, carefully setting Alex's terrarium on the seat before distributing the coffees from Marco's tray.

"The best route through Florence," Jake explains, accepting his coffee with a nod of thanks. His fingers brush against mine during the exchange, and I'm acutely aware of his touch after last night's kiss. "Ben thinks we should start on the outskirts, which is ridiculous."

"Not ridiculous, strategic," Ben corrects, biting into a pastry with enthusiastic appreciation. Crumbs catch in his scruffy beard, and he brushes them away with the back of his hand. "We need to think like a witch on the run. Where would you set up shop?"

Marco sets the remaining pastries on the table between the seats.

"Florence's historic center actually has many small, hidden shops in less touristed areas," he explains, slipping back into professor mode.

His tall frame settles into the seat opposite mine, his dark curls brushing against the window as he leans back.

"There are streets behind the Duomo where rents are more reasonable but still central.

The buildings there have been divided and subdivided over centuries, perfect for someone seeking privacy while maintaining access to foot traffic. "

Ben waves his pastry dismissively. "Sure, but a witch with the capability to turn a man into a snail might want more privacy than that."

"We don't know what Sarah does in her free time," I point out, stroking the top of Alex's terrarium absently. "I'm the one who activated the crystal. She just sold it. "

Jake's eyes soften as he looks at me. "Either way, she's our best lead for reversing it, and we need a plan to find her."

As they continue debating routes and strategies, I turn to look out the window.

The Tuscan countryside rolls by outside.

There are vineyards and olive groves bathed in golden sunlight, cypress trees standing like sentinels along ridgelines.

The landscape is so beautiful it almost hurts to look at it, especially knowing our presence here is tied to such strange circumstances.

I absently stroke Alex's terrarium, watching as the blue snail explores a fresh lettuce leaf. Does he sense the complications unfolding around him? Does some part of the human Alex remain aware inside that spiral shell, observing with silent judgment as I navigate these unexpected feelings?

The train speeds on toward Florence, carrying us closer to what I hope are answers.

But with each mile, I become less certain about what I want those answers to be.

Finding Sarah, reversing the spell, these goals haven't changed.

But what happens after? Will this strange, unexpected connection with these four men dissolve once our mission is complete?

The thought is more unsettling than I care to admit. I'm growing accustomed to our odd little group, to the peculiar harmony we've found despite our differences. Like the pieces of a puzzle that shouldn't fit together but somehow do.

Marco catches me watching him and offers a small, private smile that makes my heart beat faster. I return it before looking away, fixing my gaze on the rolling hills outside, trying to steady myself against the growing turmoil inside.

One problem at a time, I tell myself. First Alex. Then... whatever comes next.