Gillian had thought the city would remind her of New Orleans in its pre-Katrina days, another flat, marshy landscape that had been gussied up with ornate buildings, but she’d been wrong. As she walked away from the station, she decided that Venice was more than a charming city, it was the pulsing heart of beauty itself. Plum-colored clouds drifted over the Italianate palaces and arched bridge, the images quivering in the water, as if a whole other city lay at the bottom of the lagoon. I love this place so damn much, I might move here, she thought. She had traveled from Switzerland to Italy as Caroline Barrett, and no one had questioned her. She hadn’t seen any vampires, either. And she’d been looking. Tomorrow morning, a boat would meet her at the quay and take her to Villa Primaverina. As she walked by the Grand Canal, a vaporetto sliced through the water, leaving a foamy wake. What a lovely name for a water taxi, she thought. The sun was going down, staining the water blood red.
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