“Thank God!” Rowan sighed, feeling his forces coming back.

  “All OK?” Grace screamed, arriving at a running pace.

  “You saved our lives,” Isla panted. “A few more seconds, and we’d be dead.”

  “Or Undead,” Rowan said. “I don’t believe I’m saying this, but you’ve become the strongest of us.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Grace rested her balled fists on her hips. “You think I should be weak just because I’m a woman?”

  “No,” he waved his hands in protest, “but not long ago, you were screaming for your life at every rat. Iiii! Iiii!” he mimicked a panicked yelp, grimacing, rolling his eyes and fretting his fingers like a living Betty Boop cartoon.

  “You don’t know when to shut up, don’t you,” Isla bobbed her head, staring at Rowan.

  The man whose life they saved waited patiently a few steps back, his umbrella closed. Arriving like a torrent down a mountain, Carla jumped at his neck, hugging the man so strongly he almost fell.

  “Thank God, Your Lordship is alive!” Carla yelled.

  “Thanks to this nice gentleman and the ladies,” the man bowed. Tall and elegant, he had a certain panache in his attitude. His projected age was vague; anything was possible from the late forties to the early sixties. The notification hit the team like a mallet a whack-a-mole.

  By killing 13 Rebels, chasing away a Vampire, their ally, and saving Giovanni Lepastrina, level 30, Tour Guide, Count of Rome, you have FAILED your quest: Help the Rebels Conquer Rome. No XP or AP were awarded. No penalty was applied for going against a System-enforced treaty because conflicting promises were detected. The Treaty with the Rebels had been voided.

  “I think there’s a misunderstanding,” Grace frowned. “Rebels are bad, right?”

  “Sure they are,” the Italian woman said forcefully.

  Rowan gave her an Inspect, and she showed to be a Bodyguard, level 18. “I think we helped the wrong guys,” Rowan said hesitantly.

  “But why did your Mayor write me to open the portal?” Carla said hesitantly, taking a defensive position in front of her boss.

  “Because he’s a senile old fucker,” Isla snorted. “Both factions must’ve asked for help, but he replied to the wrong one after signing a contract with the others. Maybe you’ll think twice next time you delegate important stuff, Rowan. So, what do we do with them?”

  “Nothing,” Rowan said, putting weight in his words. “We do nothing with them. We failed the quest, and that’s that. I won’t murder people in cold blood.”

  “We don’t have to murder them,” Isla shrugged. “What about you resign and go into exile, old dude?”

  “For your information, I’m forty-three,” the Italian man spoke with disdain, his upper lip raised. “And this is not about me, but the most magnificent city in the world, which the Rebels want to destroy.”

  “I’d not say the most magnificent,” Isla creased her nose. “That’s a bad Southern Colonial replica,” she waved her hand at the villa. Are you sure this is Italy? It sure looks like Georgia to me.”

  “What does she mean?”

  “Pay her no nevermind,” Rowan said. “Miss Carla, can you open a portal for us to return home?”

  “Of course.” Relief shone on the woman’s face, the kind of emotion shown when dangerous people let you live and leave. Extricating a shiny gem from her spatial inventory, she began mumbling some undistinguishable words when her boss whispered something in her ear, and she stopped.

  “Since you’re here, and you look like reasonable people,” the man said, trying not to look toward Isla, “why don’t you help us instead?”

  “What’s at stake?” Rowan asked. “What do you want, and what do they want?”

  “They want to destroy Rome, literally. History has a lot of Mana potential. By absorbing museums and ruins into the Core, they can turn them into something else. Advanced materials, guns, armor, whatever. But as long as I’m around, they can’t do it. I say history and art must be preserved. The present is built upon the past.”

  “Trading us as mercenaries for advanced materials is totally what the Mayor would do,” Grace nodded.

  “And Cory too,” Isla added.

  “No, Cory would not,” Rowan said. “She changed the lower town into an old medieval city. She likes beautiful things.”

  “The apartments she built have no open plan; you feel you’re in the forties. And the bathrooms are tiny,” Isla said. “And some still have Turkish toilets because she’s behind with the project. Like she’s from California or something.”

  “I say to go for it, “Rowan said. “I was here with my old man and liked the city a lot. It’s worth saving.”

  “What city?” Isla snorted again. “There are just some trees and villas.”

  “Oh, just shut up,” Grace snapped at Isla. “I agree. I like history and art.”

  “OK, whatever, fine,” Isla shrugged. “Is the pizza good, at least?”

  You have accepted the Quest: Save Rome’s History.

  Note: accepting a quest on another polity’s territory is considered a System-enforced contract, and failure to complete the quest will be penalized in conformity with local laws: Complicity to vandalism, fines of 10,000 to 65,000 USD/failed target.

  Secure 20 different historic places, clearing them from Rebels who might try to blow them up to spite you. Deadline: next morning. For each objective saved, you will receive a free AP. One free AP and one free level have been granted for saving Giovanni Lepastrina from being turned into a Thrall.

  2/20 objectives cleared (Villa Medici, Villa Borghese) 2 free AP granted.

  “Oh my God!” Grace blurted. “This is so much better than clearing the Sewers!”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Neat! I’ll put two points between Strength and Charisma and keep the rest for later,” Rowan said.

  “I’ll put three in Strength,” Grace fondled Rowan’s cheek.

  “We better start working. Those fines looked big,” Isla said. “I don’t have a count’s salary.”

  “Follow me.” The Tour Guide started to walk south, then west, and then trotted after him. The pace was slower than what they could do, but at least they had someone who knew where to go with them.

  Five minutes later, Isla gasped in awe, catching herself on the stone railing. “The fuuuuuuck!”

  “You asked where’s the town? Here’s the bloody town,” Rowan gestured. “It’s built on hills. All the park behind us was the private garden of a noble family.”

  “It’s… beautiful…” the policewoman admitted, eyes widened.

  “Striking,” Grace added. “I saw the photos but never imagined this.

  Seen from the hill, the city bathed in the sweet evening’s sun, meandering graciously between a river and other hills, going on forever in waves of domes, tiled roofs, palaces, monuments, and greenery.

  “Come,” their guide pressed on after inspecting his phone. “The nearest Quest Point is in Piazza del Popolo.” Running down an alley and some stairs, they reached a square in no time.

  “Where?” Isla yelled. Indeed, all around, in every corner and on every side, there were old churches, museums, statues, fountains, and an obelisk in the center.

  “I have no idea…” Lepastrina grimaced, turning his palms upward. “Could be anything.”

  “I’ll ask,” Isla decided and started running toward the northern part of the square, where a church sat near a palace, and in front was a police car and a group of officers, about twenty of them.

  “Hi, fellows,” she said merrily. “We’re on a quest to stop some bad Rebels. Do you know them, by any chance?”

  The nearest officer moved his hand toward his holster when one of his comrades whispered something in his ear. The words Guns don’t work on them were quite clear. And They massacred two Awakened teams like bugs.

  “Are you the bad guys?” Isla frowned.

  “No, Miss, we’re the g-good guys,” the second officer stuttered.

  “Don’t kill them, they’re normals!” Rowan shouted from the back.

  “So you, of course, support the Count and don’t plan, by any means, to blow up this beautiful… stuff around, right?” Isla rotated her finger in the air.

  “Of c-course not.”

  “Raise your right hand in the air and swear it. I, officer whatever, swear I’m a good guy, etcetera, etcetera. Every single one of you. Now!”

  A raucous choir aroused. It was not the best example of coordination, but good enough.

  “Keep your noses clean from now on,” she sneered at them. “You’re police, for fucks sake.”

  “Actually, we’re Army,” a man said, but she shrugged and turned away.

  10/20 objectives met. You have changed the hearts of a Rebel group of Carabinieri and made them take a pledge (reinforced by the System). You have received 8 free APs.

  Isla turned around, leaning her head sideways. “OK, I see four churches, an obelisk, three fountains, and a… gate? Why does a gate count as an objective?”

  “It’s two thousand years old,” their guide explained.

  “Whatever. It’s a fucking gate. What’s next?”

  “Piazza di Spagna, Fontana di Trevi, Piazza Navona, Galleria Doria Pamfilij, the Pantheon, and the Colosseum and Forum. The latter must count as three; a lot of things there.”

  “Hm… they missed the Vatican,” Rowan observed.

  Lepastrila growled. “The Vatican is their headquarters… and guess who’s the rebel’s chief?”

  “No! The P-Pope?” Isla gasped, crossing herself.

  “He’s the one who sent the Vampire after me,” the Italian nodded.

  “I always thought all churches should have elections every four years, like a true democracy,” Rowan said in a serious tone.

  “You do realize you’re a Count for life, right?” Grace said.

  “Yeah, but I’m a nice guy. Let’s kick his butt to Avignon and let the French have him. They’ll have a blast together. Lead on,” Rowan said.

  They started a triumphal march, going south. On their way, enemies ran, were killed, or captured with little or no fight. Groups of people joined, at first the Count’s supporters and Awakened, gathering the courage to exit cover as the situation returned in their favor, then a full crowd, a true manifestation supporting their side, making them feel good. At nine in the evening, the enemies had fled the city, and the quest was over. They took a break to visit the Colosseum. Isla had exclaimed ‘Now that’s more like it!’

  “Thank you very much!” Rome’s Count exclaimed, rubbing his hands.

  “What about a portal?” Isla said. “I have to check on Thomas; he cheats on his homework.”

  “Let’s have a pizza first,” Lepastrina said. “I know a good place.”

  “C’mon, Isla, don’t be a killjoy,” Grace implored.

  “We had so much fun here. Let’s stay for dinner,” Rowan said. “And mister Giovanni is an outstanding guide. I understood more in a few hours than in the two weeks I spent here with my old man.”

  “He explained the monuments to us while you ran ahead scaring people,” Grace said to Isla. “So, pizza?”

  “Well, let’s hope it’s good.” The blonde woman shrugged, capitulating. Taking the lead again, the Tour Guide showed them the way to a small restaurant, where the owner clearly knew him, as he rushed to meet them, showing the group into a back room with a big table.

  “Have you visited before?” Lepastrina asked after each one of them chose and ordered their pizza.

  “First time,” Grace said, with Isla nodding.

  “I was here once before, with my father,” Rowan said.

  “Your father? You never told me about him,” Grace said.

  “Sure I did.”

  “Only that you were adopted and that he passed. How was he?”

  “Peculiar. He tried his best to raise me, but he was an eccentric. For instance, our visit to Europe was weird as hell.”

  “Why?”

  “I was eighteen and dead set, and I didn’t want to go to college. I already adored Bourbon and wanted to work in the industry.”

  “You drank underage?” Isla frowned.

  “C’mon, Isla, don’t be a hypocrite. Remember how we were at that age,” Grace said.

  “I barely had a beer, once in a blue moon, because of doing combat sports,” Isla retorted. “Bourbon is another thing.”

  “You got it wrong,” Rowan said. “I fell in love with Bourbon by smelling it and reading about it. All that process is… fascinating. Charring the—”

  “And do you remember your first Bourbon love?” Isla interjected.

  “Sure,” Rowan nodded. “A Pappy fifteen. Papa Allinder liked it because, you know, Pappy sounds like his nickname.”

  “It’s good?” Isla asked.

  “Whoaaa…. You cannot imagine! Your mouth fills with that toffee and caramelized orange. It’s out of this word. From the first sip, I—”

  “Oops!” Grace giggled.

  “Sip, huh?” Isla stared at him.

  “Hey, it’s not fair!” Rowan complained. “She used police techniques on me. As your boss, I forbid it!”

  “You were telling us about college,” Grace said, winking to Rowan, a sign she was helping him to change the subject.

  “Yeah. So, what’s the point of getting into debt when you can have fun and do what you like? My old man was so upset… We argued a lot. Months in a row. In the end, he said: ‘OK, but since you’re home-schooled, give me a few months of your life. Instead of college, we’ll visit places. I might still make a gentleman out of you.’ He failed, of course; I’m as blue-collar as it gets. So we visited Italy, a lot of cities, France, Prague—”

  “What country is Prague?” Isla asked.

  “It’s in the Czech Republic. That city’s fantastic, too.”

  “Each his tastes,” the Town Guide shrugged.

  “C’mon, Lepastrina, don’t be judgmental, Prague is great. So, we went to England, Scotland, Sweden—our ancestors' homeland—Greece, Turkey… I might forget a few. Of all the places, I liked Italy, Prague, and London’s West End the best. West End’s a sort of Broadway, only in En—”

  “I know what it is,” Grace said.

  “Then, I got a GED and moved to Kentucky to happily work in the Bourbon industry.”

  “It looks like your father took you on the Grand Tour,” Giovanni Lepastrina said.

  “Sorry?”

  “It’s a centuries-old tradition. Young noblemen took months-long European trips to learn about culture, guided by a knowledgeable elder. It was a rite of passage.”

  Rowan pursed his lips and frowned. For the first time, he realized how much such a trip must’ve cost. “So… How did you become a Count?” he asked to restart the conversation.

  “I—"

  “Incoming!” The restaurant’s owner had returned with their food, helped by a waitress. Large plates and two large jugs of red wines landed on the table in no time. It looked like they all were famished as the talking paused, each taking a bite from their pizza.

  “This is not pizza…” Isla mumbled.

  “Please!” Grace rolled her eyes. “Can you be polite for a change?”

  “This is food for the Gods,” the policewoman continued. “I did like the Colissum, but this… this is... beyond words.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” Lepastrina said. “About how I became a Count, it was by accident. A mini-dungeon appeared near the Villa Medici, spewing up Imps. They were level one, but hundreds of them. They started to attack everyone around; I defended myself with the umbrella and killed a few, then leveled and smashed as many as I could to protect my group of tourists. I had the most kills and claimed the Core. The Core appointed me a Count, and the people of Rome agreed. That’s all.”

  “But without you guys, all would have been lost,” Carla said. “You can’t imagine how much he worked to better the city. All the perks: the universal translator, the portals.”

  “The portals and the translator are invaluable,” the Count nodded. “We need to keep the flow of tourists open.”

  “Uhuh,” Isla grimaced, rolling her eyes.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” Grace asked.

  “End of the corridor,” Carla gestured toward the said place. “So, what perks do you guys have in your town?”

  “Err…” Rowan started, hesitating to reveal their strengths, but did not continue. A scream reached them, coming from the cloakroom’s direction. “Grace!” he yelled, dashing forward.