The Florentine Cypher: Kate Benedict Paranormal Mystery #3 (The Kate Benedict Series) by Carrie Bedford Page A

me her whole life. I wondered if she knew that I was different, that I had this strange ability to see auras. I’d read that dogs could sense the presence of ghosts. I shivered. What if Bianca could see auras like I could? Did she see one over me?
    I gave her an extra hug and stood up. I was being ridiculous.
    The drive into Florence didn’t take long, only ten minutes to the Lungarno, where Dad let me out in front of the Biblioteca Nazionale. Most private vehicles were banned from the city center. I gathered the flowers from the back seat where he’d put them and watched as he drove away. It was sad to say goodbye, but I’d see him again in a couple of weeks. And Bianca would keep him company.
    The walk to Claire’s house took me through the Piazza Santa Croce. As I crossed the square, I felt the emotions that Florence always stirred in me— a mix of delight in being there and frustration at having to share it with thousands of visitors from all over the world. A large group of Americans milled around the entry to the church, following a young woman holding a yellow umbrella. The steps in front served as seating for young people taking selfies, and the square teemed with street vendors hawking scarves and leather bags. Still, I loved it all.
    I checked my watch and picked up my pace. It was almost eleven. Claire lived on Via Dei Pepi, so I left the piazza and walked up Via Petripiana, past the post office, which had to be one of the ugliest buildings in Tuscany. The crowds thinned in the more residential areas where parked mopeds and shuttered shops lined the pavements; most Italians would still be in church or at home preparing lunch. And the shops didn’t open on Sundays. Here and there, I caught tantalizing glimpses of the russet dome of the cathedral framed against the blue sky.
    Cradling the flowers in one arm, I checked in my shoulder bag yet again to make sure that the leather pouch was still there. I wondered what Claire would make of all this. I no longer had the book and there’d been no word from Ethan. It seemed I was on a fool’s errand.
    Number 40 was a four-story town house stuccoed in cream, symmetrically arranged around an arched front door with a weathered brass handle. I scanned the panel set into the wall and pressed the bell next to Claire’s name. After a long pause, she answered. “Who is it?”
    “It’s Kate.”
    “Third floor. Come up.” That was the Claire I remembered from school. A little imperious, expecting others to do her bidding, which of course, we did. Intelligent and pretty, she had all the boys at her beck and call. Even back then, she’d been several inches taller and several pounds lighter than me, but I’d been willing to forgive her anything in return for her friendship— until the day she stole my boyfriend. He hadn’t exactly been my boyfriend, but at the age of seventeen, I’d thought I was in love with him. When I confided in Claire and asked for her help in getting him to invite me to the end-of-year school party, she’d promised she would. Then she’d turned up at the party with him. Unable to control my teenage emotions, I’d decided I hated her and would never trust anyone ever again. Over the years, the rage dissipated. I certainly didn’t hate Claire, but there remained a coolness between us. It was so subtle that I doubted that Leo and Ethan ever noticed.
    A loud buzzer sounded as the lock on the front door clicked. I pushed it open and stepped into a narrow entry hall lined with black mailboxes. At one end, a long white marble stairway swept upwards like a snowy mountain slope. After a short climb, I found Claire waiting for me on a small landing on the third floor. When I’d last seen her, at her father’s funeral six weeks ago, she’d been pale and distressed, dressed in black, with her hair pulled back into a tight knot. Today, she looked amazing. Tight designer jeans, ballet flats, a green top that matched her eyes. Her red hair fell in soft