The Santa Cristina Inn waited for us at the end of a long country road, and Adamo took the opportunity to tutor me on the treacherous terrain of the Veneto region in winter. All through my safety awareness lesson, Stan rubbed his knee against my leg. I felt like smacking him, but rather than piss off a gollum who didn't currently want to kill me, I just ignored him and crammed closer to the window.

Adamo's popularity appeared to have no limits, as our party was greeted enthusiastically by the manager of the inn; a middle-aged man with thick black hair and a cavernous cleft in his chin. Dario, the delivery driver, was there too, having been summoned by Adamo earlier in the day. He could not have been more than eighteen years old, and he did not look so excited to see Adamo as the manager escorted the group of us around the corner to an empty employee lounge.

"Let us get down to important matters," Adamo began as he assumed a regal pose at the head of a folding table. "We have a missing comrade. His last known whereabouts was heading to this inn yesterday evening to pick up a wedding dress for his bride-to-be." He flourished a wave in my direction, forcing me to acknowledge the two men with a smile I didn't mean. "Our friend never made it to his destination, and we believe there is treachery at work."

When Adamo turned his gaze on the delivery driver, the man appeared to be holding in the contents of his stomach, just barely. "What is your name?"

"Dario, signore."

"Tell us what you discussed with the couple you met yesterday in the hotel lobby, Dario. Did you get their names?"

"No names, but they said they were friends of the bride, Signorina Kentwell, and they wished to play a joke on her. They asked me to tell the signorina the roads were not passable and her dress could not be delivered. Then they told me to leave the dress in the safe behind the desk."

Adamo turned again to the manager, whose face had taken on the pallor of a plucked chicken. "And were you here when this conversation took place?"

"Si, signore, but I was not part of the conversation. I only did as I was asked. I locked the dress in the safe."

"And is the dress still in the safe?" I asked.

The manager's eyes widened and he directed those fearful eyes at me. "Eh, no. It is not. About two hours later, the woman returned. She told me the joke was a mistake and that Signorina Kentwell was very upset by it. The woman said she would take the dress to her in Verona."

"Did you ask for the woman's name?" I pressed as I felt my own stomach contents swirl.

"No, but we recognized each other from earlier, so I just assumed..."

"Could you identify the woman from a picture?" Boris said, taking out his cellphone and tapping the screen.

"Si." The manager walked up to Boris and looked over his shoulder, nodding his head as he looked at a photo Boris pulled up. "That is the woman, signore."

"And what about the man standing to her left in this photograph?" Boris said. "Do you recognize him?"

"Si. Si." The manager waved Dario over. "Come look, Dario. Is this not the man you spoke to?"

Dario appeared to be losing his composure as he timidly walked over and confirmed everyone's suspicions. "Si. It is them."

Boris held out his phone, showing me a photograph of the members of the Bourdain domus standing in front of a photography screen.

"You gave Deidra Bourdain my wedding dress," I said, feeling the blood drain from my face at the sheer irony of it.

"I am very sorry, signorina," said the manager. "I should have asked for identification. I should have tried to contact you. We will make this right." He glared at Dario as if to blame him for everything.

"The wedding dress is meaningless without a husband." I slammed my fist on the table, trying to cover the tears welling in my eyes. Stan quickly swooped in to offer me a consoling hug, but I was having none of his nonsense and I shrugged it off. "What else can you tell us? Has anything unusual happened at the inn since this couple was here?"

Both the manager and Dario were huddled together now, looking to each other for answers. "Well, a fishing net is missing from the inn's boat," said the manager. "I do not know if it is related. We tag them so they do not wander off, you know."

I watched Adamo's brows knit over his eyes. Clearly, he thought it was related. "I think we have enough to go on," he said. "Grazie, signores. You will notify me if you think of anything else."

"Si. Should we call the police about the missing person, Signore Ricci?" the nervous manager asked.

"No. I will do that myself. Buonasera."

Adamo swiftly led us away from the inn, his wide-bottomed pants flowing like the hem of a robe as we made for the Land Rover. He stopped at the driver's side door and turned dramatically to address his audience. "I smell a rotten fish, and it is not coming from the inn's kitchen. This whole business has gollum written all over it."

"You think Marco stole the fishing net and used it to subdue Vincent," Boris said, looking blandly at Adamo. "That was my first thought."

Adamo waved everyone into the car as he slid into the driver's seat. "A net can be a gollum's worst enemy," he offered solemnly. "We need to comb the shores of Lake Garda. And if we have no luck there, we will check the river."

I wrestled with the image of Vincent tangled inside a net falling to his death while Adamo piloted us to an empty rest stop, parking the rover just as the sun set behind the northwestern mountains. This gave us about forty-five minutes of light to search for clues before we could make the change for an aerial view, although I did not relish the part where I sprouted horns in front of them.

In fact, as we combed the frosty shores of the lake, I decided to remain in human form and scout from the ground. No sense reminding them why all this shit was happening. I had basically waltzed into their perfectly orchestrated world and fucked it up, and here I was walking on the beach with three man-beasts who could cause my demise. If Vincent knew the risks I was taking to save him, he would be livid.

"This is where Caleb and I stopped our search," Boris said as we came upon the tributary of the Mincio River. "If an object were to float downstream from here, it may wedge itself under the borghetto."

I didn't know what a borghetto was, but his description didn't sound pleasant for a floating object, especially in freezing waters.

"It is dark enough," Adamo said. "Time to see things from the sky."

All eyes gravitated toward me, which didn't come as a surprise. Word of my horns had likely circulated, thanks to Deidra, the sore loser. "I think I'll stay on the ground in human form," I said. "I can scout the landscape while you search from above."

"But it will take you three times as long to get to the borghetto on foot," Boris argued. "You will slow our progress."

"We don't know if Vincent made it to the borghetto," I said. "He could be lying just inside the tree line, out of view."

"I will stay on the ground with Reese," Stan offered. "Search party protocol suggests traveling in pairs."

"You are right, Stan," Adamo said. "Very well. Boris and I will search from the sky while you and Reese make haste on the ground. Whistle if you find anything of interest. Otherwise, we meet at the borghetto."

Adamo and Boris changed forms, and I watched anxiously as they took off, leaving me in the hands of Austin Powers. I wanted to shout 'Hey Adamo, what happened to the mentoring thing?' Maybe he thought Boris was the only threat to me.

Stan wasted no time leading me into the densely packed woods, while I kept one eye on his back and one on the river. The open shoreline would be my escape route should I need it. The ancient forest housed monstrous trees, which kept the snow from blanketing everything and made navigation easier, and I listened to the muted sounds of nature, straining to hear a voice calling for help, but Stan couldn't be silent. He boasted about his superb first aid skills should we find Vincent in a dire state, and talked about a gollum's purpose to mate and continue the species.

I answered only when he asked me a question, but mostly I ignored his chattering and focused on finding Vincent, using my senses to tune into him. Surely, I would pick up his scent if he were here. I had no trouble identifying Stan's scent. His pheromones outmatched any other smell in the forest, and they were messing up my radar.

"Do you believe in soul mates?" he asked as we made slow progress through the woods.

"No."

"Why?"

"I think a happy relationship comes from two people working at it, not because of fate."

"Okay. Do you believe we are destined for only one mate?"

"No. People change too much, and sometimes happiness takes a hike. We have to be okay with admitting defeat and moving on."

Stan's heavy footfalls broke the snow's crust like the cracking of a walnut shell, and I realized he was stomping a bit harder than when we started. Was he unhappy with my answers? I pretended to see something of interest, and veered closer to the river, hoping to get him off the subject. I knew he was torn up about his mate's tragic death, and I really didn't want to go there.

"How close are we to the borghetto?" I asked.

"Based on the coordinates Adamo gave me, another ten minutes on foot. We can see the town from the river here, if you want to take a look."

Stan continued pummeling the undergrowth with his determined strides, leading us out of the trees and across the rocky shore to the Mincio River. On the other side, homes dotted the hilly landscape. Each roof had a dusting of snow, like powdered sugar on a gingerbread home, and pale lights twinkled inside windows. The storybook image helped me feel a little less isolated, although the river was too wide to cross without a boat or wings, so I was still stranded.

Not far from our location, a stone fort rose imposingly, lit with yellow lamps and linked to our side of the river by a bridge. The water rushed past recklessly, slapping against large boulders as it hurtled toward the ancient structure. If an object were to meet up with any of those boulders, it would get bashed around pretty good. Maybe knocked unconscious.

I scoured the narrow shoreline for signs that someone made it to safety before hitting the boulders, but the terrain turned to snowy rocks, and I had trouble keeping my boots under me, let alone look for clues. The powerful beat of wings joined the sound of rushing water, and I turned in time to watch Boris and Adamo land a few feet from us.

"Anything... of... importance?" Adamo spoke through labored breaths as he assumed a forward pose and sucked in air. You'd think he just finished a marathon. How often did the pampered gollum use his wings?

"No," I said a touch too curtly as I slid off the side of a rock.

"Well, the borghetto may give us more answers," Boris said as he used his wings to bounce him closer to the tree line and way from the rocks. Adamo did the same, although his attempts appeared more labored, leaving me with the parasite named Stan. This ended up being fine, as the chatty Brit had gone silent, making the trip to the borghetto more tolerable.

The bridge had been built of cobblestone, a real relic, and beneath it, a series of arches let the river run through it. This was where the water really got moving, crashing in foamy waves against the sturdy barricade as it forced its way into the needle's eye. On further inspection, the bridge appeared to be a foot bridge only, and it made me wonder if the borghetto was a tourist attraction, although at the moment, not a soul could be seen from my position below.

Boris and Adamo followed a trench that diverted some of the water to another source through a man-sized pipe, and a machine hum grew louder as we drew closer. Everyone came to stand at the edge of a boulder field where the Mincio River shared its riches with the nearby village, and I held my breath as I scanned the mouth of the pipe, hoping and not hoping to see Vincent's body there. A metal screen had been put in place to keep debris and bodies out, and something was tangled in it. Something that looked like a net.

"I think that's a net," I said. "At the mouth of the pipe."

We all hurried over to investigate, and Boris used his wings to fly down the small embankment and wade into the water. I tried not to be impressed as he maneuvered over the rocks in taloned feet, and when he reached the net, he pulled it free of the screen and tossed it up onto the embankment. Adamo stooped for it and began a thorough inspection as Stan and I joined him.

"This net has been slashed to ribbons," he said as Boris flew back up and came to stand beside him.

"Does it have a tag with the inn's name on it?" Boris asked impatiently.

"That is what I am trying to determine, Boris," Adamo said testily. "Here, I found something. Yes. Santa Cristina Inn."

"Marco!" Boris growled. "Gollum filth."

"Now, now. Finding this here does not prove Marco's guilt," Adamo said. "But the damage done to the net is highly suspicious. We will take it back with us and decide what caused it."

"Can we finally get the police involved?" I said. "I know you wanted to keep this a gollum problem, but Vincent is a big deal in New York. As it is, everyone will question why we waited so long to report it."

My attempt to come across confident failed when my voice cracked, and Adamo captured me in a gaze I couldn't quite read. Was it pity or aggravation?

"You make a valid point, young one," he said. "The police never give us grief when we need their assistance, and they have the resources to conduct a more thorough search. There are many dangers out here, especially for a fragile female."

"How right you are, Adamo," Stan said. "We wouldn't want two fatalities on our hands." Swifter than a raging river, Stan wrapped his arm around me to hold me close. I tried to wiggle away, but he had an iron grip, enough to tell me he wasn't inclined to let go.

"Being female doesn't make me fragile," I argued, although it sounded really ironic at the moment.

Adamo feigned an apologetic head tilt. "Pardon signorina, I should have said it could be dangerous for a fragile 'hybrid'."

Aw, crap.