Book Excerpt: The City of Sacred Bones

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In my last post I dangled a carrot and said in my next post I'd be publishing an excerpt from the forthcoming Mara Beltane mystery series, THE CITY OF SACRED BONES. Well, the next blog post is indeed this blog post, so I'm going to shut up now and get on with the excerpt. Without further ado, the first three chapters of THE CITY OF SACRED BONES, a work-in-progress and sequel to The City of Lost Secrets.
(To see a video trailer of THE CITY OF SACRED BONES, click here and scroll down a bit.)


CHAPTER 1
Piazza San PietroSt. Peter’s SquareRome
The cobblestones were still dampfrom early morning rain and tourists flooded the square. I navigated my waythrough the elliptical space, past the pink granite obelisk, and stared up inawe at the statues of the saints perched high atop the curved colonnade thatsurrounded me. Suddenly a child darted across mypath, rousting a pack of pigeons and sending them in a cacophony of wingflutters across the sky. I sidestepped the young boy, who frowned at hisfailure to catch one of the birds, and continued walking straight. Thepalace-like façade that was my final destination loomed in front of me, abehemoth of Renaissance mastery. I had received an email from myIsraeli friend Uri a few days before. He had heard about the success of mylatest novel and wondered if I might be up for another adventure. Perhaps Ineeded material for my next book, he’d asked. Maybe he could help me researchthat book too, he’d suggested.“If so,” Uri wrote, “meet me in Rome.”  He’d chosen St. Peter’s Basilica asa meeting place for a reason, but it hardly mattered why.I would have followed Uri anywhere.I trusted him enough to know thathe wouldn’t lead me on a wild goose chase, and, truth be told, I missed him. So I hopped on a plane and flew to Rome.During the flight I mentallyprepared myself for the unknown, because Uri was always good for that: Usheringyou headlong into a roller coaster journey of discovery. And when you start thejourney, he warned me once, you may not turn back. I was reminded of that whilewalking through the square. I finally spotted him standing near the stepsleading up to the columned entrance of the basilica, an umbrella in his hand. AsI approached, he smiled.“Mara yakiri,” Uri greeted me. My dear Mara.            “Hi, Uri,” I said. He looked good. Perhaps a littlemore gray on top, but otherwise, Dr. Uri Nevon was still a handsome devil. “It has been a long time,” he said.“You look beautiful, as always.”I blushed and stared down at thedark cobblestones. Then, gaining the courage to face the man and the adventurehe was inevitably about to lead me on, I said, “So why here? Why Rome?”“There’s someone I want you tomeet,” he said.“Inside the basilica?” I asked.“Perhaps.” He flashed a devilishgrin. “Perhaps not.”“I…I don’t understand.”Uri took my hand and a pulse shotup through my arm. It had been so long, I’d almost forgotten how comforting—hownatural—his touch felt. “The person I want you to see mayor may not be here,” Uri said, looking me deep in the eyes. “But this is whereyour journey must begin.”

CHAPTER TWO  It had been almost two years sinceI’d seen Dr. Uri Nevon. In that time, I’d taken a break from writing chick-litnovels, assumed a pseudonym in which to publish a planned series of biblicalthrillers, and celebrated as the first book shot up the New York Times bestseller list. But that wasn’t my original,intended path. When last I saw Uri, I wasn’t evengoing to write the novel he’d helped me research. I didn’t think I could. Orshould. I’d told Uri I wouldn’t. Besides, the book wasn’t the genre I usuallywrote in. It wasn’t what my readers were used to. And it was controversial. Thenovel had the potential to blow up in my face, ruin my career. Instead, it did the opposite. It became a best-seller, made me,my agent, and my publisher a lot of money, and soon enough attracted theattention of Hollywood producers looking for apossible movie adaptation. There was even talk of me writing the screenplay. I celebrated by skipping town,hopping on a plane bound for Rome.Truth be told, I was tired from allthe promotion and publicity. Early morning news shows. Multi-city booksignings. Talk shows. Radio programs. Lectures at colleges and universities.And, most recently, meetings with hot-shot movie producers.It was exhausting. Talking aboutthe book ad nauseam, giving the same sound bites over and over, answering thesame agreed-upon questions… It left me listless and spiritless. After six monthsof non-stop publicity, I had become an emotionless robot that was simply goingthrough the motions of promoting a book I no longer had any passion for.  But I had to remind myself thatthis was what I wanted, to reinvent my career and become a best-sellingthriller writer. I had done it, so now I must deal with the consequences offame and fortune: The increased demands on my time. The endless comparisons tosimilar writers. The bevy of reviews both positive and less so. And theexpectation of a follow up book that would be just as popular and profitable asthe first.Oh, no bones about it--there wouldbe a kick-ass follow up.But first, I needed a break.Going to Rome would accomplish the latter, and plantthe seeds for the former.My agent, Jenny, was less thanthrilled by the decision.“You’re going where?” she had said, sounding exasperated. “Now?”I’d justified the trip to Rome by saying it was aresearch trip for the second book of the series. “Movie deals take forever,”I’d said. “There’s time. Besides, I’ve done all the promotion I can possibly dofor the book. It’s about time I start thinking about book two, don’t youthink?”             Jenny wassilent for a moment, which meant one of two things: either she knew I was rightand didn’t have the courage to swallow her pride and admit it, or she wasintentionally changing the subject so that the conversation was back in herfavor. In this case, I thought she was attempting both.“This doesn’t have anything to dowith that Uri fellow, does it?” she finally said.             “I don’tknow. Maybe,” I said.             “Mara….”Jenny said, sighing.             “I know, Iknow,” I said. “But look, he says he has material I could use for the nextbook.”            “And this…material…just happens to be in Rome, one of the mostromantic cities in the world? The city that, in fact, is the origin of the wordRomance.”            We wereboth quiet for a moment.     “I could use a vacation?” I finallysaid, attempting to further justify the trip, as if knowing my first excusehadn’t worked.             “Mm hmm,”Jenny said.          “Look, big sis…” I said mockingly.“Hey, right now you need an older,more experienced woman’s advice. I ceased being your agent the moment you toldme you Uri was involved.”“I don’t need advice. I need towrite the second book.” “You need a swift kick in the rumpfor even contemplating the notion of you and Uri being a couple.”“That’s not my intention. I toldyou I need--” “What you need is to stay away fromhim,” Jenny interjected. “He’s in love with someone else and being with him in Rome, of all places, willnot do you any good. He’s a distraction you don’t need. He’ll only bring youmore heartache.”“Wow,” I said. “I don’t even knowwhere to begin.”“Begin by emailing Uri back, tellinghim thanks but no thanks.”“Unbelievable,” I said. “You’reunbelievable. No wonder I flew off to Jerusalemto research the first book without telling you. To spare myself thetongue-lashing.”Jenny sighed deeply and cleared herthroat. “Look, Mara. You’re more than just my client. I care about you. And I’mconcerned that seeing Uri again will affect you in a negative way—personallyand professionally.”“You’re concerned you’re going tolose your cash cow,” I whispered.Luckily Jenny hadn’t heard me. “After all,” she continued, “it’snot like you need to meet him in person in order to get the material he claimsto have. He can simply email the information to you and you can do your ownresearch from there.”“After all,” I countered, “It’s notlike Uri taught me everything I know on the subject of the Talpiot tomb. It’snot like he showed me some of the most precious artifacts known to biblicalhistory, artifacts that, you know, seen in the flesh inspired me to write abest-selling novel that made you rich!”I flinched and pinched my eyes shutthe moment I said it.Jenny’s shock registered in the wayher quick inhale of breath caught in her throat. She was silent after that, andthis time, I knew that the pride that usually kept her from admitting faultkept her silent for another reason: Hurt caused by a trusted yet unnecessarilycruel client-turned-friend.  “Oh God, I’m sorry,” I said. “Ididn’t mean it.”“Well,” Jenny said. “There’s notaking it back. It’s out there.”“I really appreciate yourencouragement and advice,” I said. “You stuck by me through every up and downin my career.” “Yes, I did,” Jenny said.“And I wouldn’t have been able topublish this book without you. You were a crucial piece of the puzzle and theone person who—despite doubts--helped catapult its success. You deserve everypenny.”“Yes, I know,” she sniffed.“And now, because of your continuedbelief in its marketability--”“Okay, enough,” Jenny interrupted.“Stop kissing my tush. I get it. You value our relationship.”“I do, Jenny. Really I do. So youhave to believe me when I say that going to Rome is the right thing for me to do.”“Are you absolutely sure?”“I trust Uri. He wouldn’t let me goto Rome on awhim. He’s got something. Something that’ll make for another best-seller. Ijust know it.”  “Just be careful, okay?” Jennysaid, resignation in her voice.“Always,” I said.  “So what’s the second book going to be about?”she asked.“I don’t know yet. I have to go to Rome to find out.”

           CHAPTER 3
I stood under the portico of St.Peter’s Basilica, looking into the deep brown eyes of my Israeli friend, Dr. UriNevon. Almost two years had passed without so much as an email between us, so Iwas unsure about a lot of things. Was he still teaching at Hebrew Universityin Jerusalem?Was he still in communication with his ex-fiance, Ziva, a fellow professorwho’d broken their engagement upon learning of his near-obsession with theTalpiot tomb, only to marry the man who’d arrested Uri for breaking into saidtomb? Did he continue his friendship with Lev, the young shop clerk and almostbrother-in-law who’d helped him break into the Talpiot tomb?             Mostly,though, I wanted to know his reasons for wanting to meet me here, in Rome, at St. Peter’sBasilica. And, secretly, I wanted to know if he ever thought about me, and ourkiss…            We had somecatching up to, and I was hoping a weeks’ long visit would allow me to unwind,reacquaint with Uri, and get inspired for the next novel I needed to write.At the moment though, I wasdistracted. As if Romein the spring wasn’t overwhelmingly distracting enough, Uri was holding my handand looking at me in that curious way of his, with his eyebrows arched and hismouth set, as if waiting for me to make the next move. I’d seen him do thismany times, as he stood before a roomful of eager students in a lecture hall,awaiting questions or answers or for lively debate. So while I had sorelymissed the affection of a handsome, successful, passionate man—perhaps this handsome, successful, passionateman--and I craved his kiss, the city of Michelangelo surrounded me, and Icouldn’t help but think about the first time I found myself in Rome.It was nearly ten years ago, andThomas and I were on our honeymoon. We were blissfully happy and completelyunaware that in a few short years our marriage would crumble and fall apart.During our week in Rome, we’d gained more weight than we cared to remembereating pizza and pasta and creamy gelato; attempted to walk it off in moremuseums than our brains had power to remember; and marveled at the architectureand history of a city that, after the fall of its mighty empire, became thecenter of the Christian world.I’d even thrown a coin over my leftshoulder into the Trevi Fountain, the most cliché of touristy actions, thus supposedlyguaranteeing my return to the City of Seven Hills. At the time I was certainthat I’d return to this magnificently beautiful city. After all, how couldanyone avoid the allure of a city that did nothing less than give birth to a languagethat is spoken by nearly 800 million people worldwide, inspired popular talesof love that changed the face of literature forever, and gave rise to themightiest empire the world has ever known, and has yet to see the likes of since?Yes, I was sure I would return to Rome, but naively Ithought I’d be accompanied by my husband, the love of my life. But Thomas,never one to believe in superstitions, didn’t throw a coin into the TreviFountain. He didn’t need an old wives’ tale to tell him he’d return. Perhaps withhis refusal, our fate had been sealed. Because here I was, back in Rome after nearly adecade…alone.              But at themoment I had Uri for company.            “So…this isit,” I said, spinning around to take in the sprawl and the splendor that is thepiazza of St. Peter’s and the mother church of Roman Catholic Christendom.            “The mostsacred of shrines,” Uri said.             It was thenthat I noticed a man over Uri’s left shoulder approaching us, calling Uri’sname. Uri spun around, said a few words in Italian to the older gentleman, andshook his hand vigorously.             “And I havethe perfect person to show you around,” Uri said, stepping aside so the mancould be properly introduced. “Ms. Mara Beltane, may I present to you Dr.Giovanni Maderno, professor of architectural sciences at Sapienza University ofRome. He’s the foremost expert on the history and architecture of St. Peter’s.”            Dr. Madernosmiled and bowed slightly. He was the same height as Uri and slender, withcurly black-and-gray hair slicked back from his forehead. He was, I guessed,about fifty-five years old. “Ms. Beltane, such a pleasure to meet you,” he saidin accented English, squeezing my hand firmly. “I’ve heard so much about yourbook from Uri. Complimeni.”            “Thankyou,” I said, sliding my eyes briefly to Uri for any sign as to what washappening. I was expecting to have Uri to myself for the day, but obviously Urihad other plans. I should have expected as much, for Uri to have anothersurprise up his sleeve, but not so early into my visit. “I owe much of mysuccess to Uri.”“Nonsense,” Uri said, finallylooking at me. “The full credit goes to you.”I searched his eyes for the answerthat I was looking for, that Uri wanted to spend the day with me as well, butcame up empty. He returned his gaze to Dr. Maderno, beaming at his friend andcolleague with the pride of a young man looking up to his older brother.“Mara,” Uri said, still keeping hiseyes on his colleague, “Not only is Giovanni the top expert on St. Peter’s, buthe is also an ancestor of none other than Carlo Maderno!”The professor straightened his backand raised his chin, as if to honor his long-lost relative. “Sì, è vero,” hesaid.  “Who’s Carlo Maderno?” I asked,looking between the two men for confirmation. “Why, he designed this beautifulfaçade!” Uri said, motioning his hand down its immense columned length. “And hehad the gumption to change Michelangelo’s design…”“Ah, more like he was pressured to change Michelangelo’sdesign,” Dr. Maderno corrected. “But there is time enough for that, no?” hesaid to me. Then, turning his attention back toUri, the professor said, “My friend, you are getting ahead of me. You mustn’truin the private tour I have planned for Mara.”“My apologies, Giovanni. You knowhow excitable I can be.”“Yes, and always so full ofsurprises,” the professor said, turning to me. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mara?”“Well, up until two minutes ago Ididn’t know he spoke Italian, or had the slightest clue that I’d be having a privately-guidedtour today,” I said, perhaps too harshly. Then I forced a laugh in attempt tocover my anger-laced words borne of disappointment. “So yes, I’d say our mutualacquaintance is something else.” I looked at Uri, who only shrugged and smiledsheepishly.Dr. Maderno chuckled. “I mustadmit,” he said, “I had a little bit more advance notice of your arrival thanyou did of your tour. But I would’ve agreed to meet you no matter how late theinvitation.” Then he turned to Uri. “Nulla per un vecchio amico, no? Anything for an oldfriend,” he said, slapping Uri on the back.“Grazie,” Uri said.Dr. Maderno turned to me. “So, MissBeltane, are you ready for your tour?”“I guess so,” I said.“Well, I shall let you two be,” Urisaid, looking at both of us in turn. “Giovanni, thank you again for being soagreeable at a last-moment’s notice. Let us meet up again while I am in town.”The two men shook hands. “Are you sure you can’t come withus?” I asked Uri. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “I havesome things to attend to. But you are in good hands.” Then he took a stepcloser. “Enjoy your tour,” he said, taking my hand and forcing a piece offolded-up paper into it. “I will see you again very soon.” And with that, Dr. Uri Nevon leftour company, proceeded down the marble steps of St. Peter’s Basilica anddisappeared into the throngs of people in the piazza.                                                           ********
 So there you have it, a teaser as to what you can expect from THE CITY OF SACRED BONES. What do you think so far?