She ran her fingers along them as she walked, trying to sense which one it could be. She closed her eyes, and circled the structure again and again.
Finally, she stopped, feeling something. She opened her eyes and stared.
There it was. Before her was a carved figure of a structure, an old church, with a distinctive shape, tall, capped by three triangles, before which knelt a winged figure. To humans, it might look like an angel, but she knew it was one of her own. This was it. She felt certain of it.
“This place,” she asked Blake urgently, breathless. “What is it?”
He came close, examined it. “That is the church of Santa Croce. It’s not far from here.”
She felt it, more strongly than she ever had. Her father was here. And that was where she had to go.
She turned and took his hand. “L
