Author's note:

Hello, thank you for stumbling upon my first fanfiction I've published on here. It means a lot :D
Before reading, allow me to explain some things:

The merry-go-round was destroyed in a storm a year prior to the beginning of this story, undoing all of its works. That including making Scipio older. He is now sixteen years old. Being so young once again, Victor made him his personal apprentice. But the relationship is closer to father and son than business partners. It's been a year and a half since the Stella gang discovered his secret, and they have nearly forgiven him. Nearly.
The first few chapters will be short, but the plot picks up so stay patient :)

Leave a review or message me with questions, constructive criticism, and suggestions because this is my first story on this site and, although I've written for quite some time now, I'm relatively unexperienced :P
That is all. Happy reading :D

-Willow

DISCLAIMER:
I don't own the Thief Lord or any of its characters. Those belong to the lovely Corneila Funke. I only own Alexandra and the story below.


"To live will be an awfully big adventure."

- Peter Pan, by J.M. Barrie

Chapter 1:

What Doesn't Kill You Sends You Packing.

Alexandra

Uncle Victor was the weird one. He was always lurking in the background at family reunions. If he showed up at all. Always the one who filled the children's' imaginations with tales of the city and its "magic". Always the one who never married, never even dated. Always the one who didn't return your calls. Always the one who never really seemed like a Getz.

I guess that's why I never really heard much of him until my parents finally decided they were getting a divorce after seventeen years of a seemingly perfect family. My sheltered life was slipping away slowly. Piece by piece, day by day, with each shouting match and cold-shoulder routine. It was like baby teeth falling out, losing parts of me that I thought I needed. My Aunt compared it to a bad magic act; everyone could see the trap door except for them. When she said it that day I stayed at her house after a big fight, it didn't make sense to me. And even if it had, it wouldn't have changed the fact that my world was crumbling down faster than I could have imagined.

Until one day it just snapped. Over something that seemed small at the time. My mother got in the car and just drove for hours. When she finally came back, she had a big stack of paper in her hand and tears in her eyes. The divorce attorney told her and my father I would need to stay with relatives while they "sorted out the issue".

That's when calls started being made. First, to the grandparents. They weren't in any shape to watch over a sixteen-year-old girl for several months. Then, to my Aunt and Uncle, who both insisted they had their hands full with their new-born twin boys. We even asked my cousin in university if I could stay in his dorm. It was looking as though I would have to stay in a boarding house or, worse, summer camp, for the whole season.

We were going to have to call Victor in Venice.

As I sat on the edge of my bed, eavesdropping in on the phone conversation. My mother's concerned yet relieved tone heralded that, indeed, we had found a willing "baby-sitter".

"Yes...thank you... Saturday?... She can take the train... Yes... And you're sure you have enough space?... I'll be sure of it... Thank you so much, Victor... You too. Good-bye."

She whispered something to my father, who whispered back, then there was a knock on my door. "Come in."

"Alexandra," My mother sat next to me and stroked my back, seeing as I was displeased. "I'm sure you know about what is happening between your father and I? And how you'll need to take a little vacation while things sort out?"

"Yes."

"Well, I was just on the phone with Uncle Victor. You're going to be staying with him for the summer."

I focused on the leg of my desk chair. That's what I always do when I'm trying not to cry. Just lock my eyes on a point and forget anything else exists.

"Honey?"

"Yeah?" My voice cracked.

"Is that okay?"

I took a deep breath,

No! It's not okay! None of this is okay! You and Papa were never supposed to split up before I even grow up! I need my parents! Both of them! I don't want to live in the city with Uncle Victor, who I barely know, for an entire summer! It's not okay at all. I wanted to say.

"Yeah." I said. Dammit.

~~~O~~~

A week later, I found myself sitting in the back row of the only train left in the twenty-first century, armed with a Diet Coke, suitcase, and my wits.

I was the only passenger in the back car, and that was perfectly fine with me. In fact, it was preferred. I spent the first ten minutes of the ride belting out ballads only to find my voice was a lot worse than my problems. I soon gave up on that and took out my notebook in which I kept my drawings. I finished shading a landscape of the tree in the front yard. I had probably sketched that sycamore a thousand times before. But I never got it right. Even now, the branches were disproportionate.

What if I never live in that house again? When I left, I hadn't gone with that possibility in mind. But now that I was speeding away from the small rural town, it was sinking in like dead-weight in my gut. What if I return only to discover that nothing is the way I left it?

Don't think that way. This summer is going to be... and adventure. Remember the stories he used to tell you? Sparkling canals, perfect weather, grande architecture. What's not to love?

Maybe you'll even meet a boy...

No. There was no way I was letting myself get involved with some random local. Because I was going home. I was sure of it.

I had to, right?

The train rattled along past fields and forests, as the landscape shifted into small towns on the outskirts of Venice. With an announcement from the conductor, I was told we were ten minutes away from our destination.

I resignedly tucked my notebook back in my bag, and smoothed out my outfit. I had chosen simple jeans, a black sweater, and a beige overcoat from London which, according to my Aunt Kat, "accentuated my waist and thinned me out". I wasn't sure why I felt I needed to make a good impression. It wasn't like Uncle Victor would see me and turn me away because of my attire.

A few minutes later, the train slowed and went underground into the station. My nerves sky-rocketed as I peeked out the window at the busy platform packed with tourists and families saying good-bye. They smiled and waved at the cars in front of mine as we came into view, giving me some-what of an assurance that not everyone from the city was cold and submersed into their own worlds.

The voice on the intercom boomed, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived at our destination. We hope you enjoyed your ride. Please watch your step departing. And welcome to Venice."

Canvas bag slung over one shoulder and suitcase in hand, I made my way up the aisle to the doors. They promptly swung open, letting the chaotic sounds of the station flood in and fill the car. I stepped down onto the concrete-tile platform and once again adjusted my jacket.

Here I was. Venice.