“Let’s go home,” said Paolo, “and see what we shall see.”
Singing floated in from another room, a woman singing like she didn’t think anyone would hear. Lucy threw back the covers and stepped to the floor. Peppo trotted in from the hallway, his tail thumping as he sat down to watch. There were clothes draped over a chair, a blue dress and pinafore, blue slippers. Lucy slipped out of the large nightgown, which puddled around her ankles, and in minutes she was dressed in stockings and pantaloons, then the dress and the pinafore. She was a little girl, but she had never dressed like this. Traditionally, Binders wore black to signify their covenant with the Abyss. She wasn’t certain whether it was mourning or austerity.
Lucy’s hair was a cloud. She smiled at her sleeves, a muted gray-blue, and the gray pinafore. Would anyone recognize her like this? Her skin was too chalky, but if they weren’t looking closely, could she pass for a normal girl? Maybe there was the solution to all this. To hide until her Trial date had come and gone, to choose not to be a Klaereon any longer.
She frowned. The Trial would find her wherever she was. She needed to leave here as soon as she could.
Lucy slipped into her shoes. A little big, but not a bad fit. The singing continued, flying into high notes like an opera. Lucy’s eyes stung; they felt heavy like she might cry. She tore the tangles of her hair into strips and braided it into something she hoped was acceptable. Then Lucy shook her braid behind her shoulders, wandered down the hallway, and peered into the rest of the house.
A table was in front of Lucy as she entered the kitchen. The singing came from her left. As she passed the table, she saw counters and more tables, leaves hanging from the ceiling, the room part laboratory, part shop, and part kitchen. Jars full of plants and some animals, things that looked like eyes or bones or hair, sat on well-stocked shelves. By the shelves, the singer, head bent over a shirt, weaved a needle in and out of fabric. She was slender, her hair pulled back and parted in the middle.
The woman stopped singing, looked up, and rattled off a soothing Venetian phrase.
“Scusi,” Lucy tried. She’d heard porters and boatmen and the pension manager say, “Mi scusi” when they wanted to attract someone’s attention. It was almost all the Venetian she knew.
This only encouraged the woman. She sent Venetian into the air like butterflies. Lucy glanced around the room. They were alone.
The woman stopped talking. She pantomimed lifting a spoon to her lips, eating and drinking, and Lucy nodded. She wheeled her chair toward Lucy, pointing to herself. “Sofia,” the woman said. “Borgia.”
Lucy had never seen a chair with wheels before.
“Sofia,” the woman repeated. “Borgia.” She waited.
Borgia. Lucy remembered enough of the magical family peerage and their history. Borgia was a family name which had reputedly died out, like the Medicis. She didn’t have to know the history of magicians to know who the Borgias were. Their reputation for poison permeated everyone’s history books. A Roman family imported from Spain, who broke all the rules. These Borgias and those Borgias could be related, far away branches of the same family tree.
“Lucy. Thank you.”
Sofia’s voice flowed again like a babbling brook. Lucy would eat, and then she would go. There was no point in setting out on an empty stomach. She wished she hadn’t given all her money away, but there was nothing to be done about her lack of foresight.
Sofia rolled to the hearth and rolled back to the table with a bowl. Then she sprinkled leaves into a cup. Lucy climbed into a rough wooden chair.
The woman’s voice was gentle, at odds with her pinched face, frown lines dividing her brows, puckered lips. Lucy gave the woman credit for her attempted hospitality. If the woman were a magician, she would be less uncomfortable with her. Even though the other magical families were uncomfortable around the Klaereons, they at least had some self-control and awareness regarding the situation. It said something about this woman that she did not hide from Lucy.
The front door jangled when it opened, a shopkeeper’s bell clanging. Carlo and an older man came in, no doubt the grandfather.
“I’m glad you’re awake,” said Carlo. “I see you found the clothes.”
“Thank you,” said Lucy. She chewed her bottom lip. Three people made her nervous. She could feel magic shimmering off the old man, making her jittery.
The old man removed his hat. His hair popped like vines up from his wet head. He rolled up his sleeves, and Lucy looked at the floor rather than his bare forearms. Sofia asked the man a question and they chattered in their own language, sharper with anger in it. Lucy lifted a spoonful of the soup, but Carlo forced the spoon down and took the bowl away, glancing up at his grandfather and mother.
“Your bowl must be cold,” he said. He put fresh soup in another bowl and placed it in front of her.
“What are they saying?” Lucy asked Carlo.
“Grandpa is telling Mama all has been arranged. He’s telling her we’re going to take you to the Austrian soldiers, who will return you to your family.”
“I don’t want to return to my family.”
“He’s lying to her.”
“Your mother doesn’t sound happy.”
Carlo removed his hat and tossed it on the table. It left a wet spot on the tablecloth. “She isn’t happy because I took away the bowl she poisoned.”
Now, poison was a reaction Lucy could understand. “Oh.” She sighed. “You know it’s not her fault. Everyone hates my family.”
Carlo scratched his head. “I don’t see how you can be quite so generous.”
“I… let’s just say I’m more used to this.”
“She thinks you’re wicked and she wants you gone, but this is an extreme. You’re not safe here, especially if you inspire my mother to poison you.”
Sofia wheeled back into the laboratory. Paolo smiled with a lot of teeth, went to the hearth, and poured himself a cup of hot water.
“I don’t need you,” said Lucy. “I can take care of myself.”
“I remain skeptical,” said Carlo. “Twice I’ve saved you.” Carlo cleared his throat. “I’m not really like this. This… well, I mean, I’m happy to have saved you.”
“I’m certain Ra would have flown in through the window and kept me from eating your soup. Or he would have let me be very sick.” Lucy stirred her soup. “You should reassure your mother I am leaving as soon as possible. I don’t need you to take me to the Austrian soldiers. I can take care of myself.”
“No.” Carlo rubbed his chin. “I don’t think so.”
“Then Ra will protect me.”
Carlo considered. “After a fashion. You could use your demon to stop us from taking you anywhere.”
“I wouldn’t,” said Lucy.
“What a conundrum then.”
The bell above the door jangled again. Sofia, back behind the counter, began a conversation with the woman who walked in.
The old man turned his attention to the table. “You had some soup? It’s good for you. Usually.” His English was accented, but she could understand it.
“Yes, thank you.”
“My soup makes you better.”
Whatever was in the soup did ease the pain in her throat. It was slightly bitter, but the chicken stock covered most of the bitterness, and the sharp taste of oregano finished the camouflage.
The old man took a chair. “You are lucky. My grandson saved you. You fell in the canal, yes?”
“Yes,” said Lucy. “I fell in.”
“You are English,” the old man announced.
“I am English.”
“Your name?”
“Lucy.”
The old man waited.
“Just Lucy.”
“Just Lucy,” the old man said. “You’ve met Sofia. I am Paolo. Carlo says you wish to leave.”
“I do. Ra and I will go. There is no need to take me to any soldiers.”
“You are a child. Where are your parents?”
“In England.”
“The soldiers will send you to England, to your family.”
“No,” said Lucy.
“No, Nonno,” said Carlo. “You told me about the Trials. Lucy thinks she will lose, and then her family will have to kill her.”
“How did you know the Trial?” Lucy said. She forgot herself and stared at the old man, who winked back at her.
“We will have a real conversation now, Binder girl,” said Paolo. “We will understand each other.”
Now the old man’s English was not accented at all. Lucy masked her face to neutrality, a skill her family had honed. “Borgia,” she said. “Your family’s magic is based on elixirs and plants? I’m not sure how your craft is magical at all.”
“Neither am I,” said Carlo.
“You are a feisty girl,” said Paolo. “As for your family, you hold some sway over demons, but the demons do all the magic. If you don’t have Ra, you don’t have anything.”
“I have some other magic,” said Lucy. “May I assume you know something about demons, or you’ve met and recognized mine?”
“Both,” said Paolo. “If you are a Binder, your last name is not hard to guess. You are a Klaereon, yes?”
Lucy picked up her mug, taking a sip of tea. “I could be a disenfranchised Galt. You must know they had the Solomon Scroll in the Middle Ages, and briefly during Cromwell.” Beside her, she noted Carlo was fidgeting, drumming his fingers on the table.
“No Galt born now would look anything like you. They were cursed hundreds of years ago. Who are you? I wasn’t aware there were any Klaereons still waiting for their Trial.”
“And yet, here I am.”
“You must forgive Nonno,” said Carlo. “He doesn’t keep polite company, so he is not sure how to be polite.”
Paolo shook his head and wagged a finger at Carlo. “Now, Carlo, prying into everyone else’s business is the only way to get by. Back to you, Binder girl. Carlo guesses you don’t want to hold your Trial, which is why you tried to kill yourself and why you don’t want to go back to your family. This is right?”
Lucy watched Sofia filling a bag with leaves, weighing the bag and glancing back at the table. The other woman did not seem to notice them at all.
“Carlo is right,” said Lucy. “This is not your concern.”
“Not holding your Trial? Is that allowed?”
“Apparently not,” said Lucy. Paolo Borgia irritated her.
“My daughter-in-law is furious at you for coming here with your dark magic. She blames me for it.”
“It couldn’t be helped, since Carlo brought me here. I am going as soon as you let me.”
Carlo placed a hand on her arm. “Where will you go? You don’t want to go to the Austrians.”
Lucy slid out of her seat, away from Carlo. Her skin crawled. No one touched her.
Carlo pulled his hand back, his eyes roaming the ceiling, his ears tinting red with embarrassment.
Paolo stood up. “What kind of man am I if I let a child wander the city by herself? This would be a criminal thing. And you did not answer my question about the Trial.”
Carlo opened his mouth, then closed it. Was he curious as well, or was he reluctant to correct his grandfather again?
Lucy waited while they watched her. She had to say something. “You’re right, Signor Borgia. It’s not allowed. I have to have the Trial and fight Ra. No one is allowed to sever the contract Erasmus made with the guardian of the scroll. If we have been chosen by a demon, we must fight our demon.”
“No exceptions?” asked Carlo.
“Look,” said Paolo, “your mother is taking money and soon she will want to know what we are saying. So we will leave to go to the Austrians. In reality, we have decided nothing yet.”
“Who are you, exactly?” Lucy glanced from Carlo to Paolo and back again. “You shouldn’t know about Binders and Solomon’s Scroll.”
Paolo squinted and rubbed his eyes. “I am a scholar and also an entrepreneur. You wish to avoid your Trial?”
“I want to stop it. I am a weak Binder. You’ve seen Ra. He will win.”
“You think Ra will defeat you?”
“I know it.”
“Then things are grim?”
“When Ra takes me over, my sister Octavia will have to kill me or let Ra use me as a puppet to do whatever he wants. I want to spare my family,” said Lucy. She clenched her teeth. She felt like she might cry.
“How noble.” Paolo ran fingers through his drying hair.
“Who told you that you would lose?” Carlo said.
“How could I win? I don’t know Binder magic!”
“Anything is possible,” said Carlo, ”if we don’t decide what is already possible.”
“Wait…” Paolo leaned forward. “You are the second daughter, aren’t you? I have heard of you.”
Lucy shifted in her seat. “Who are you?”
“Your older sister, the famous Octavia, she has overshadowed you, yes? And your father, Caius, he hides your deformity.”
“She’s not deformed, Grandpa, she’s small.”
Paolo raised a hand and stopped Carlo from speaking further. “You were given the fight with Ra for a reason. You won’t lose unless you think you will lose. That is a fact.”
Sofia spoke to them. Her Venetian wasn’t quite so melodious, and Paolo stood up. “It is time,” he said.
“I won’t go to the soldiers,” said Lucy.
“Shush,” said Carlo. “No one is taking you anywhere you don’t want to go.”
Lucy asked Carlo how to say thank you to his mother in Venetian, and she stumbled over the phrase. Carlo wrapped Lucy in a borrowed shawl, and they headed into the drizzle. “You shouldn’t have thanked her,” said Carlo. “She poisoned your soup.”
Ra landed on Lucy’s shoulder. He snagged the shawl under his talons and did not offer an opinion.
“That was just like your mother,” said Paolo. “Not a real Borgia. Not subtle enough with her poison.”
“She should never have used the leaves,” said Carlo. “The powder would have been more effective and I wouldn’t have seen it. Where are we going?”
“The third option,” said Paolo.
“What is that?”
Paolo’s eyes crinkled at the corners. He smirked and bowed slightly. “I am a man of secrets, and now, if Miss Lucia will have me, I am her teacher and protector. Let me show you both the real Venice. You will be surprised, I think.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Before arriving in Venice, Drusus, Octavia, and Lucy had toured Firenze. Octavia liked the Medici tomb, which was similar to the vault of dead and not-so-dead Klaereons back in Hathersage. She did not feel her magic as powerfully in Venice, so when she decided to call for Khun, the Medici tomb seemed the most suitable place. Drusus’ family had mastered the wind and weather, and not only could he fly her to Firenze, but he could also keep them dry.
There were no more Medicis. The line died out a mere sixty years before, the last great magical family from Firenze gone. The ambient spirits in the tomb gave her the shadows she needed to practice Binder magic. There had been some difficulty in finding the right powders for the circle. Every Binder carried sacred sand because there was only one place that came from—Eramus’ temple—but titania could sometimes be problematic. In the end, an alchemist had been coerced into giving up the necessary titania to make the barrier, which was mostly for Drusus’ protection. Octavia learned a long time ago not to be afraid of the dark, but she knew Khun resented Drusus.
“They’re closing soon,” said Drusus. “All the tourists will be gone.”
Octavia nodded. She pulled the shadows together, bending the light through them, so she and Drusus seemed to disappear. Just as the door was closing, they slipped in.
Octavia brushed against the sleeve of the priest locking the door. She dodged away as he reached for her. The priest looked around him, shrugged, and moved into the chapel. Octavia and Drusus followed him inside.
In the Cappella dei Principi, the Chapel of the Princes, Octavia untied her bonnet’s soft ribbons and placed it on a small shelf. Candles shimmered and magnified the marble squares, a pageant of colors tiled between the crypts of minor Medicis, whose names were carved on the walls.
Drusus leaned against one of the names, Vittorio de Medici. “You can feel the magic in here,” he said.
“It feels like home,” said Octavia. She envied the Medicis their color. The Klaereon crypt was white marble, as custom among Binders dictated. She plucked off her gloves like daisy petals. It was time to see to the summoning’s protective barrier.
The spiral curls in her hair shook as she bent over to draw a circle on the ground, the powder a mixture of titania and sacred sand. Her lips pursed in concentration like a small girl’s, a child playing with a magician’s tools by mistake. Unlike Lucy, Octavia was not tiny, but she was delicate and gave the impression of being made from crystal. Men were attracted to her appearance, if not her aura. When they first met, Drusus remarked he had been.
When the circle was finished, both she and Drusus stepped into the center. Octavia slipped a small vial of blessed water from her portmanteau. She downed half and gave the rest to Drusus, who finished it off. He peeled off a camel glove and held her hand.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Are you?”
“If we must do this, let’s get it over with.”
Grudging, as always. Well, he was not a Klaereon and did not have much experience. However, they did need to do this. Spirits shifted over Octavia’s face as she closed her eyes. The shadows only Binders could see edged around them, taunting her. She shook her head to chase the noise out. When she was a child, what the shadows said made her ashamed, but now, she glowed with satisfaction at what used to seem cruel to her. She was in complete control, and with a thought could banish these minor shadows. Since Firenze had no Binders, the shadows did not understand this yet. They were not the well-mannered shades of home.
Octavia’s eyes flashed open, glowing like the ocean bouncing back the blue of the sky. The shadows realized their mistake as Octavia gazed upon them. They streamed away from the Binder like the River Styx. Octavia reached out delicate hands and twisted and wove the shadows into strands, tightening and knotting, an expert in the embroidery of nothing. Then she grabbed each end and twisted them together. “Come forth, Khun. Come to your mistress.” A thrill trembled inside her.
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