Carlo knew he wasn’t a child. He was somewhere else and he wanted to wake up. Something was wrong, and he knew he had to avoid the wrong thing. The dangerous thing.
It was more pleasant to stay here, his little fist in his father’s strong hand. Already the apothecary was showing signs of wear, cracked and worn tiles on the floor, thin lines in the plaster, but Carlo loved the faded reds and blues—like a giant chessboard with green swaths snaking every which way. The shop smelled acrid with plants and medicines, a lingering odor of soap. It would have made him happy to stay and help his father and his grandfather. He longed to run across the floor and play.
Carlo tried to slip his hand out of his father’s, but his father squeezed tighter.
“One second,” said his father. “Wait one second.”
Carlo had a startling, distracting thought. “You’re dead.”
His father looked down. It was a long way up to his father’s hair. “I am,” he said, ignoring the other man. “You remember where you are?”
Carlo didn’t want to leave his father. He seldom remembered Arturo Borgia with any clarity, yet he was living in his mind right now, perfect as he must have been. He looked like an angel, blond and glowing, his face as regal as the sculptures of the city. “No,” said Carlo. “I’m staying.”
“You can’t stay,” said his father. He didn’t crouch down to Carlo’s level. “You are in danger. You must act.”
“They won’t tell me how you died.”
“You could die the same way,” said his father. “Don’t trust everything your grandfather suggests. Whatever he does, he does for himself.”
“I know.”
“Your mother knows.”
“She hates demons,” said Carlo.
“Yes,” Arturo whispered into Carlo’s ear, “she has good reason.”
“Tell me how you died.”
His father returned to talking to the clerk and would not be interrupted, although Carlo pulled on his arm. “Please! Please let me stay!” The store slipped away from Carlo, like he was looking at it through the wrong end of a telescope.
Something tickled his face, and Carlo brushed it away. A hand shook him. Carlo sneezed and opened his eyes. He did not expect to wake up in a suite in some pension. He was on a red sofa, his head propped on a tasseled pillow, which tickled his cheek.
Lucy’s sister sat close to him on a loveseat, her hands folded in her lap. Behind her, the goat man’s face shifted to something more human.
Carlo started upright. A headache stabbed him, and he sank back to the couch.
“I apologize for the way you were brought here. You are safe. Khun will not harm you unless I tell him to. I thought for all concerned, this would be a conversation to best have in private.”
“Khun?”
“He is my companion. My demon. We Binders have demons.”
“I know about Binder Trials,” said Carlo. “Why am I here? How did you… did you control me?”
She gestured to a silver tray on an ornate white cart. “Tea? Coffee? You Venetians prefer coffee to tea, I think.”
Carlo shook his head. “This is hardly a social call, so let’s not pretend.” He sat up. Pain bloomed behind his eyes. “You did control me?”
“I can control you,” she said.
“He doesn’t know,” said Khun. “Or he’s trying to throw us off.”
Lucy’s sister poured a cup of tea and added milk and sugar.
Khun narrowed his more human eyes at Carlo. “You are like me,” said Khun. “My mistress can control your nature.”
Carlo rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. Anything to shelter them from the light. “No,” said Carlo. “I’m not like you.”
She stirred with a tiny spoon, which tinkled the china cup like a small bell. “I am Octavia Klaereon. Perhaps you guessed. I understand from Khun you know my sister. You misunderstand the situation. I regret bringing you here without your consent, but I doubted you would hear me out otherwise. I am more concerned about Lucy than anyone, and I am very concerned about Ra being loose in Venice. I also begin to understand there are things you don’t know about yourself. Would you be so kind as to tell me your name?”
“No,” said Carlo. He picked up a delicate teacup, red with a painted scene, a shepherdess at work. He stumbled across the room toward velvet draperies, parting them so he could look out over a narrow canal. Carlo rubbed his throbbing forehead as he looked back at his hostess. “I’m not telling you anything. You’re wasting your time.”
“I am sorry for the inconvenience. This situation, however, is very serious and I do not have time to persuade you.” Octavia’s voice edged with a growl. “Speak. Answer my question. What is your name?”
“Carlo Borgia,” he said.
“We didn’t think there were any Borgias left.”
“My lady,” said Khun, “he is lying to you. He’s not human.”
“We’ll see. Sit straight, Carlo Borgia.”
Carlo returned to the couch. His spine became an iron rod as he sat. It was happening again; his body not his own. Carlo swallowed panic.
“I see fear in your eyes, Signor Borgia. Khun is right. The only way I could control you is if you weren’t human. Would you like to say something? Speak freely.”
“What are you doing to me?”
“Testing Khun’s hypothesis. You’re part demon.”
“I’m not. I don’t believe you.”
Khun stepped around Octavia’s chair and placed a hand on the back of the couch. He leaned toward Carlo, glaring. “You will be respectful. It is not my lady who has to answer to you. It is you who must answer to her. Where did you hide her sister?”
Carlo willed his breathing to slow. He wasn’t going to let this thing bully him. “It wasn’t my idea,” he said, his voice tight. “Ra gave me an instruction and I followed it.”
“Khun,” said Octavia. “There’s no need for this intimidation.”
Khun ignored her. “You did what Ra told you?”
“Yes.”
Khun turned to Octavia. “He’s like me.”
Octavia tilted her head to the side, ringlets bobbing. “Something dramatic will convince you. My apologies, Signor Borgia.” Octavia’s eyes flashed like a moonlit night, and her voice changed again, growling, hissing. Carlo didn’t think she sounded very penitent. The language she began to speak sounded like it could be Russian on a bad day, yet Carlo understood her. “Stand,” Octavia ordered.
Carlo stood, helplessly.
“You will tell me where my sister is.”
No, he would not. “She’s with my grandfather in his old apothecary off San Marco Square.”
“How did you find her?”
“She was trying to kill herself in the Grand Canal. I rescued her and restarted her heart, and I—”
Khun raised an eyebrow. “You what?”
“I gave her mandrake. She has some throat damage, but Nonno doesn’t think it’s anything serious.”
Octavia closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, like Carlo’s mother did when her head hurt. “What is she doing in this old apothecary?”
“We are hiding her from my mother, and my grandfather is showing her a scroll.”
“Well done, Mr. Borgia. You have told me what I want to know. I release you.”
Khun smiled and put an arm around Carlo’s shoulder. “Brother!”
Carlo stepped away from Khun and ran his hands over his own throat.
“What we Binders do,” said Octavia, “is control demons. We can’t control anyone else.” Her eyes looked through him. “Do you believe me?”
“I’m like”—Carlo gestured at Khun—”him?”
“Do not find it distasteful, boy.” Khun slapped him on the shoulders. “You are what you are.”
“You’re not entirely like him,” Octavia said. “But some part of you is, which puts you in danger. If Lucy were any good at Binding, she could make use of you like I just did. Ra has already. Don’t return
to Ra. He is a king, and he could make you do gods only know what.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Carlo. “You forced me to do something against my will, but I’m not a demon. You’re lying.”
Khun shook his head. “I’m bored with this. You should show him his nature.”
“It could be traumatic.”
“He will never understand if you don’t.” Khun circled Carlo. “This will be fun.”
Octavia considered and nodded. Her voice went funny again. “Demon, show your nature,” she hissed.
Carlo’s skin caught fire, and he felt like he was being folded. His hands lengthened, nails sharpening. The carpet smoked under him and his clothes smoldered. He smelled his own hair burning. “Stop it!” Carlo screamed. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it!”
“You’re doing this, you idiot,” said Khun. “This is your nature.” He cocked his head at Octavia. “Fire? A descendant of fire? Many of us have the fire motif.”
Carlo’s hands were turning to bronze, heavy, and underneath his fingernails tingled melting flesh. His face slid downward, leaving behind a smooth surface.
“Stop! Please stop!”
Octavia hissed a command, and the burning went away. Carlo was kneeling on the floor with his head in his very ordinary hands, his suit the worse for wear, his hair a tangled net. He gaped like a fish.
Octavia studied him with a gorgon glance. “What is salient is you, Carlo Borgia, belong to the Abyss. Some part of you is demon.”
He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. He could be controlled by Ra or Lucy. Or by Octavia. Or by Nonno. Did his father exist? Or was he just some conjuring controlled by Paolo Borgia? He stayed on the floor, dumbfounded. No, there had been someone when he was small. More importantly, his mother remembered when he was a boy. It seemed there were deeper reasons they weren’t telling him what he wanted to know about his past, but not everything about him was a lie.
Octavia coughed. “Signor Borgia, listen to me. I know you are concerned I wish to kill Lucy. I do, but only if Ra wins. That is the Binder way. We repair our mistakes, and an unleashed demon running rampant in the world, especially one like Ra, must be contained. Lucy is what Binds him to the Earth. He must have her, and Lucy is not ready to fight him. If there were any other way, I would find it.”
Carlo pulled himself away from thoughts about his grandfather, and looked up from his shaking hands. “My grandfather has a scroll he thinks will help her somehow with Ra.”
“I think you are lying,” said Khun.
“I’m not.” Paolo’s credentials with demons had been dubious before, but now Carlo himself seemed to be partly one, and his grandfather’s occult history seemed much more credible.
“You don’t strike me as the sort to lie,” Octavia mused. “What do you know?”
“Grandfather gave her a scroll. I don’t know what’s in it or how it works. I’m not magical.”
“Sure you aren’t,” said Khun.
“I know Lucy tried to kill herself to save you the trouble and drive Ra away. If Ra were no longer attached to her, she could drive him back to the Abyss. No Trial and no Ra, and you don’t have to kill anyone.”
Octavia’s skin turned paler, which Carlo would have thought impossible. He could see blue veins on her temples. “You’re sure your grandfather can help Lucy do this?”
“I suspect…” He let the thought come out. “I suspect he’s bound demons and broken ties with demons before.” He looked at Khun. “Given the evidence of me.” He trembled. “You would say he is likely to have some experience with your kind?”
“I would, boy.” Khun nodded.
“Your logic about the scroll is half right.” Octavia steepled her hands in consideration. “If Ra is separated from Lucy, he must return to the Abyss unless he finds another human host. Perhaps your grandfather? Perhaps you? I’m not certain you’re human enough to count.”
“Ra will think practically,” said Khun. “Without a Binder, Ra would burn through any host. He would have to jump from host to host.”
“Demons have done it before,” said Octavia. “Signor Borgia, I can see you now have reasons you might not trust everything you hear from your grandfather. Would you take me to where they are?”
“You want to keep her from doing this?”
“I suspect your grandfather is not being honest with you or Lucy. Let me take my sister home.”
“No,” said Carlo. “You’re certain Lucy will lose, and you want to kill her. I’m not certain you’d leave her alive if she found an alternative. You can force me to go, but I won’t betray her.”
Octavia’s face clouded and she looked like an eerie doll in the shadows. Carlo braced himself as her voice hissed. He stood his ground. He could feel her thoughts slipping into him like snakes slithering. No! He was not going to let it happen again. “I am more human than demon,” said Carlo through clenched teeth. “I don’t have to do as you tell me.”
“Well,” said Octavia. “Good for you. Khun, put him somewhere out of the way.”
Khun elbowed him in the back of his head. Black stars popped against a white background. His last thought was that becoming unconscious was repetitive and annoying.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Alone in the ruined apothecary, Lucy sat on a mice-nibbled tuffet. The dust had given her a slight sniffle. She hunched over copies of Champollion’s Demotic notes, reading in French, taking notes, and looking up words. Lucy might have been a weak Binder, but she was a strong researcher. Madame Dantes had given her many assignments for their own sake to teach her discipline. Lucy continued the laborious translation and silently thanked her tutor.
The gist of the scroll was she could separate from Ra without undertaking a Trial. Most Binders survived their Trial, and most demons became servants during the Trial, or Binders Banished their demons to the Abyss if their relationship was hostile or unpleasant. Lucy envied Octavia, whose demon had always seemed loyal and who cared about her. Ra had taken opportunities to bite and scratch her until Mother showed her how to protect herself. If Lucy weren’t such a weak Binder, she would Banish Ra to the Abyss, but she did not have such knowledge.
This scroll seemed like an ideal solution, but Lucy had to ask herself why Paolo Borgia was being so altruistic in sharing it with her. He was inscrutable. He had some familiarity with demons, which was obvious from books, the scroll, and the notes crammed in margins in cramped handwriting. He had summoned demons before. Who would willingly summon a demon?
The Solomon Scroll made the alliance with demons different for Binders. If another magician summoned a demon, the demon exacted a price. If the demon didn’t kill you outright, it would burn through your body like a log in a fire until all that was left of you were embers. The instant deaths from summoning were more merciful.
Roosting on the skylight above, Ra plunged his surgical beak into another bloody pigeon carcass, a gobbet of flesh dangling. Was he tiring of the taste of pigeons? Ra gulped in short bursts, his head undulating like a cobra’s. Lucy rubbed dust off her nose, at the same time smudging it with dirt. “At least you’re getting enough to eat.”
Ra’s voice creaked in her mind. What is in this scroll? What do you hope to do here? Why are you trying to escape me?
What should she say to him? They hadn’t talked since her suicide attempt and there was no way to misinterpret such an action, a sure way to tell your demon you no longer wanted to spend time with him. “Do you remember telling me Octavia would fail her Trial and we would get the scroll?” It was Ra’s constant message during her childhood.
The impression from Ra was a dark one. Octavia and Khun do not deserve the Solomon Scroll. I am more powerful. It must be mine.
“I know you’re going to defeat me. Everyone knows it.”
Yes. Together we will be amazing. We will rule the demons and bring them up from the Abyss.
Lucy closed the dictionary, imagining Ra squashed between its pages. “You need someone to be your vessel. I kn
ow you don’t want to be saddled with me any more than I want to be subsumed by you. You deserve a more powerful magician.”
His mental laugh sounded like autumn leaves rustling. You are the least of my concerns. You will be happy to be my vessel. I care for you in ways no one else does.
“Thank you. We’re being honest with each other. It’s a refreshing change.”
Ra dived toward her. Lucy waved a delicate hand, and the air above Ra sparked as he crashed into a red magic globe. His feathers smoked. “I decided long ago there would be no more of that. I may not be able to defeat you in the end, but I can protect myself now.”
You are not using Binder magic.
“No.”
Ra flew back to the rafters and sulked. I have better things to do. I am hunting. He climbed into the air, out the broken dome and into the wet Venice night.
Lucy glanced at the cloudy sky. They were joined to each other, but neither of them liked it. Anger swelled in her, anger that frightened her. She tried to make it disappear, but this time she could not.
The text blurred in the scroll. She needed a break. Just a moment for her tired, aching eyes. She picked up the light and wandered around the corner into the library proper.
Three sides of the room were walls of books. Against the fourth wall was a desk resembling a macabre pipe organ, its shelves shooting toward the ceiling in uneven peaks and turrets, creating the illusion of pipes. This was the place from whence Paolo pulled the scroll. Lucy waved away dust motes. Papers, feathers, and guano spackled the top of the desk. She wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell, rifled through papers in drawers, and sneezed. A bundle of letters wrapped in a blue ribbon, the cleanest thing on the desk, attracted her attention. She untied the ribbon and glanced at the first letter.
The writing was small and neat. Lucy recognized the language as Binder script. It was an outpouring of love from Paolo Borgia for a woman. He was begging her to come back into his life. There were pleas, bribes, admonitions, and a small verse at the bottom. Paolo had left her an hour ago to search for Carlo, since his grandson had not returned. It wasn’t the love story she was interested in. It was the magic.
The Vessel of Ra Page 8
