by Venom (mobi)
"A gift from a patron?" Cass asked.
Falco whistled long and slow. "Or a murderer, perhaps. Or both." He pored over the painting, looking for other clues. He pointed to a thin gray squiggle of paint in the lower left corner of the canvas. "Not much of a signature."
Cass bent close to the canvas. "It looks like a C, or maybe an L." "That doesn't really narrow things down," Falco said, bounding back to his feet. "There are probably five thousand registered artists in Venice, and who knows how many amateurs."
Cass deflated almost instantly. He was right. Even figuring out Mariabella's identity didn't help them much. And it was absolutely no use in determining what had happened to Liviana's body.
Falco reached out a hand and pulled Cass off the ground. "But as you said," he relented, "at least it's a start." Cass could tell he was trying to make her feel better.
Cass brushed her hands over her skirts to rid them of as much dust as possible. The room was still suffocating her. "I think we've done enough for one night," she said. "Will you take me home?"
"Of course." Falco's voice was surprisingly gentle. He slipped an arm around her shoulders as they turned back toward the door. "Let's get out of here."
They headed back over the arched bridge to Fondamenta delle Tette, where their gondola was moored. Cass was relieved to see the boat exactly where they had left it. Falco took his place on the gondolier's platform and Cass settled into the felze, slipping off her chopines and wiggling her toes. The night air had developed a sharp edge, and she wrapped her cloak tightly around her. She turned around backward in her seat and peered around the edge of the felze to watch Falco steer the gondola back toward the Grand Canal. She could almost envision the structures beneath the skin of his arms and chest and back moving in tandem. She wondered what it would be like to put her hands on him, to feel the rippling of his muscles beneath her fingertips. If only there was someplace else they could go, together. She wondered if Falco lived in a sad little room like Mariabella. She tried to imagine what sort of place he would call home, but all she could see was a dark room, with flickering candles and a mattress on the floor.
"The women in the houses," Cass blurted, surprised at her brazenness. "Do they do different things?"
Falco stopped rowing long enough to shrug. "Courtesans do many things—sing, play instruments, write poetry. The women in the houses are mostly lovers for hire, though some also work as dance partners or models."
Models. Of course. That's why Falco was so well known.
Cass felt her voice get even tighter. "And as lovers for hire, do they do different things?"
Falco laughed. He took his hands off the oar and let the boat coast through the water. "You ask me these questions as if I have a lot of experience with lovers for hire. I have to save for weeks just to pay the modeling fees."
Cass couldn't bring herself to ask what she really wanted to know, whether what she had seen in that room was normal or some aberration. The slick skin, the noises, the wildness of it all. Was that how couples behaved? Would Luca expect that from her someday? She turned away from Falco as they approached the Rialto Bridge. Burning steel cressets illuminated both ends of the structure, its middle glistening faintly under the night sky.
"It's so pretty in the moonlight," she said. She had rarely seen it this way.
"Yes, pretty in the moonlight," Falco echoed. Cass felt his eyes burning into her back, as if he were looking only at her when he spoke. The gondola slowed to a stop and Falco tied up the boat directly beneath the bridge. The stone structure blocked out the light and the wind, making Cass feel as if she and Falco were alone in a warm, dark room.
"Here," he said, pulling a flask from his cloak pocket. "Celebratory libations."
"What are we celebrating?" she asked.
"We set out to discover the dead girl's identity," Falco said. "And we did." He pressed the slick metal container into Cass's palm. "I say that's progress."
Cass sniffed the flask warily. The liquid within smelled sharp and sour, almost chemical. "What is it?" she asked.
"Some witches brew I found in my master's studio. Go on, try it." He winked. "Unless you're afraid."
Cass put her lips to the flask and tipped it up just enough to let a tiny sip of liquid make its way into her mouth. She held her breath to keep from gagging. Whatever it was, it tasted awful, nothing like the tart sweetness of the burgundy wine to which she was accustomed.
Falco took the flask back and shook it in his hand as if he were weighing it. "You didn't even take a drink, did you?"
"I did so."
Falco shook the container again. "I don't believe you."
Cass leaned in toward him and blew gently in his face. "See? You can smell that ghastly poison on my breath."
Falco sniffed the air. "All I smell is canal water, and a hint of flowers, probably from whatever soap you use on your hair." He put his face very close to Cass's, reached out and tilted her chin toward him. "Try again."
Her lips were mere inches from his. Cass struggled to exhale. Her chest tightened as the air trickled out of her body. She noticed a V-shaped scar beneath Falco's right eye. She was seized by an irrational urge to touch her lips to the small imperfection. "What about now?" she asked.
Falco brushed a spiral of hair from her freckled cheek and touched his forehead to hers. "One more time?" He closed his eyes. He reached up with one of his hands and cradled the back of her head, pulling her toward him.
He was going to kiss her. She was going to let him. Falco's face blurred in the darkness as he closed the distance between them.
And then . . . it wasn't Falco she was about to kiss. It was Luca. She lunged backward in her seat, causing the gondola to lurch to one side.
Falco's eyes snapped open. "What happened?"
Cass had no idea what to say. "I—I thought I saw something," she stammered out.
Falco glanced around, as if reaffirming that it would be impossible to see anything in the blackness under the bridge. "A vampire?" His voice was thick with sarcasm.
Cass looked away. "Forget it. You wouldn't understand."
"Oh. I think I understand." Falco turned slowly away from Cass. He dragged his fingers across the shiny black wood as he moved toward the back of the boat. "Forgive me, Signorina. I didn't mean to overstep my station."
"No. I—it's not that," Cass said. Her heart was trembling in her chest.
Falco didn't answer. He vaulted over the side of the boat and headed for the steps leading up to the bridge. Cass followed him, struggling to lift her skirts over the gondola's edge. She fumbled her way up the uneven steps, feeling the dampness of the stones seeping through the bottom of her suede shoes. Falco stood in the middle of the bridge, his forearms resting on the railing. He stared down at the water so intently that Cass thought maybe it was his turn to see murderers and poisonous serpents beneath the surface.
But no, Falco didn't deal in superstition.
Cass cleared her throat. Her chest felt as though there was a giant fist around it, squeezing. "Lately I always think I'm doing the wrong thing."
Falco nodded, keeping his eyes locked on the water. His jaw was tight. "You should stop thinking so much. Do what feels right."
Cass imagined them tucked back under the bridge, Falco's hand in her hair, his lips finding hers in the dark. She had no doubt that kissing him would have felt right. To her, but not to Luca. Not to Agnese. "How am I supposed to know what feels right?" she asked. "I was never taught to feel—just to obey. It's suffocating. Most of the time I can barely breathe."
"Well, eventually you're going to have to do what's right for you instead of worrying about the rest of the world. Just let go. Trust yourself." Falco turned to her at last. A smile played at his lips. "And if you can barely breathe, it's probably because of those oppressive undergarments you wear."
Cass laughed. She was ridiculously, unexpectedly glad that he was not going to stay angry with her. "You're right. I swear Siena laces them tighter ever
y day. I sometimes wonder if she's punishing me."
For a few seconds, both of them leaned on the railing of the bridge, looking down at the dark canal water. A gondola floated by beneath them. A man and woman reclined against plush pillows, kissing, barely illuminated by the dim light of a lantern. Cass felt her heart speed up again. Her breath felt heavy in her chest. "Take your cloak off," she said quickly.
"Trying to undress me?" Falco asked. He slid out of his cloak and looked questioningly at Cass.
"Hold it up," she ordered. She adjusted his hands so that the cloak shielded her, and fumbled to undo the bindings around her chest. She began to sweat as she unknotted the laces; in the dark, images of Agnese and Luca floated in front of her, their faces cold with disapproval.
"You all right in there?" Falco asked. "You're thrashing about like you're performing a self-exorcism."
Cass emerged a minute later, red faced but triumphant. She waved her ivory-colored stays above her head. "Now," she said, "I can breathe."
Falco plucked the fabric from her hand. He fingered it and feigned surprise. "Good Lord. What is this thing made of?" he asked. "Steel?"
"Whalebone." Cass clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle a yelp as Falco tossed her stays over the edge of the Rialto Bridge.
"Consider yourself liberated," he said. "Do you feel better?"
Cass couldn't respond. She couldn't describe it, the way it felt to be able to inhale and exhale completely, like for once she was using all of her lungs. Her satin chemise curled and folded against her bare chest, giving her the sensation of being both cold and hot at the same time.
Falco touched his forehead to hers again. His nose brushed against the side of her cheek. Cass's heart sped up. But this time, he didn't try to kiss her. He just held her in the dark, his mouth so close to hers that their breath mingled together like mist off the canals.
Across the city, bells rang out. Matins. Falco stiffened. At the water's edge, a gondolier sat up in his boat, rubbing his eyes. He muttered a curse under his breath and lay back down, covering his head with a tattered gray blanket. In the distance, Cass could see a pair of soldiers patrolling the far side of the Grand Canal, their swords reflecting the pale moonlight.
"I have to be somewhere." Falco wrenched away from the railing and began heading to the steps that led back to the canal.
"Again?" Even the tavernas were closed. Cass wondered if Falco and his friends spent time at brothels. Sure he said he couldn't afford it, but what else could he be doing so late? Gambling? Stealing?
"I have some . . . business to attend to," he said, keeping his voice light. But there was a warning edge to it.
Cass ignored it. "Business?" she repeated mockingly as she followed him. "What kind of business can be conducted at this hour?"
Falco turned around and gave Cass a look that chilled her. "Don't ask questions," he said, "and I'll tell you no lies." He took his place on the gondolier's platform without another word.
Cass felt swallowed by the cold as Falco rowed the gondola down the Grand Canal and out into the open lagoon. Wind whipped her hair around her face, making her eyes water. Cass glanced back at him. His eyes focused straight ahead, straight through her. Cass didn't understand what she had done wrong. Was he angry that she hadn't kissed him? Did he regret that he had even tried?
Cass closed her eyes. She thought about what she would write in her journal when she got home. She wanted to write about Mariabella. And the couple in the dark room—engaging in a mix of love and savagery. And the conjurer and his tricks. Cass wanted to know how he had done them.
And then there was Falco. Did she dare write about him? About the way she felt when she knew he was going to kiss her, like her heart had grown huge, too big for her chest, like it was seeping out between the laces of her bodice and being pulled in all different directions?
Caspita. What had she started?
The gondola jolted backward as Falco pulled the rope tight. Cass looked up, surprised to find herself back at the villa already. Falco hopped out of the boat and turned to her with an expectant look.
"What are you doing?" she asked. "I thought you had someplace to be." She couldn't keep the hurt from leaching into her voice.
"I'm going to walk you to your door, of course."
"I can walk myself, thank you." Cass clambered over the side of the gondola, her chopines clutched in her left hand. Her cloak snagged on the boat. One of the tall wooden overshoes slipped out of her fingers and landed in the shallow water. "Mannaggia" she muttered, reaching down to retrieve the soggy shoe. She pushed past Falco as she headed across the lawn.
Falco caught up with her easily. "Cassandra, be reasonable. There's a murderer running around."
She didn't answer. She headed around to the back of the villa, doing her best to ignore him as he loped beside her in the manicured grass. He couldn't just freeze her out for the whole boat ride and then pretend everything was fine. Cass tucked her hands into the pockets of her cloak. Her fingers closed around a scrap of fabric—her handkerchief. She remembered Mada's words. If he keeps it for a little while, then he's yours.
Did she want Falco to like her? Cass wasn't sure.
"A presto" Falco said, with a short bow. "Until very soon."
"All right." Cass bit back the tears that were suddenly pushing at the back of her throat and eyes. If she turned around, even for a second, she knew that she would cry.
But why? What had happened? She didn't know. She let the handkerchief slip from her pocket as she pushed quickly into the house, shutting the door behind her without looking back.
Leaning against the wall of the kitchen, Cass forced herself to breathe. A single tear worked its way down her cheek, and she brushed it roughly from her face. She turned and peered through the thick glass window. Falco was still there. He had picked up her handkerchief. It looked small in his hands. He paused for a moment, glanced in the direction of the back door, and then tucked the cloth square into his pocket. Overwhelmed by the evening's events and her swirling emotions, Cass let her body slide slowly to the floor. This time she couldn't stop the tears from falling.
11
Liviana's face was everywhere—in mirrors, in shadows, peering up at Cass from her half-empty dinner plate. Pale blue eyes followed Cass's every move—sad, accusatory. Why haven't you found me yet?
Cass fled outside to escape a marble sculpture of her dead friend in the portego only to see her small hand reaching through the sandy soil of Agnese's flower garden, her fingers curling like orchid petals.
"Not real," Cass told herself, stumbling across the front lawn until she reached the path that headed toward the shore.
"Cassandra." The wind off the water called to her in Livi's singsong voice.
Cass put her hands over her ears. She made it to the shoreline, where the sun reflected off the sand, turning the ground beneath her feet a porcelain white. The tide was coming in, and each roll of the surf delivered a giant block of ice. Inside each block was a girl, imprisoned. Cass wanted to turn, to run, but instead she began chiseling away at the ice. The sun began to melt the ice and the cold water ran down Cass's body in frosty rivulets, freezing her from the outside in . . .
Cass sat up in bed, fully dressed. Her skin was clammy, her pillowcase damp with sweat. A copy of Dante's La Divina Commedia lay next to her. She must have dozed off while reading. Not real. Just a dream. Cass could see from the fading light beyond her window that twilight had come and gone while she'd been napping.
Siena leaned over Cass, her features amorphous in the dim light. "Sorry to wake you, but you have a visitor," she said with a giggle. "Your handsome man."
Falco. It had to be. Cass started to correct Siena—he wasn't hers, per se—but stopped herself. What did that really matter in the grand scheme of a murder investigation?
The dream had clarified things for her. It had been two days since she and Falco had visited the brothel, two days of being haunted by Livi's face—in her dreams, in the s
hadows that swallowed the villa at night. She needed to find Livi's body, and protect herself from a murderer. Everything else that had crept in between her and Falco—the touching, the looks, the almost kiss—was irrelevant. This was not a time to be distracted by feelings she didn't understand.
But Cass couldn't keep her stomach from doing flip-flops at the thought of Falco dropping by to see her. Just knowing he was in the villa made the blood go hot in her veins. The past two days had been an agony of waiting and drifting, and wondering when she would see him again, and what they could do next about Mariabella and Livi. She breathed in deeply and then mentally kicked herself for being giddy. Maybe he had come just to return her handkerchief. What would Mada say about that?
Running a hand through her wavy hair, she slid out of bed and tucked her feet into a pair of soft leather shoes. She started toward the bedroom door.
Siena coughed into her fist, moving between Cass and the hallway.
"What are you doing?" Cass asked, trying to slip past her lady's maid. Now that she had decided there could be no feelings between herself and Falco, she wanted to see him immediately to solidify her resolve.
"Why don't you let me put up your hair?" Siena asked. "It's always good to keep a man waiting."
Cass started to refuse. Then she caught a glimpse of herself in the dressing table mirror and almost shrieked. A chunk of her hair had snarled itself into a giant ratty knot and her left cheek was puffy and red from lying on it. Even if she and Falco could only be friends, it didn't mean she should go strolling around the villa looking like some creepy dead thing that had washed up along the edge of the canals.
