Venom_ARC448_FM8.indd

by Venom (mobi)

  "Perhaps a bit of waiting would do him good," she said. She settled into the chair in front of her dressing table while Siena brushed the tangles from her hair and fashioned it into a braid. She coiled the braid into a small bun and pinned it up, letting a few loose tendrils hang down in front of Cass's ears.

  Then she rubbed some smooth white cream on Cass's reddened cheek. The cream tingled. Cass felt her skin cooling.

  "There," Siena said. "Just give it a few moments." Siena went to the armoire and picked out a silver bodice and matching sleeves. She removed the wrinkled blue clothing Cass had on and laced her into gleaming silver.

  Cass glanced in the mirror and nodded with satisfaction. Siena was a miracle worker. The maid began tidying up and Cass headed toward the staircase, expecting to find Falco in the kitchen. Instead, he was in the portego, perched on the stool in front of Agnese's harp. Cass smothered a smile at the thought of the tongue-lashing her aunt would give him if she caught him fooling around on her most prized possession.

  He had his back to Cass, his face resting against a carved cherub as he absentmindedly plucked various strings. Cass stared, watching the movement of his neck and back and shoulders: pieces of motion that were discrete, yet interconnected. She remembered his words from the graveyard. The human form, it's a symphony. Tiny interlocking movements that join together in song.

  "It's about time," he said, without turning around.

  He turned slowly, then. The blue eyes. The crooked grin. Cass started to greet him, but her voice stuck in her throat. She reached out for the curlicue bottom of the stairway banister, gripping the bronze for a second, reminding herself that there were no feelings. No. Feelings. She flicked her eyes back up at him, felt her lips forming a smile independent of any command by her brain.

  Falco cocked an eyebrow. "A beautiful woman who doesn't speak. Every man's dream."

  "I see you've made yourself comfortable," Cass shot back. "I wasn't expecting you tonight." Or ever.

  "I'd thought you might have learned that with me, you must expect the unexpected." Falco got up from his seat in front of Agnese's harp, and it was Cass's turn to raise an eyebrow. Falco was wearing a flowing white chemise overlaid with an embroidered black and silver doublet and knee-length breeches. His hair still curled forward toward his face, but it looked sleeker than usual, as if he had attempted to tame it with some kind of paste.

  "Why are you dressed like that?" she asked. "Are you going to Mass?" Not likely since Falco professed not to even believe in God. Cass still couldn't quite wrap her mind around some of his bizarre ideas.

  "We're going to a party," he said with a dazzling smile.

  "We?" Two nights ago, he had practically kicked her out of the gondola; then he had disappeared for days. Now he wanted to take her to a party. Cass wondered if Madalena found Marco as confusing. At least with Luca, what you saw was what you got. Good old reliable Luca. No secrets there. Caspita. Cass really ought to read his latest letter. Her fiancé would be expecting a response eventually.

  "Joseph Dubois is hosting a ball. I thought we might do a little snooping around." Falco toyed with the embroidery on his silk doublet. "A Dubois affair will be so overrun with guests that as long as we look the part, no one will question our presence. I won't rest until I know you're safe from this chest-slashing murderer, whoever he is."

  Falco's concern for her welfare was flattering, and a little suspicious. Still, Cass's heart did a little jumping dance inside her chest. They were going on another adventure. The investigation was still on. Surely they could find something at Palazzo Dubois. The master of the estate was connected to both Mariabella and the missing servant girl, Sophia.

  He was also the man Siena's sister now worked for, one of the wealthiest, most powerful foreigners in Venice. Madalena had mentioned the ball once or twice in passing. Cass had gotten an official invitation a couple of weeks back, but Agnese had thrown it away. Ever since Cass became engaged, her aunt had deemed all social functions with men to be "frivolous."

  "We're going to sneak you into a party where any number of servants or guests might know me?" Cass could just imagine the scandalized looks if she, the dutiful fiancée of Luca da Peraga, showed up at a formal event with another man.

  Falco took Cass's arm and steered her toward the front door of the villa. "Don't worry. It's a masquerade ball. No one will recognize you."

  "I don't have a mask," Cass said, glancing around the portego as though one might magically appear.

  "Leave everything to me," Falco said, flashing her a smile.

  Crouched down in the courtyard of Dubois's palazzo with her face pressed against the spiny leaves of a juniper bush, Cass wondered if leaving everything to Falco had been a wise decision. They still didn't have masks, and Cass couldn't take her eyes off Feliciana as the blonde girl paraded about Signor Dubois's portego in dramatic makeup and a vibrant gold dress. She'd fashioned her hair into multiple braids and then twisted them around each other into an elaborate cone.

  Cass fought the urge to run up the stairs and embrace Feliciana, to talk to her the way they used to, to inquire about all the latest gossip from the city. Even in servant's garb, Siena's older sister exuded pure glamour. She might easily have been mistaken for a guest, were it not for the silver tray of canapes balanced on one of her slender shoulders.

  "There." Falco pointed at a pair of masked dancers who slipped out a set of glass doors and strolled down the staircase leading from the ballroom to the garden. He and Cass ducked back behind the bush as the pair stopped to sit on a marble bench just feet from their hiding spot. Steel cressets mounted on the outer wall of the palazzo burned brightly, bathing the courtyard in dancing light. Cass held her breath, certain she and Falco would be discovered at any moment. A trickle of sweat began to make its way down the back of her neck.

  The couple removed their masks and the man bent down to kiss the young woman. Cass pushed the leaves away from her face and crept toward the bench before Falco could stop her.

  The lovers were deep in embrace, their faces melding into one in the darkness. Cass felt a pang of envy. She thought of the almost-kiss beneath the Rialto Bridge, of the bright colors that bloomed inside her at Falco's touch. She should have just let go. It could have been their secret.

  How many more times would she get an opportunity to have any secrets at all?

  She snatched the masks from the bench and tossed the larger one in Falco's direction. Her mask was black and dark purple, adorned with feathers and tiny glittering jewels. A starling, Cass decided. It covered only the top half of her face, leaving her mouth and chin exposed. She hoped it would be sufficient to conceal her identity. She tied the leather string behind her head and positioned the beak over her nose so she could see through the eyeholes.

  Falco's mask was made of beige silk and outlined in strips of orange velvet that Cass assumed were supposed to be a lion's mane. The mouth turned upward in a feline grin.

  They headed up the marble staircase and into the crowded portego that had been converted into a ballroom for the evening. The room was awash in crystal and gold. A portrait of the Doge, its frame gilded and encrusted with rubies, hung on one of the shorter walls. Next to it hung a picture of Signor Dubois in an even more ornate frame. Behind a long buffet table heaping with glasses of wine and platters of meat pies, pieces of armor and crossed swords were displayed on marble pedestals. At the far side of the portego, nobles and wealthy citizens of Venice danced to a string ensemble or clustered in small groups sharing stories and gossip. The roar of conversation and the clatter of dancing footsteps layered on top of the music almost overwhelmed her.

  "Where do you suppose we might find the famous Signor Dubois?" Falco asked.

  Cass strained to see through the swirl of gowns and masks. An obese woman in a cream-colored dress stood just inside the doors, a circle of women crowding around her. Donna Domacetti. Cass recognized her behind her swan mask by her sheer size alone. Donna Domacetti's shrill voice cu
t through the rest of the noise. It sounded like she was telling a story about a tryst between a noted senator and a young courtesan that she had witnessed from her portego window. During the act, apparently the portly senator had gotten a foot tangled up in the leather curtains of the felze, ripping them down and partially exposing himself to a street full of merchants returning home after a long day at the market. Cass cringed as the woman burst into raucous laughter, her cluster of masked admirers tittering and clapping their hands.

  "I don't see him yet," Cass said, scanning the throngs of guests.

  "So what do we think?" Falco said, steering Cass to the edge of the room where the weapons and armor lay on velvet-covered marble pedestals. "Is he our man?"

  Despite being a foreigner, Joseph Dubois had business dealings with many wealthy Venetians, including Madalena's father. "Dubois is very respected . . . ," Cass said doubtfully. "He has friends in the Senate, perhaps even among the Council of Ten. But it is strange that two women from his employ have now gone missing."

  "The real question," Falco said as he watched the masked dancers clapping and moving in unison along the dance floor, "is why would anyone want to harm a beautiful woman?" His eyes darkened. "I wonder if Mariabella suspected she was in danger. People are usually murdered by someone they know. Someone they trust."

  Cass wondered what black memory was playing out in Falco's head, but before she could ask, the sparkle returned to his eyes and he spun her around in a circle "Well, that's a relief," Cass said, when he pulled her back close. "I should feel perfectly safe. I hardly know you at all."

  "I said usually" Falco teased, glancing again at the men and women swirling across the floor of the portego. "Will you be upset if I tell you I don't know how to dance?"

  Cass shook her head. "We're here on official business." Cass stared at the back of a dark-haired girl wearing turquoise and purple skirts over a ridiculously wide farthingale. The girl's train and hat were both embellished with peacock feathers. Was it . . . ?

  It was. Madalena, half hidden by a jewel-encrusted mask, stood near the buffet table sipping wine from a blown-glass goblet. Across the room, through the chaos of ornately dressed dancing bodies, laughing faces covered in masks, flickering candelabras, and overflowing glasses, her friend had never seemed so distant to Cass.

  "I see a friend of mine over by the food," Cass said, turning her back quickly to Madalena. Mada wouldn't be surprised to see Cass in attendance, but she would be shocked if she realized that Cass had come to the ball with Falco.

  Suddenly Cass felt unmoored, like she was floating in a boat that had been left to drift out into the rough waves of the lagoon, oarless and alone. Everything familiar fading farther and farther away.

  And then Falco's hand was on her arm. "Come on." He steered Cass toward the other end of the room. "Look. There's our illustrious host now." He pointed toward a tiered marble fountain with sculptures of golden birds perched on each level. Giant silken banners featuring the Dubois family crest—a golden griffin brandishing a flaming sword—flanked both sides of the fountain. Sure enough, a tall, dark-haired man in a warrior mask leaned against the fountain, surveying the scene with a look of approval. The whole room seemed to orbit around him. Signor Dubois. Cass would have recognized him anywhere, mask or no mask.

  "I'm going to go and have a chat with him," Falco said. "I'd love to know more about his taste in the fairer sex."

  "But you can't just—"

  Falco melted into the crowd before she could finish her sentence. He sidled up to the man in the golden robes and warrior mask. Du-bois extended his hand to Falco without hesitation. Jeweled rings glimmered on several of the Frenchman's fingers. She watched with amusement while the man's brow furrowed and relaxed as he pretended to know Falco.

  Around her, throngs of masked dancers in brightly colored cloaks and dresses twirled across the checkered floor. It was hot, and the air was heavy with the smell of food, sweat, and perfume. Cass began to feel dizzy. Sweat beaded up on her forehead and trickled down toward her eyes. She lifted the feathered headpiece from her face, waving her hand below her chin to get some air moving. If she could just take her mask off for a few moments, let her face breathe.

  She looked around for Feliciana and Mada, but didn't see either one of them in the swirling masses. Just as she contemplated removing her mask completely, a man in a painted tribal mask approached Joseph from behind. Cass blinked hard. She had seen the man's shock of white hair before.

  It was the long-faced man from the building in Castello, the place with the organs. And bodies.

  Cass froze. If she knew what he looked like, there was a good chance he could also identify her. She fumbled to retie her mask, but her shaking fingers could make only part of the knot. The man slowed to a stop a few feet from Joseph when he saw Falco. He finished his approach slowly. Falco quickly nodded and excused himself, but Cass could have sworn he and the long-faced man exchanged a glance of recognition.

  Falco returned to Cass and pulled her to the corner of the room where things were a little quieter. "Seems our Signor Dubois hasn't seen Mariabella in over a week," he said in a hushed voice. "How low has a man fallen when even his hired women begin to ignore him?"

  Cass only half heard what Falco was saying. "That man," she said. "Who is he?"

  "What man?" Falco looked around.

  Cass frowned behind her mask. "The man in the painted mask who spoke to you and Dubois. You—you know him."

  Both Cass and Falco turned back to Dubois. The long-faced man rested an arm on the host's shoulder. The two seemed to be sharing a hidden joke.

  "I don't know him," Falco said. "He must be a friend of Dubois."

  "Well, I know him. It's the man who almost grabbed me. From the Castello district." Her voice trembled. "Dead bodies in tin basins. Does that stir your memory?"

  Falco's expression was concealed beneath the lion mask, but his tone was airy. "You must be mistaken. That place was black as pitch. You couldn't have seen anyone clearly."

  "I am not mistaken." She pulled away from Falco. The moments just after her dress had snagged on the broken window came back to her in a series of fragmented images. Falco pulling. Looking back at the long-faced man. The white hair. The furrowed lines in his tall forehead. His arms reaching out for her, fingers just inches away from closing around her legs. Cass would never forget him. His image had been imprinted permanently on her mind.

  "But you admit yourself you've been jumping at shadows," Falco pointed out, with a half smile that made Cass want to reach out and strangle him. "And even if it is the same man, it's not like he got a good look at us either. There's no way he would recognize us in our masks."

  "I could have sworn you two exchanged a look," Cass persisted. She refused to allow Falco to dodge the subject. "Almost as though you had met before."

  "Now I know you're seeing things that aren't there," he said, sighing. "Let me get you a drink. It'll soothe your nerves." Without waiting for a response, Falco strode off toward a circular table with a rainbow of blown-glass goblets arranged in a pyramid. He grabbed one hastily, nearly knocking over the glass next to it. Apparently Cass wasn't the only one whose nerves needed soothing.

  She turned back to the man in the painted tribal mask. He looked harmless enough in the lamplight, but she knew it was the same man. And she knew, too, that Falco was lying about knowing him.

  Cass had to know why.

  Falco was heading back toward her with a pair of wineglasses, so Cass acted quickly. As a brunette in a sequined mask pulled Dubois away for a dance, Cass sucked in a deep breath and worked her way through the crowd until she reached the long-faced man's side.

  "You look familiar," she said, struggling to keep her voice level. "Have we met before?"

  "Angelo de Gradi," the man said, raising Cass's right hand to his lips. "The Dubois family physician. And you?"

  Cass paused, trying to think up a plausible identity. She cursed at herself for not having planned wha
t to say. Her cheeks reddened as she struggled to reply.

  "Ah," Angelo said. "Another of Joseph's ladies. You will forgive me. I thought his tastes ran a little darker, more raven than starling." He reached out to stroke the plum feathers around her eyes, and his heavy hand loosened the half-knotted string. Cass felt the mask start to slip. She pressed her hand against her face to keep it from falling.

  "I can't help but think you look familiar too, Signorina . . ." Angelo trailed off, waiting for Cass to offer her name. The lines in his forehead deepened. He twisted his wineglass back and forth in his thick fingers.

  The room seemed to be revolving slowly around her. Every insignificant movement the man made further convinced Cass of his identity. She took a deep breath. It wasn't like Angelo was going to attack her in a room full of Venice's most influential citizens.

  "Perhaps you don't have a name?" he asked, in a tone of amusement.

  "I do," Cass said, in what she hoped was a flirtatious tone. "But to give it now would spoil the mystery."

  Angelo seemed about to reply when a tall man in a black-and-brown-feathered mask with gold-rimmed eyes—a falcon, maybe— shouldered between them.

  "Pardon," he said, extending a hand to her. "Would the signorina care to dance?"

  "Yes, thank you." Cass held the beak of her mask to her nose as she allowed herself to be pulled away from the physician. The half-dissected dog and bins full of organs flashed in front of her eyes. Cass now knew the long-faced man's identity. But what she didn't know was whether he was involved in Mariabella's murder.

  "Enjoying the ball?" the falcon-man asked as the two of them moved awkwardly across the tiled floor and attempted to blend in with the rest of the dancers. Cass tied her mask tightly, and felt better once she had double-knotted it at the back of her head. Unlike most of the guests who had chosen their brightest apparel for the evening, this man wore only black. Even his hair was obscured by a black velvet hat, pulled low.