Starling

by Fiona Paul

  She made her way through the narrow streets to the Mercato di Rialto, where almost all of Venice came to buy food. It was a risk, going there, but Cass knew if anyone was talking about her and Luca, or vampires, she could hear about it at the market. She fought the panic that welled up inside her as she approached the crowded area. Before Florence, she had come here with Siena and jumped at every shadow, at every accidental touch. She didn’t have that luxury anymore. If she was going to find the Book of the Eternal Rose and destroy the Order, she couldn’t go around afraid of everything.

  She stopped to read a faded handbill posted outside of the market, wondering if it had anything to do with her or Luca. It didn’t, not directly, anyway. It was a notice of an execution. Cass quickly skimmed the words. Two women were to be hanged in the Piazza San Marco the next day, at noon: Alessia de Fiore, the daughter of a reclusive nobleman whom Cass had met once or twice, and Paulina Andretti, a woman with whom Cass was unfamiliar. According to the notice, both Alessia and Paulina had been found guilty of consorting with vampires.

  It was exactly like in Florence—young women being executed based on hearsay and possible bite marks.

  Turning away from the handbill, Cass tucked her head low and listened to the snatches of conversation that buzzed around her. As she entered the market, the scents of fish, fruit, and sharp herbs melding together made her stomach shift inside her. She took a couple of deep breaths and the nausea subsided. Perhaps a week of smelling like canal water and hiding in a shed had strengthened her constitution.

  Wandering through the long aisles, she tried to ignore the way her heart stuttered in her chest each time someone brushed up against her. She stopped occasionally as if to browse at the different stalls, but really she was listening to the mingling servants, trying to glean any tidbit of gossip that she could. No one seemed to be speaking about her and Luca—perhaps they truly were presumed dead—but there was a steady undercurrent of chatter about vampires.

  “Girls . . . to be executed,” a young servant whispered to another. Cass struggled to hear the response. “Blood in the water . . . Palazzo Viaro.”

  And then a few stalls down:

  A merchant selling vegetables and herbs leaned in to her customer. “The undead . . . The streets are no longer safe.”

  “The streets were never safe,” the woman responded pragmatically as she held out a copper coin. She had the same stern tone and squat build as Narissa.

  “I heard the vampires are handsome men who gain their victims’ trust by seducing them.”

  “Hah. Then I shan’t worry,” the stout woman said. “It’s been fifteen good years since any man at all has tried to seduce me.”

  Cass smothered a smile. Now the woman reminded her more of Agnese than Narissa. Her aunt had always been blunt about certain things.

  When she got to the front of the line, Cass bought a bundle of fresh rosemary. She didn’t know if the cook needed any, but a merchant would be more likely to speak to a paying customer, and at least rosemary was light and easy to carry.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “My mistress and I have just returned to town. Did I hear you speaking of vampires?”

  “Surely you’ve heard about the attacks,” the merchant said. “Girls found by their fathers and husbands bearing the mark of the beast. Vampires strolling the streets, feeding on those foolish enough to be out after sunset. They say sometimes the canals in the Castello district flow red as the sun begins to rise.”

  Cass shivered. The merchant was talking about the neighborhood where Luca was investigating at that very moment.

  “Stay away from Palazzo Viaro,” the woman added. “I’ve heard a coven is living there. A body was found nearby, beneath the Conjurer’s Bridge, just two days ago. A courtesan, gray as a specter and hard as stone, completely drained of her blood.”

  “Thank you for the warning,” Cass said. Her fingers dropped to her belt before she realized she had no crucifix to hold for comfort. Clutching her bundle of rosemary, she stepped away from the stall.

  The Conjurer’s Bridge: Cass knew it. A small stone bridge that crossed a minor canal in the Castello district. Beyond it was Palazzo Viaro, a large house that had sat empty for a couple of years. And only a few blocks away, Angelo de Gradi’s workshop. Cass shivered again.

  She made her way out the back of the market and then around to the Grand Canal, where she stopped so suddenly, she stumbled and nearly fell.

  A group of men carrying swords and clubs stood at the base of the Rialto Bridge. They were intercepting random passersby as they flocked home from the market in droves, pulling them from the crowd and showing them unrolled pieces of vellum. These were not the Doge’s soldiers, as they weren’t wearing the traditional scarlet and gold of the palace, but they were clearly some sort of militia group.

  Slowly, Cass inched forward, trying to see what was on the parchment. She caught a glimpse of a drawing, but the ink wavered before her eyes. Was that . . . a sketch of Luca? She couldn’t tell. Right as she was about to blend back into the crowd and hurry past the men, she noticed the crest on one of the men’s sleeves, and she froze. A griffin wielding a flaming sword. It was the Dubois crest. Perhaps the Doge and Senate had given Cass and Luca up for dead, but Joseph Dubois was still looking for them.

  And Dubois had a way of getting what he wanted.

  “A body separated from its blood will turn hard and gray, like the cold marble of a statue.”

  —THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE

  five

  Cass hurried through the throng and ducked into an alley, her skirts catching on the rough stucco buildings as she walked briskly past. She wanted to get far away from Dubois’s men and suddenly realized where she should go. She ought to find Luca first, but her curiosity, her need to be sure of her suspicions, kept her racing ahead through the twisting, narrow alleys. Keeping to the back streets, she tried to quell her anxiety as she skirted the piles of trash and rotting food that littered the cobblestones.

  Finally Cass emerged from the twisted network of alleys upon a block of private residences that backed up to a small canal. She stood on one side of the water.

  On the other loomed Palazzo Viaro.

  Between them, the Conjurer’s Bridge.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a chill crept up Cass’s spine. A courtesan, completely drained of her blood. She stared down at the canal, imagining blood, imagining the pale, lifeless body of a courtesan floating in the mire. She could almost see the girl, her milk-pale skin going gray from the murky water, her eyes staring vacantly upward, the image of her murderer forever locked inside her brain.

  For a second, Cass fought the overwhelming impulse to turn back. She couldn’t cross the bridge. She couldn’t. Her fingers started to shake, and she took one tiny step backward.

  And then she thought of Luca.

  Of Siena.

  Of her parents.

  Turning back would mean failing everyone. Once, she had been weak, a frightened girl who clung to Falco for protection from a nameless killer. But she wasn’t that girl anymore. She was strong and smart and brave. She had broken into the Doge’s dungeons to rescue Luca. She had swum across the Giudecca Canal in the dead of night and then spent days hiding out in a stranger’s shed while all of Venice was searching for her. She wouldn’t fail now—not when she had a clue that might reveal the Order’s whereabouts.

  Thinking again of the Order caused rage to wash over Cass’s fear, strengthening her resolve as she looked upward from beneath her hood. Palazzo Viaro was larger than the other homes nearby, its gray walls and carved overhangs nearly swallowing up the smaller homes on either side. She didn’t know much about the Viaro family, only that the parents and the children had all died of fevers. For a while afterward, a distant relative from outside of Venice had spent time in the palazzo, but it seemed he was gone now too. Perhaps back to wherever he came fro
m.

  Perhaps murdered.

  Cass forced herself to look at the canal again. All she saw was her own reflection, distorted so that she looked long and drawn out, so thin that a stiff breeze might snap her right in two. She pushed forward, striding toward the Conjurer’s Bridge with determination.

  The street was bare except for bits of trash twisting across the cobblestones. A handbill posted on the adjacent building made a scratching sound as it rippled and curled in the breeze. Thunder rumbled again.

  Gargoyles looked down at her from Palazzo Viaro’s rooftop. Blackness peeked out from behind a pair of broken shutters high above her head. Cass crept around the side of the palazzo, her hood low, her heart pounding. The shutters here were all tightly closed, making it impossible to see or hear if anyone was moving around inside the building.

  She continued to the back of the house. The tiny courtyard was empty except for a single stone bench and a small statue of Jesus. The whole area was overrun with weeds and liana. Another set of broken shutters offered Cass her first glimpse inside the palazzo. She cleared a spot on the dusty glass with the sleeve of her cloak and peered into the darkness.

  She could barely distinguish the outline of a table and counter—it was Palazzo Viaro’s kitchen. The back door was secured with a heavy padlock.

  Sighing, Cass turned away. What were she and Luca thinking? What could be accomplished by watching buildings or wandering through yards? She needed to get inside to discover anything meaningful, but the window glass was thick. It would be almost impossible to break, and even if she could manage it, she would leave behind evidence of her trespassing. The Order members would see the broken window and probably move their operations elsewhere.

  But if multiple Order members were using the palazzo, they couldn’t all have a key, could they? Perhaps there was a spare hidden somewhere nearby. Luca had once hidden a key for her behind a brick in his fireplace.

  It was worth a try.

  Staying close to the palazzo walls and safely below the windows, Cass walked the periphery of the house, feeling for loose bricks. The mortar had chipped away in several places, but there was no key. Returning to the courtyard, she peeked underneath the bench and examined the ivy-covered statue of Jesus, glancing up at Palazzo Viaro’s back windows every second or two to make sure she wasn’t being watched. At the first sight of movement she would run.

  She stumbled as she knelt to examine the base of the Jesus figure, her fingers instinctively gripping the statue’s outstretched marble arm to maintain her balance. No key. As she rose to her feet, she glanced in the direction the statue seemed to be pointing and noticed a particularly thick spot of weeds abutting the courtyard fence. Could it be?

  Cass went to the weeds and reached her hand into the tangled branches, wincing as nettles scratched at her skin. But her fingers closed around cold metal, and her heart started to race. She pulled out a tarnished key.

  Ducking low, she crossed the courtyard to the back door of the palazzo and slipped the key into the lock. A perfect fit.

  Gathering her skirts and her courage, she pushed open the door just wide enough to admit her body. With a single deep breath to quell her trembling, she stepped over the threshold and into Palazzo Viaro.

  “We have witnessed those awakening after burial, but whether from deep slumber or death, no clear evidence yet prevails.”

  —THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE

  six

  The kitchen was dark except for the slice of light that penetrated the broken shutter, illuminating the rough outline of an iron spit, a butter churn, and a long table. The dust was so thick that Cass could trace lines in it with her fingertips. The cupboards hung open, empty aside from a sparse collection of chipped dishware and a scattering of utensils. She found a paring knife and tucked it into her pocket. It was paltry as weapons went, but if she stumbled across Belladonna or Piero, they would not expect her to be armed. She didn’t know if she could really stab anyone; the mere thought of it—the blade piercing skin, the softness of organs beneath—made her cringe. But who knew what she might be able to do if her life depended on it? After all, a couple of months ago she would have thought herself incapable of penetrating the Doge’s dungeons and rescuing Luca, but she had managed to do exactly that.

  But at great cost . . .

  Cass ignored the voice in her head. She had to focus. The house felt empty, but something was off. It was the smell. The faint lingering hint of incense. Her body went rigid. The last time she had smelled incense, Belladonna had been bathing in human blood. Cass curled her fingers around the handle of the small knife.

  Servants’ stairs led from the kitchen up to the dining room, also buried under a layer of grime. Next was the portego. Its walls were stark white and she could see faint outlines where large canvases had once hung. Marble steps sloped both up and down in a graceful spiral. Several rectangular recesses were cut in one wall, most likely used at one time to display Viaro family heirlooms. The only furniture left in the room was a single padded chair that sat close to the fireplace. Cass crossed the room and examined the chair. The blue upholstery was ripping in places, feathers used for stuffing spilling out through the tears.

  She turned toward the back of the palazzo where she knew the master bedroom would be, but then she noticed something odd about the staircase. The handrail was covered in an even coat of grime, but the dust on the steps themselves had been disturbed—there were long bands of clear areas, as if someone had tried to hide footprints by dragging a boot or a cloth back and forth.

  Someone had been on the third level recently.

  Cass glanced up into the darkness as she craned her ears for the sound of any movement above her. Nothing. Relaxing her right hand, she shook out her fingers and then curled the knife back into her grip.

  Slowly she ascended the staircase.

  The scent of incense was stronger here. She paused on the landing, again listening for the slightest indication that she was not alone. The third-floor ceiling was low, the corridor narrow. Wooden doors huddled close together. This was where the Viaro servants once lived.

  Dusty footprints led down the dark hallway. Tentatively, Cass crept forward, trying to keep her own shoes tucked inside the prints made by others. She pushed open the first door and squinted in the dim light. The room was empty except for a bed, its sheets tucked neatly around the frame. She tried the second room. Another bed. She paused with her hand on the handle of the third door. The scent of incense was so powerful here that Cass almost turned and fled.

  But when she opened the door, this room, too, was empty. The bed was different, however, the sheets mussed, a blown-glass goblet lying on its side on one of the pillows. Stepping boldly over to the bed, Cass yanked back the sheets. She looked beneath each pillow. A trail of reddish brown stained the linens on one side of the bed.

  Blood.

  She pulled the sheets back up to cover the spot and then knelt by the bed and peered into the darkness beneath. Nothing but tangles of dust. Another goblet sat upright on the floor on the far side of the bed, still partially full of liquid. Cass went to sniff at the glass but recoiled when she realized several drowned flies floated on the surface of the fluid.

  With her stomach churning, she headed back out into the corridor and finished checking the other three rooms. They were all the same. Barren. Undisturbed.

  Frustrated, Cass descended the stairs all the way to the lower level. For a moment, she looked longingly at the front door. The dust, the darkness of Palazzo Viaro was beginning to overcome her. But it made sense to search the entire place while she was here. She headed down the gloomy hallway, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the foul water that soaked her slippers. The palazzo definitely had some flooding problems. A scratching sound made Cass jump. A pair of shining copper eyes peered at her from a crack in the wall. Vermin problems too.

  Ignoring the rat, Cass contin
ued down the hallway. More closed doors. She pressed her ear to the first one, listening for movement beyond. Quiet. She tried the knob. The door swung open, revealing what appeared to be a butler’s office—parchment scattered across the desk, crates marked LINEN and SILVER stacked on shelves against the wall. Apparently, the last Viaro relative had left in a hurry.

  The next door was locked, as was the third. Cass could see the doorway to the kitchen at the back of the house, just beyond one more closed door on the left. The knob twisted beneath her fingers and the door opened with a creak. She had expected a storage area, but instead there was a small bed, desk, and bookshelf, all balanced on stone blocks in the corner of the room, as though someone was living down there.

  A book sat open on the desk, its crumbling pages threatening to pull loose from the binding. Cass knew there was almost no chance it was the Book of the Eternal Rose, but she had to check. After all, the yellowed parchment looked very old. Tiptoeing into the room, she bent low and squinted at the faded ink.

  “Take Earth of Earth, Water of Earth, Fire of Earth, and Water of the Wood. These are to lie together and then be parted. The spirit of life is made up of three pure souls, as purged as crystal. Blood, bone, and hair grow into a stone, which in turn will break the hold of eternal slumber.”

  Blood, bone, and hair grow into a stone? What did that mean? Cass skimmed through the rest of the pages. The book was full of stories about people who had risen from the dead. It made Cass think of Belladonna. Was her history contained in this volume? Cass didn’t have time to read the whole thing.