by Fiona Paul
Cass bit back a scream. She hadn’t even heard the priest enter from the sacristy.
“I’m sorry,” she faltered. “I just—I needed a safe place.” In her bloodstained wedding dress and with her tangled hair, she could only imagine what the priest was thinking. She probably looked like a deranged murderer.
“Is that . . . blood?” the priest asked, gesturing at her gown.
Cass could only bring herself to nod. The fabric of her bodice had dried and become hard and abrasive. She wished desperately that she could be rid of it.
“Is it your blood?”
Cass shook her head. “He hurt me.” She tried to explain, but where could she start? Her eyes flicked quickly to the priest’s hands. No rings. But did that mean she could trust him? Who knew how many of Venice’s seemingly innocent citizens were secretly members of the Order of the Eternal Rose.
“Should I call the Guard?” the priest asked gently. Undoubtedly he thought a man had forced himself on her.
Cass shook her head again. She was weak and exhausted, hungry and cold. She didn’t want the rettori. She just wanted to remember what it was like to feel safe, to feel loved.
“Follow me,” the priest said tenderly, as if he had read her mind. “You can rest here as long as you need. The Lord provides for his children.”
~
The Virgin Mary gazed down at Cass with mild eyes from one of the side walls of the tiny room, in the dim light of dawn. Panic stirred inside of her until she remembered where she was. San Zaccaria. She sat up slowly.
“Ah, so you’re awake.” A nun entered the room dressed in the traditional black-and-white habit, a silver crucifix hanging around her neck. “You gave Father Pola and me quite a scare. We almost sent for a physician. You’ve been asleep for the better part of two days.”
Two days! How could she have slept for two days? That was even longer than she had slept in Florence when Piero had been stealing her blood.
“I was running from someone,” Cass said, realizing it wasn’t much of an explanation.
The nun nodded. “Do you have someplace safe to go, child?”
“I do,” Cass said, hoping it was true.
“I’ve got a novice habit that might fit you, if you’d prefer not to wear your dress.”
Cass followed her gaze to where the bronze-colored gown sat neatly folded on the washing table, its bodice still spattered with Cristian’s blood. “I’d prefer never to wear that dress again,” she said. “Please burn it.”
~
Standing before the smoking remains, Cass couldn’t believe she had willingly returned to Angelo de Gradi’s workshop, but she had to know for certain if anyone had survived. As the rising sun backlit the charred skeleton of stone and heaps of rubble, her heart told her the answer was no. But she had survived, so that meant . . .
It meant nothing, really. She had survived because Falco had saved her, and then because Cristian, of all people, had taken her far enough away from the smoke and flames that she’d had a chance to recover.
She walked the perimeter of the ruins, kicking at piles of ash and broken stone, bending down occasionally to examine a bit of color in the black-and-gray aftermath of the fire. A tiny unburned piece of cloth. A fragment of porcelain. The fire had taken everything that was anything. Cass turned the corner, unwilling to abandon hope, uncertain of what she thought she might find. She coughed. The air was still rank with smoke and the scent of chemicals. Lifting her hand to her face, she breathed through the sleeve of her borrowed habit.
She kicked at a blackened lump of wood, and it turned to dust beneath her feet. Another spot of color drew her into the center of the destruction. It turned out to be a mottled lump of flesh. She gagged. Bending over, she emptied her stomach onto the charred stone.
“Sister.” A woman stood in a doorway across the alleyway, her brow heavy with concern. “They say the air is still rife with poison. Come away. There is no one left for you to pray for.”
Cass stepped away from the smoking wreckage. “How many died?” she asked. “How many of God’s children lost?”
“Four, that I saw,” the woman said. “But perhaps more. No one could have survived. The fire burned as if the Devil himself set the blaze.”
Cass’s heart shrank cold in her chest. She had seen the building begin to come apart with her own eyes. The curtains of flame had brought the ceiling’s support beams crashing to the ground. Wood. Stone. The entire workshop reduced to rubble. She had known there was little chance anyone could have survived, but hearing it from someone other than Cristian made it real.
Four bodies: Belladonna, Piero, the guard, and Falco.
Cass fell to her knees in the rubble. There could be no more denying it. Falco was dead, and it was her fault. Bowing her head, she prayed for Falco’s soul, that God would not sentence him to hell for worshipping science. She knew that his heart was pure, that he had just never recovered from losing his first love, Ghita. Perhaps they had been reunited.
Comforted by that thought, Cass stood and turned from the wreckage. Something shiny caught her eye as she did so—a glint from beneath a pile of stone and smoldering wood. And though she was ready to put the fire behind her, she felt herself turning back. As she approached the heap of rubble, she saw sunlight reflecting off shattered glass.
Glass . . . Could it possibly be? Bending down, Cass displaced charred wood and stones until she unearthed the remains of a cabinet. She rubbed the soot from the shattered glass front, and her breath caught in her throat.
There beyond the glass was a thick sheaf of papers encased in a leather cover. The Book of the Eternal Rose. It was blackened with soot, but it had survived the fire.
Cass had been given a pair of sturdy leather shoes by the nun at San Zaccaria, and it took just a single kick to transform the broken cabinet into shards of glass. Eagerly, she reached down for the book. She brushed the ash from the cover with her sleeve, revealing a six-petaled flower inscribed in a circle.
“How can this possibly be?” Cass murmured to herself as she folded back the worn leather cover. It was more than good fortune—it was destiny, it was divine intervention.
Or was it?
The parchment spilled out over the ash and crumbled stone.
The Book of the Eternal Rose—it was empty.
“Our notes must be forever protected from those who might fear or misunderstand our noble purpose.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
nineteen
No. No, no, no.” Cass flipped desperately through the pages. “This can’t be. This makes no sense.” Her fingers gently traced over the singed parchment, searching for changes in texture or rough edges, for words secretly hidden in plain sight. Could the book be enchanted somehow? Had Belladonna used a special ink that vanished when it dried?
No. Cass had seen pages with her own eyes. They were hidden in the Caravello tomb—pages written in plain ink, faded by water and time, but not hidden by magic. Somehow this was the wrong book.
But then why had Belladonna died trying to save it?
Cass struggled to remember exactly what had happened the day of the fire. She saw Belladonna flailing before the glass cabinet, the flames engulfing her as she struggled to obtain the book. She saw herself crossing the room, being pushed out the window, waking up at Palazzo Viaro.
Cristian.
Did Belladonna find the present I left for her before she perished? . . . Dubois paid me twice to steal that book.
Cass had paid little attention to Cristian’s ramblings as she pondered an opportunity to escape, but suddenly it all made sense. Cristian had stolen the book from Belladonna in Florence, and then he had stolen it a second time here in Venice. He had either bribed the guard, or sneaked into the workshop some other way. Dubois probably had the replica made so that Belladonna wouldn’t immediately discover the theft. Or perhaps he had done i
t out of malice. Either way, Cass now knew Joseph Dubois was in possession of the Book of the Eternal Rose. She just had to find a way to steal it without getting killed in the process.
~
Flavia opened the door at Palazzo Dolce, her pretty face immediately crumpling into a mask of tears when she saw Cass. “Capricia! I thought I would never see you again,” she said. “I thought the vampires had gotten you.” She pulled Cass inside and shut the door.
Cass embraced Flavia, feeling her own eyes begin to water. A rush of relief flooded through her. When the nun had asked her if she had a safe place to go, she’d immediately thought of Palazzo Dolce. Strangely, it felt like the closest thing Cass had to a home now. She hadn’t spent much time there, but the courtesans had welcomed her without judgment. She trusted Octavia, Seraphina, and Flavia. She suddenly felt horrible for lying to Flavia about everything. “It’s good to be back here,” she said softly. “I’ve missed you.”
Flavia ushered Cass up the stairs and into the portego, where Arabella and another girl sat practicing their flutes. “Look who’s back,” she said.
“Capricia.” Arabella twirled the carved flute between her hands. “Lovely that you’ve returned.” She glanced curiously at Cass’s attire. “Have you joined a convent?”
“No,” Cass said. “I simply sought refuge for a couple of days.”
Octavia strolled into the portego. “I thought I heard your voice, Capricia.” She smiled broadly. “You gave us all quite a fright. When I saw that your room had been torn apart, I was certain you’d been taken by the vampires. Where have you been?”
Cass wasn’t sure where to start, but the girls of Palazzo Dolce deserved to know what had happened to Minerva and Tessa. “I was actually a prisoner,” Cass started. “In a workshop in the Castello district.”
Flavia’s jaw dropped slightly. “A prisoner?”
“The cook has started to prepare dinner, girls,” Octavia said. “Perhaps we should let Capricia have something to eat before we interrogate her.”
“It’s all right,” Cass said. “I’d like to share the story. It concerns what happened to Tessa and Minerva.”
“You’ve seen Minerva?” Arabella asked, her voice resonating with hope.
Their instruments forgotten, the other girls gathered around as Cass, without divulging her true identity, told them how she had been captured and put in a cell next to Minerva. When she told them how Minerva’s blood had been drained from her body, Arabella leapt from her seat and began to pace back and forth.
“Why?” she asked. “Why do these vampires prey only upon women like us?”
“That’s the thing,” Cass said. “They’re not vampires.”
“What?” Arabella’s voice wavered. “What do you mean?”
Cass told the courtesans about the Order of the Eternal Rose. From the very beginning. The stolen bodies. The Palazzo della Notte. Belladonna. The blood ceremony in the church. Octavia and the others listened raptly. The crowd in the portego grew. There were at least ten girls clustered around Cass by the time she ended by talking about her escape from Palazzo Viaro.
“Cristian.” Flavia’s eyes widened. “I met a Cristian once. There was something a little odd about him, so I ended the evening early. Is he a member of this Order you speak of?”
“I’m not sure if he’s an actual member or just a man they pay to do their bidding,” Cass said. “I injured him, but he’s still alive. He may be hunting me.”
“You are safe here,” Octavia said. “Currently, no man is being granted admittance unless one of the girls can vouch for him.”
Cass relaxed slightly.
“I still cannot believe you survived that fire,” Arabella said. “One of my patrons owns a fabric shop not too far from there. He said the workshop burned all the way through the night. And that in the morning, the peasants came out to crawl through the rubble, fetching bits of unburned glasswork and pulling baubles from the melted corpses.”
Cass shuddered at the thought of scavengers clawing at Falco’s body, picking him apart, looking for treasure. She swallowed back a sob.
“Are you all right?” Arabella asked. “It must be horrible to think about.”
Cass nodded tightly. She answered a few more questions for Flavia and the others. Mostly they wanted to know how they could protect themselves from this murderous Order. Cass wasn’t certain that they could.
Slowly, the girls realized the story was over and began to return to their instruments and their chores. Octavia headed to the back of the palazzo where she had her office. Cass followed her, slipping inside the modest room and closing the door behind her.
“What of the charges against Joseph Dubois?” Cass asked. “I heard he had been officially accused.”
“They were dropped,” Octavia said. “Insufficient evidence.”
“Insufficient evidence?” Cass knew most of the senators were on Dubois’s payroll, but still, Giovanni de Fiore was an influential man himself. Surely, the Doge had at least listened to de Fiore’s claims.
“Indeed,” Octavia said. “Signor Dubois is throwing a party tomorrow night to celebrate.”
Cass had a feeling he was celebrating more than just the charges being dropped. Now that Belladonna and Piero were dead, Dubois could keep the Book of the Eternal Rose and find another scientist—and another girl’s blood—to make the elixir. Her stomach roiled at the thought of Joseph Dubois living even a day longer than God intended. The fire had destroyed the spiders and whatever equipment Piero used to extract humors and create the elixir, but all of that information was likely still in the book. Cass had to steal it—immediately.
“A party, you say?” A party would be an excellent way to gain access to Palazzo Dubois. All she would have to do was find the secret room Feliciana had hinted about. “May I go?”
Octavia touched Cass’s cheek with the back of her hand. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal and you feel a bit feverish. Are you sure going out is the best idea?”
“Please,” Cass whispered. “It is imperative that I attend.”
Octavia shook her head. She pulled a pair of spectacles from her pocket and rested them on her nose. Then she plucked a quill and some ink from a drawer, and began to compose a message. “I’m going to send word to Signor Dubois that none of my girls will be attending his party,” she said. “After what you have told me, I do not want them near him ever again.”
“You cannot,” Cass said, desperation rising in her throat. “I mean, wouldn’t that simply draw suspicion to you and your house?”
Octavia paused, midsentence, and a small blot of ink formed on the parchment. “Why on earth would you risk facing Joseph Dubois?”
“There is a book,” Cass said. “Filled with so much evidence against both Dubois and the Order that even the Senate would have to find it sufficient. Why, the Doge would probably demand that the entire group be tried as heretics if he saw what was written in the pages.” She paused to catch her breath. “I promise you, Octavia, if I can get into Palazzo Dubois, I can find it.”
Octavia looked at her without speaking. She removed her glasses and methodically polished them on the fabric of her skirt.
“If you will consent to let at least a couple of other girls attend, I will do my best to watch out for them,” Cass continued. “They heard the same story you did—they know the danger. Please let me ask them, and only those willing to attend with me will go. Just don’t cancel altogether.”
“All right, then,” Octavia said. “But I hope that you are correct, and that this book puts a stop to all of this immortality madness. Ever since you disappeared, everyone has been on edge, waiting for the next girl to vanish. I simply wish for my courtesans to no longer be in danger.” Octavia set the partial letter to Dubois off to the side and began a new message. “Dinner is probably ready. Please tell the other girls I will join them in the din
ing room directly.”
~
Cass nibbled at a plate of poached salmon and herbed potatoes, but then excused herself to go lie down as soon as possible. The countless questions were wearing her down. The girls of Palazzo Dolce deserved to know everything about what had happened to their friends, but each time Cass spoke, she worried she might give away her real identity.
No evidence of her fight with Piero remained in her little fourth-floor room. Someone had raised the candelabra back up to the ceiling, made the bed, and mopped up the spilled water. The basin sat neatly on the washing table again, as did a simple blue dress she recognized as belonging to Flavia. She must have left it there for Cass. Latching the shutters, Cass slipped out of the borrowed novice habit and into the blue dress. It was a bit short and the sleeves barely covered her elbows, but it felt good to be in clean clothes. She sat on the bed, her fingers sliding beneath her pillow. The page of equations was still there, seemingly undiscovered by whoever had straightened the room. Cass pulled it out and unfolded it.
Was it possible that her blood could really make an elixir of eternal life? Was the secret hidden on this page among the unfamiliar symbols? Cass didn’t know, but she believed strongly that immortality was, and should be, reserved for God.
She went to the dressing table and lit a candle. With trembling fingers, she thrust the parchment into the flame, watching in satisfaction as the equations turned to ash. Then she returned to her bed, lay down, and looked up at the ceiling. A sense of calmness moved through her, as if she had fixed one tiny piece of her broken world.
She stayed there, embracing the peaceful feeling, until a gentle rapping on her door disturbed her from her reverie.
“Capricia.” It was Flavia’s voice. “You have a visitor.”
Luca. He had heard about the fire and come looking for her, discovered her location somehow. Cass needed it to be him, even though she knew it was next to impossible. She hadn’t seen him in over a week, and he had no way of finding her.
