The Devil's Song
Page 13
“Bella, I—”
“We demons are powerful creatures, dearest. To us eternal beings, life is a luxury most easily disposed of. One less mortal in the face of the earth means nothing against endless rows of Men.” The absolute indolence in Bella’s voice is enough for a chill to spread to every inch of my body.
“He would never do such a horrible thing!” I say.
Amused by my certainty, she smirks and leans closer. “Lorenzo will do anything to please you,” she whispers in my ear. “He will make you feel like the luckiest woman in the world for ever meeting him, and when that happens, it will be too late. Your soul will be lost to him forever.”
“You lie!” I hiss, pulling away from her venomous hold.
Vexed by my response, Bella’s eyes spark an amber gleam. And still, she smiles. “That may well be,” she muses. “Perhaps I find amusement playing these silly games with your heart… Only Time will tell the truth. Bear in mind that I am an evil fiend, cara… and so is he.”
I shut the dressing room’s door behind me. A sudden weight presses hard against my chest. My lips part and I pull the air, forcing it inside my lungs. The words echo in my mind, again and again: He will do anything to please you.
Bella’s poisonous words are latched into my heart. Is Samyaza capable of committing such a heinous deed? The purest dread weighs down upon me and I struggle to breathe. This is but a glimpse of Giovanni’s last minutes alive. The thought invades my mind and closing my eyes, I shudder.
“By and by, a woman appeared in my life. And her celestial voice delivered her into the world as the queen of song…” His voice is smooth and sensual. Relaxed in the chair before the dressing table, Il Diavolo stares at the mirror. Through the mirror’s reflection, I catch the vivid luminance of his green eyes.
“Did you kill Syneca?” I am blunt. There’s no tiptoeing around it.
Clearly shaken by my question, Samyaza frowns. “To what do I owe this interrogation, may I ask?”
“Answer me,” I insist.
Samyaza shifts in the seat to face me. “Did I push her over the balcony?” He raises his brow with feigned astonishment. “No. I am no killer, tesoro mio… Syneca chose her end out of her own volition.”
“You were not at Bella’s dinner party when Syneca died…” I muse. “You were here when Signor Giovanni hung himself!”
“What is this?” he asks, taken aback. “Are you now the defender of the lowest and foulest of mortals? Syneca was no saint, as for Giovanni—”
“I never agreed to this,” I mumble, a paroxysm of anxiety beating hard in my chest. My fiddling fingers reach my lips as I turn my gaze to the wretched demon standing before me. His noticeable carelessness and indolence make my blood boil.
“Did you kill him too?” I ask. “Did you kill Signor Giovanni?”
“I am insulted, Letizia!” rising from the chair. “How can you think so ill about me?”
“Deny it as many times as you wish, but you must stop,” I command him. “These deaths… They cannot go on!”
Il Diavolo takes a deep breath, the corner of his lips curl in a malicious smile. Leaning against the dresser, his arms fold over his chest.
“You have no power over me, tesoro mio…” he muses.
“I want no part of this!” I hiss. My hands slam against the table, my face inches away from his.
“Letizia, you forget yourself,” he mutters, giving me a hard look. A glimpse of the fires of hell gleams in his eyes. “Remember who I am, my dear. I take pride in my autonomous nature… I will be commanded by no one.” He stops to tilt his head. His hand smooths over my cheek. “Although I must admit, this feisty side of your personality is truly becoming.” His voice is a soft croon that numbs the heat burning inside me. His eyes, dark ponds of unfathomable reach that compel me to silence.
The flames of my temper subside slowly. The warmth is still there, but no longer led by fury. I want him. I need to press my lips against his and surrender to his lustful touch even if it ruins me forever… He wants me too. His full lips part with the promise of a passionate kiss. His hand glides on my waist. I yield to his arms beckoning me closer.
“No…” Pressing my hands against his firm chest, I take a step back. “You finish this. Finish it now!”
He growls with a feral grin. With clenched fists and a tight jaw, he leans towards me. “Don’t you understand? You cannot have it both ways, Letizia!” he roars, piercing me with his stare. “You wanted fame and fortune, to be the most prodigious singer in the opera scene! Well, I have given you more than what you asked. It is fair that I get something in return!”
“And it is fair… Take what you will, but take no more lives! I cannot bear it!” My voice breaks with despair.
“They wronged you, Letizia—both of them!” The demon stops to recover his poise.
“That does not mean they should die!” I stammer. “Who are you to decide who lives and who does not? You are not God!”
Closing his eyes, he gives me a mirthless laugh. “You meddle in matters far beyond your mortal understanding…”
“You lied to me, Samyaza. That is all I have to know,” I say in a calmer voice.
“I never lied, my love,” he says with an earnest stare. “I made it clear from the start. I told you I was a collector of beautiful things…”
“My voice—”
“Your voice is a great thing of beauty, that is true,” he says. “I hold it close to my selfish heart… But you see, your voice matters most to me because of what it does for me.”
“W—What are you saying?” Oh, that this were a dream, a terrible nightmare. Unveiled from all masks, Samyaza reveals to me as Evil itself.
“Your voice delivers me the most precious souls in the audience. And I cannot resist a pristine soul.”
Tears gather in my eyes, blurring my vision. I fear that if I blink, they will roll down my face and I cannot give Il Diavolo that satisfaction.
Stopping before the door, my back turned to him, my hand closes around the handle.
“Get. Out.” I speak the words through clenched teeth.
“Have I somehow offended you?” he asks with feigned concern.
“Leave.” I open the door. I cannot turn back, I cannot allow him to see me cry.
“Ask yourself this,” he says, stopping behind me. “Are those tears for the lost souls you helped me reap, or perhaps they mean it troubles you to feel second best in my list of pretty things?” A smug sneer. “Know that you hold a special place in my accursed heart… You will always be my treasure, Letizia.”
As he crosses the threshold I can feel myself lighter and about to faint. I shut the door and lean against it to avoid falling. And I close my eyes, knowing myself a consort of the Devil. Giovanni, Syneca… Those deaths are my fault as much as his.
He is the killer, but we share the burden of our sins.
Desperate, I run. Tears smear on my cheeks against the wailing wind. I run through cobblestone streets, through narrow callis where moss and urine stench the air.
All my success, the pearls that choke my neck and squeeze my wrists, the precious silk that now strangles my body… All of it is tainted, stained with the blood of the innocent lives I have reaped for the Devil.
When I reach the corner of the street, I stop. Out of breath, I bend my chest over my knees. A foul taste fills the back of my mouth and my body arches against my will. And out of my mouth pours a thick green liquid that fills me with disgust.
“Syneca… Giovanni…” I muse, gathering my hem. I steady my body’s weight leaning against the cold stone wall. “I never asked for this!”
But I did. I wanted it with all my blackened heart. I dreamed of it every night after I heard Syneca sing so many years ago… Even at such a tender age, my young mind wondered how precious life would be if I were to take the prima donna’s place.
“What is it, child?” A woman’s voice speaks to me. Her bony hand lands on my shoulder, seeking to give me comfort.
“All that is mortal eventually dies,” she whispers, holding my forehead with motherly care. “But some things never die…”
Intrigued by the woman’s words, I look up. “What things?” I ask, searching for her gaze. The shadow of her brown cloak conceals the upper half of her face, but as I tilt my head a bit more, I finally catch a glimpse of her eyes—white and opaque. They remind me of Giovanni’s empty stare. A chill spreads down my back. I can tell the old woman is blind and has been so for many years.
“What things never die?” I insist.
“The soul, ragazza…” she says. “The soul has always been and always will be.”
“You are wasting your time with me,” I add, yielding to her hold reluctantly. “I have no soul.”
“All deals can be broken, my dear…” she says with a soothing tone. “Even those made with the Fallen One.”
Uncertainty pounds with every beat of my racing heart. “The Fallen One?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“You made a deal with him, did you?” she asks, helping me on my feet. “You made a deal with Il Diavolo.”
“So I did,” I say, a piercing blow of pain shots through my core, and I sob. “He now holds me in his thrall. My soul is lost to him forever.”
“Not necessarily…” She releases me the minute she realizes I can stand on my own. The woman dips into the street, turns left, and walks into a crooked shack.
“Wait!” I demand. “What do you mean?” But she no longer listens.
The questions build up in my mind, how does she know of my dealings with Samyaza? Is she a seer, a witch? I have no choice but to follow her despite my fears.
The putrid stench of humidity hits my nostrils the second I step inside the house. Pitch darkness envelops the room, save for the faint golden gleam in the depths of another chamber further back.
“Old woman?” I move across the room into a narrow passageway, guiding my steps as I glide my hands on the musty walls.
Wooden tiles creak beneath my feet. I hesitate to move further. Perhaps this was not a good idea. Perhaps I should have gone on my way and ignored this mysterious woman’s delusions. But I cannot go back now. Not until I discover the nature of the gleaming golden object that now lies a few feet away from me.
Embraced by the shadows, my hand reaches the shimmering piece of art. I pull it closer, tilting it so that it catches a faint beam of moonlight that filters into the room.
I hold a golden mask embellished with strings of pearls, sparkling crystals, and pristine white feathers—a luxurious item, an exquisite piece of art, concealed from the world in this sordid cave.
A blinding light flashes in the room. Soon, it fills every corner, and my eyes hurt as they struggle to adapt to the sudden change.
“Do you like it?” The woman’s silhouette appears before me. Little by little, the light fades and my vision becomes clearer.
“I do,” I say, pretending not to be startled.
“There are others like it amidst my many treasures,” she adds with a crooked smile.
The woman’s words resonate in the depths of my soul. They remind me of Samyaza’s, how he calls me his treasure… Is this woman a collector as well? But there’s something else about her that strikes me as odd.
“I thought you were blind,” I say. “How can you possibly know which mask I hold in my hand?”
A faint cackle escapes her mouth. “Appearances can be quite deceiving, would you not say?” She sighs. “Though my eyes fail me from time to time, I am still able to see the things that truly matter.”
“But that is impossible.” The words escape my mouth before I can stop them.
“I trust my eyes more than you should trust yours, ragazza.” She huffs. “Your eyes deceive you.”
“Must you always speak in riddles? What are you saying?” I am on the brink of losing all patience.
“Have you seen them?” she asks with a knowing look.
“Seen what, exactly?” I grow tired of her silly games. The woman surely is bored and seeks from me nothing but entertainment.
“The creatures,” she says under her breath. “The ones he keeps locked in the highest room of the old palazzo.”
“The butterflies…” My eyes fly open. “How do you—?”
“They are no such things!” The woman slams her quivering hands on the table. “They are his creatures, souls he claimed after growing weary of them.”
The blood chills in my veins. “Souls?” I ask. “That cannot be true.”
“And yet, it is.” She huffs, raising her thin eyebrows.
“I refuse to believe it!” How dare she say such a hideous thing? In my mind’s eye, I see the flutter of butterflies encircling me when I first set a foot in their precious sanctuary. The room in the highest part of the tower, the jungle contained within the palazzo’s walls. “It cannot be true!”
“Mm…” The woman clucks her tongue. “You really do love him.” She shrugs her shoulders and turns her back to me, heading to the doorway. “Curious thing, love. You are even blinder than I am… Ha!”
“Wait!” I say, fearing she will disappear into the darkness, swallowed by the shadows that slowly sift back into the room.
She stops at the door, her long-fingered hand holds the jamb.
“You said my soul was not lost,” I remind her.
“Not necessarily lost, I said.” The smugness of her tone irritates me, but I have no choice but to let it pass.
“Then tell me, what can I do to save it?” I carefully lay down the mask over the table.
At last, she turns. “There is but one way, Letizia…”
Another blow of astonishment hits me unexpectedly. “You know my name,” I say.
A mirthless laugh escapes through her chapped thin lips. “Who doesn’t? Are you not the famous prima donna?” She pauses to taunt me, knowing full well my desperate need for an answer. “I will tell you how you can recover your soul, child. And perhaps the doors of Heaven will open once more for you when your time comes.”
“Tell me, please.” I give her what she wants, and she wants me to beg.
“You must cheat Il Diavolo,” she plainly says.
I step closer to the woman. “That is impossible!” I say, searching her jaded countenance beneath the cloak’s shadow. “He is the Father of All Lies! He will see through my deception. Il Diavolo cannot be fooled.”
“Oh, really?” The woman steps aside before an old wooden chest. Her wrinkled hands push open the lid, revealing more than one precious mask ornamented with pearls, exquisite feathers, even diamonds and rubies.
Out of all the precious masks, she picks the black velvet one with elegant black feathers fixed on both sides.
“Wear this mask the next time you sing for him,” she adds, offering me her treasure. “The thrall in which he holds you will be torn away forever.”
With reverent care, I hold the mask between my hands. I take my time to admire the detailed finishings, like the light patterns sewn into the velvet with black thread—barely noticeable on first glance.
“Is this… magic?” I ask, absorbed by fascination.
The woman’s shoulders jitter. What begins as a low cackle slowly turns into open laughter. “None of that!” she says. “Of course, he will disapprove. But you must wear a mask each time you sing… Take all of them.”
“How can a mask spare me from the flames of Hell?” I frown. “I do not understand.”
“But he will.” She gives me a crooked smile. “End your liaison with the Devil and be quick about it, for another’s death draws near.”
Again, my stare drifts to the mask. Puzzled by the woman’s words, I search for a thread of logic in its glossy feathers. Is this a game to her? Am I being tricked by an old woman who’s bored out of her wits?
“Whose death?” I ask, lookin
g back.
A sudden stillness takes hold of the room. Darkness spreads, quenching the light like by the breath of a voracious dragon. And in this silence, I find myself alone.
The woman is gone.
The unrelenting restlessness that stirs in my heart can be the only explanation for my presence at Palazzo Moretti. It took but a few sleepless nights for me to come to this decision.
There is no other way.
Syneca, Giovanni… Il Diavolo delivered them both to the Underworld out of the purest spite. They wronged you, Letizia—both of them! Samyaza’s words haunt me as the gondoliere reaches the imposing water gate where a pair of marble lions welcome my arrival.
No matter his past choices or the cruelty of his actions, Mattia deserves a fair warning. If anyone can be declared persona non grata in my book it’s him. I will not stand by idly and allow him to become victim number three in Samyaza’s growing list of enemies.
A six-foot young man dressed in black and gold livery awaits as I step out of the gondola.
“I am here to see—”
“Buonasera, Signorina Leone.” He bows. “Signor Moretti is expecting you.”
“Oh?” I say, knitting my brow. How is that? I wonder.
“Please, come this way.” The man walks me to the foot of the stairway and with a quick sweep of his hand, he points the way to the piano nobile. He will not leave his post, so I head on and take the stairs.
At the landing of the first flight of stairs, I bump into a man. Slowly, my gaze drifts upwards until our eyes meet—and his gleam with joy almost immediately.
“Mattia, how on earth did you know I was coming to see you?” Our childhood familiarity surfaces without warning. “Did you see me arrive through the window?”
He takes a step back, slipping into his reticent poise, a chilling detachment fills his eyes. “I did not,” he replies with feigned indolence. “She did.”
The embodiment of grace and beauty looms behind him. Her large dreamy eyes widen and a faint smile draws on her rouged lips.
“Buonasera, Letizia.”
“Bella…” Memories of our last meeting flash before my mind’s eye. That conversation had led to a dreadful quarrel which I rashly finished before running away… You were right, Bella. I want to say it. Samyaza deceived me as you predicted. He truly is a monster… just like you.