Belladonna

twenty-one

But Cass didn’t get well. Over the next few days, she grew sicker and sicker, despite Piero’s constant attentions. Her temperature fluctuated. Her muscles weakened until she could not get out of bed without assistance, and, although she did not tell anyone, she began to have all sorts of hallucinations, especially just as she was drifting off to sleep. One night, the walls of her room pulsed with faint reddish light, expanding and contracting as if she were trapped inside the villa’s beating heart. The next night, the ivy that ran wild over the back wall of the garden twisted its way through the tiny crack in her shutters. Vines writhed past the heavy curtains, growing toward the bed where Cass lay helpless, reaching out to her like grabbing hands.

She became convinced the Book of the Eternal Rose was nearby, but that it was slowly disappearing, a page at a time, that if she didn’t find it soon, it would be nothing but an empty leather-bound cover. As ludicrous as the idea was, she couldn’t shake it. Often after Piero administered his mandrake, Cass saw scraps of paper floating in the air. Each time she reached out to catch one, the parchment disintegrated into dust.

Then Cass would grow tired and fall into the well, only now instead of Falco coming for her, the man who appeared in the well was a vampire, with Piero’s face and Falco’s voice. He would materialize beside her and she would try to scream, but what came from her lips was a pathetic gasp of air, almost a sigh.

Slowly, he would lean close to her, with lips of blood and eyes that were as yellow as the moon. And then he would talk to her in Falco’s voice. Cass hated this the most, the way Falco’s words emerged from the lips of a monster. But when Falco told her to relax, she did. And when he told her to hold still, she would. She’d wince as his fangs punctured her skin, but it didn’t hurt. Not really. And then he would brush his lips against hers and leave her there in the well. In the morning, she always awoke in her bed, the salty taste of her own blood throbbing on her lips.

She didn’t know what to think. Could her visions, somehow, be real? Was the book disappearing? Was she being visited by a vampire in her sleep? Cass didn’t even know if she believed in vampires. Several times, she almost confessed her fears to Piero, but something held her back. What if she was right? Piero might denounce her to the Church.

Each morning, Cass raised a hand to her neck, searching for the telltale wounds that might indicate that her hallucinations were more than just bizarre fantasies brought on by fevers or medicines. On her sixth morning at Belladonna’s estate, she thought she felt a pair of nicks, directly above where the pressure of her blood pumped in the right side of her neck. She ran her fingers across the spot repeatedly. There might be a bite mark there. Cass couldn’t tell for certain.

The mirror was all the way across the room, and Cass didn’t feel strong enough to stand. She glanced around for a closer reflective surface. Her breakfast tray was made of tarnished pewter. The best she could do was angle a spoon awkwardly at her throat. She contorted her head this way and that. No luck.

Someone coughed delicately from the doorway.

“Mada!” Cass dropped the spoon on the bedside table. “I’m so glad to see you. I thought you’d forgotten about me.” Cass didn’t mean for the words to come out so bitterly.

“I make the trip here every day after breakfast, Cass,” Mada said, in a tone of reproach. “The last few days you’ve been sound asleep and I couldn’t bring myself to wake you.” She raised her eyebrows at the spoon. “What, exactly, were you doing?”

Cass knew she could trust Madalena. She ordered her friend to close the door, and then, after Mada had taken a seat on the bed, Cass told her everything: the dream, that she wasn’t getting better, that she woke up weaker and more fatigued each day. She told her everything except that the vampire spoke in Falco’s voice. Mada didn’t need another reason to be suspicious of him.

“There are tiny red marks on your neck,” Madalena admitted. Seeing Cass’s expression, she added, “But maybe you’ve been picking and scratching at it. How could a vampire get into your bedroom?”

Cass sighed. “I don’t know. It all sounds ridiculous, but . . .” She fiddled with the coverlet. She had a suspicion she didn’t know how to voice; she didn’t want Mada to accuse her of being jealous. But finally she decided to risk it. “Belladonna ‘came back from the dead,’ didn’t she? And she doesn’t seem to age. And even among her servants, no one looks much older than either of us. And we know she’s the leader of the Order of the Eternal Rose . . .” Cass rubbed at her neck again. “What if everyone here is a vampire?” she blurted out. “What if one of her servants is drinking from me in my sleep?”

Madalena’s eyes widened. “Do you—do you really think she might be a—” Mada couldn’t even choke out the word. “And her servants too?”

“I don’t know,” Cass said. “It’s possible, isn’t it?”

Madalena stood with sudden resolution. “That’s it. Enough. We’ve got to get you out of here.”

Cass shook her head. “I’m too weak to stand. I can hardly go anywhere.”

“I’ll bring my father back. Or Marco. They can carry you to the carriage.”

“I can’t leave yet, Mada,” Cass said. “I need to know.” She also needed to find the Book of the Eternal Rose.

Madalena rubbed her forehead. “What can we do, then? There has to be a way to protect you.”

Cass tried to think past the pounding in her skull. “Where is Siena?”

Mada waved her hand in the direction of the hallway. “She was supposed to be seeing about getting us some tea.”

“Listen. The two of you will spend the day here with me, perhaps go for a stroll around Belladonna’s garden. But tonight, you’ll send Siena home in the carriage alone.” Cass’s throat went dry. She swallowed back the taste of sawdust. “If you spend the night, you can hide behind the curtains and see whether there really is someone sneaking into my room.” Cass blushed. She knew she was asking Mada for a lot. And it was ludicrous, wasn’t it? The thought of a vampire prowling Belladonna’s villa, feasting on her in her dreams.

Madalena turned ghost-pale. “But what if you’re right? What if we’re both attacked? Then I won’t be any help to you at all.”

Immediately, Cass realized she had asked the wrong person for help. The mere thought of vampires was almost enough to make Mada faint. She wouldn’t be able to hide quietly behind the curtains while a vampire drank from Cass. She’d shriek like she was the one being attacked and pull out the vial of holy water she wore around her neck. They’d both end up dead, or worse.

Siena was the better choice. She was quiet, and she could be fierce when the situation called for it. Siena had once attacked Falco with a frying pan back on San Domenico. He and Cass had been making plans in Agnese’s dark kitchen when Siena came upon them whispering and thought Falco was a kidnapper or a murderer. She had clocked him a good one. His head hurt for days. “Siena will do it,” Cass said. “She’s done this sort of thing for me before.”

Madalena arched an eyebrow but didn’t ask for details. “I’ll find her,” she said, gliding from the room. She returned with Siena a few minutes later and Cass explained the plan once more.

When the sun set, Piero brought Cass another draught of mandrake and feverfew and began to re-dress her wounds. Cass felt him cutting through her bandages. The cool vinegar splashed on her arm, which was throbbing a lot less than usual. “How is it?” she asked thickly. She was already beginning to sink down into the well.

Piero didn’t answer right away. “The wounds are healing,” he said. “My main concern now is your lingering fevers. But you’ve had no more visions?”

“No,” Cass lied. The mandrake had made her so drowsy that Piero was no more than a shapeless form. Her visual disturbances were probably the result of the medicines he was giving her. Cass refused to entertain any other possibility.

As she dozed off, the vampire visited as usual, gently stroking her hair as he drank from her.

“Why me?” Cass asked him, tilting her head so that she could look into his yellow eyes.

The vampire lifted his lips from her neck. The blood had painted them black in the darkness. “You’re helpless,” Falco’s voice whispered. “Why not you?” He kissed her on the forehead. “Sleep now,” he said, but he shook her good arm as he spoke.

Cass turned away from him, snuggling her arm beneath her pillow. The vampire shook it again . . .

“Signorina Cass!”

Cass’s eyes flicked open. Siena was standing over her, pale and wide-eyed, shocks of blonde hair coming loose from her usual smart braid.

“I’m awake,” Cass mumbled. She pulled her arm out of Siena’s grasp. It took her a few seconds to remember why Siena was still there. She sat up in bed. Her hand went to her neck. She felt it immediately: an almost-imperceptible bump.

“Did you . . . did you see someone?” Cass asked.

Siena sat on the edge of the bed. “It wasn’t a vampire. It was Dottor Basso. After he bandaged your arm, he left. You fell asleep. You were so still. I wasn’t even sure if you were breathing.” If Siena chewed her lower lip any harder, she was going to draw blood. “He returned with a black case and a large needle. Signorina Cass, he drew blood from that spot on your neck. Several syringes full. Why would he drain your blood in secret?”

Why, indeed? It was common to use leeches for bloodletting, at least in Venice. Cass had seen the slimy creatures attached to Agnese’s papery skin multiple times. Was there a medicinal reason Piero was drawing her blood? If so, why was he taking so much blood that it was keeping Cass pale and bedbound? And why would he do it in secret? Was Piero trying to give her visions? Was he trying to make her think she was being feasted on by vampires?

“I’m not certain,” Cass said. She didn’t want Siena to panic. “He’s probably just trying to balance my humors. You’ve seen Dottor Orsin draw blood from my aunt quite frequently.”

Siena shuddered. “With leeches. Not with that horrible long needle.”

“Leeches are pretty horrible too,” Cass said, rubbing the spot on her neck again. Her fingertips came away smudged with red, and she could almost feel her heart accelerate in her chest.

“I think we should take you back to Palazzo Alioni,” Siena said. “Even if Dottor Basso isn’t doing something wrong, I just don’t like the feel of this place. It feels . . . alive, somehow.”

Cass didn’t have to ask what her handmaid meant. She had started to feel the same way, like the villa was imbued with a malevolent presence. There didn’t seem to be enough servants to maintain the estate, yet everything was always pristine and perfect. And then there were the walls that sometimes pulsed with life and the flowers that turned to look at her.

But Cass wasn’t ready to leave. Now that she knew what Piero was doing, she could refuse the mandrake. If she had to, she could confront him about the bloodletting. Somehow everything was connected. Luca. The Order. Belladonna. Piero and his spiders. She could feel it. If she stayed, she could explore the villa in depth; she could find the Book of the Eternal Rose. If her head cleared, everything might begin to fit together.

“Don’t worry, Siena,” Cass said. “I’ll just refuse the sleeping medicine. Piero won’t treat me against my will. If he does, I’ll scream and then . . .” What she was going to say was that Falco would come running, but bringing up his name would make Siena think of Luca, and Cass didn’t need more guilt. “Someone will come and find me. At least I’m not turning into a vampire, right?”

Cass was hoping Siena would crack a smile, but her face remained as worried as ever. “Then I’ll stay here with you,” Siena declared, looking as if she’d rather take a turn on the drowning platform behind Palazzo Alioni.

Cass wanted to say yes, but it seemed unfair. Even as a handmaid, Siena would be expected to sleep in the servants’ quarters, and Cass spent most of each day dozing. Siena would be basically alone at Villa Briani. “There’s no point in that,” Cass said. “You wouldn’t be allowed to sleep in the same room with me. Signorina Briani would probably put you to work dusting all of her portraits.”

Siena couldn’t keep a flash of relief from showing, but quickly her expression turned sober again. “There’s something else, Signorina Cass. As Dottor Basso bent down to move your hair away from your neck, I’m not certain, but it looked as if he—” She stopped, obviously uncomfortable.

“What?”

“It looked as if he kissed you. You’re not—” She fumbled over her words. “The two of you aren’t—”

“Lord, no!” Cass covered her mouth with her hand and quickly prayed for forgiveness. But of all the things Siena could have said, this was the most unexpected. Siena must be mistaken. Piero was learned and handsome. He didn’t need to go around kissing girls while they were unconscious. “Maybe you saw wrong,” Cass continued quickly. “Maybe the angle made it look as if he kissed me.”

“Maybe,” Siena said doubtfully. “I just hate the idea of you all alone here. Promise me you won’t let him give you any more medicine.”

“I promise,” Cass said.

It was a promise she intended to keep. The next night when Piero came with his bandages and mandrake, Cass pretended to sip at the cup as he watched. Then, as he resumed his work, she glanced around the room. Mannaggia. There was no good place to pour it. She could dump it over the far side of the bed and onto the floor, but what if Piero heard the splash of liquid hitting the tile? When he glanced toward the window, Cass dumped the syrupy liquid underneath her covers. She flinched as a bit of it splashed onto her skin.

She pretended to fall asleep, just as she had the past few days when Piero changed her dressing. She noted with satisfaction that the thickness of her bandages was decreasing, the pain easing. Her arm was healing.

Piero closed the shutters and drew the thick curtains. Cass opened one eye, just a sliver, as he slipped out of her bedchamber. Now to wait. She listened to the villa creak and groan, to the mice scurrying in the walls. A pair of owls hooted back and forth outside her window.

She worried she might not make it, that sleep might steal her away even without the mandrake. She felt leaden, her limbs and eyelids heavy. She wished Falco would visit. Perhaps he had come the previous few nights but found her sleeping and left. Or perhaps he had stayed, sat by her bedside, and watched her while she dreamed. Maybe that was why the vampire spoke with his voice, instead of Piero’s.

Just as Cass gave in and let her eyes flutter closed, she heard her door creak open.

“Cass?” The whisper was faint, but it was a whisper that made her whole body go warm.

“Falco?”

He moved with catlike grace through the darkened room, kneeling by her bedside. “I’m surprised you’re awake. I’ve looked in on you the past couple of nights, but you’ve been sleeping so soundly, I couldn’t bring myself to disturb you.”

“Are you so busy that you can’t stop by during the day?” Cass hated the way she sounded. Plaintive. Needy.

Falco pressed his lips to her cheek. “The signorina has been keeping me excessively busy.” He paused. “She looks in on you a lot too. Last night, I saw her watching you sleep.”

The thought of Belladonna watching her sleep made Cass’s skin crawl, but she bit back a sarcastic response. She didn’t want Falco to think she was jealous. “I’m just glad you’re here now.” She reached out her hand to touch his face, and then his hair. He was real. He wasn’t a dream.

“Is there anything I can bring you? You must be bored out of your mind.”

“Did you have any luck locating the Book of the Eternal Rose?” Cass asked hopefully.

Falco shook his head. “I pored over every volume in the library for you. There is no Book of the Eternal Rose.”

“I bet she keeps it in her chambers,” Cass murmured. “You’ve been inside her room, right?”

“And I never saw any book.” He raked his hands through his hair. “What makes you think it even exists?”

“Because Luca said—”

Falco didn’t let her finish. “Of course,” he said shortly. He didn’t bother to hide the bitterness in his voice. “Sometimes I wish . . .” He shook his head, his words fading into the darkness.

“You wish what?” There were so many things Cass wanted him to say: he wished he had met her before she was engaged, he wished he had stayed in Venice to fight for her.

“Forget it,” he said, his voice still tight. “I shouldn’t have gotten upset. You focus on getting stronger. I’ll keep looking for your book.”

Cass threw her good arm around his neck. “Thank you,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his cheek. “I feel certain it’s in Belladonna’s chambers. If you could just peek around the room the next time you’re painting her in there.”

The Book of the Eternal Rose was in the villa—Cass could feel it. But it was just out of her reach. She counted back in her head how many days she had been at Villa Briani. A week, assuming she wasn’t missing any days. That meant Luca had less than a fortnight until his execution. Falco had to help Cass—he had to. Otherwise Luca would die.

“Just know that I’m always thinking of you, all right?” He brushed his lips against hers, stood up, and started back toward the door. “Sweet dreams, starling,” he said, ducking out into the hall.

Cass let her eyelids flutter closed for a moment. She wanted to scramble from the bed and run after him. But she couldn’t.

The door squeaked again. She assumed it was Falco again and almost called out to him.

But it wasn’t Falco.

It was Piero.

Soundlessly, he crossed the floor to her bedside. She hoped he couldn’t see that her eyes were open, just barely. Turning slightly, she watched as he hovered in front of the table, pulling items from a black bag. Tinder snapped. A candle flamed to life. Something silvery scattered the faint light. Cass squinted: a steel syringe, just as Siena had said.

Now was the time for Cass to cough or speak or otherwise let Piero know she was watching him. But she wasn’t quite ready. She didn’t know what more she was hoping to find out.

No. She did know. She wanted to see whether he would try to kiss her, thinking that she was asleep.

Cass closed her eyes. She felt him sit down next to her on her bed.

“Cassandra,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Don’t twitch.

The air grew heavy around her as Piero bent low. His warm hands tilted her chin. His breath tickled her skin.

She couldn’t stand it anymore. She opened her eyes. “What are you doing?” she demanded, sitting up, pulling her covers up to her chest.

Piero jumped up from the bed, startled.

“Santo cielo. You scared me.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why are you awake? Did you drink all of your mandrake?”

“No, I didn’t.” A quiver made its way into Cass’s voice. She inhaled, gathered her courage. “You’ve been draining my blood while I’ve been sleeping.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said, with a harsh bark of laughter. “Why would I take your blood? You lost too much of it in the attack. I told you so myself.”

“There are punctures on my neck from where you draw it out,” she said stubbornly. She looked at the bedside table, expecting the syringe and needle to be sitting there, but the table was empty except for Piero’s black bag. “Where’s the needle?”

Piero considered her with his penetrating eyes. “You told me you weren’t hallucinating.” His voice sounded almost accusatory.

“I’m not,” she insisted. “Open your bag.”

Piero showed her the inside of the black velvet bag. There were a few glass vials of herbs, a pot of theriac salve, and a silver flask. No syringe. No needle. Could she have mistaken the flask for a syringe?

“I don’t understand,” Cass said.

Piero reached out to touch her forehead with the back of his hand. “Poor thing,” he murmured. “So confused.”

“I am not confused. There are marks on my neck.” But as she felt around with her fingers, she couldn’t seem to locate the nicks she had felt earlier.

“Let me see.” Piero pushed all of her hair back behind her shoulders. He angled her head so that he could get a look at the side of her neck. With one hand, he rubbed the skin of her throat rhythmically, at first softly, but then more deeply. Cass didn’t want his touch to feel good, but it did.

“I see no marks,” he said. “Poor Cassandra. Your arm is healing but I think your body is still sick.” He reached his other hand around to the back of her neck, gently probing her stiff muscles. “You’re weak. You’re imagining things.”

He was so close to her that she could smell him. A combination of sweet and sharp scents, a hint of something medicinal, like the balsam her father used to smell like. It all made Cass feel very young and small and alone. Piero was still massaging her neck. She was just starting to relax when his fingers grazed a tiny sore spot.

“There,” she said, her whole body going rigid. “Right there.”

Piero leaned closer. “That?” He ran his fingertip over the spot. “Nothing more than a spider bite.” He gripped her chin and stared hard in her eyes, as though daring her to challenge him. His voice hardened. “Or it could be the bite mark of a vampire, I suppose. As a physician, I would be the one most qualified to decide. I can give you a more thorough examination in the light of day, if you desire.” He paused, letting his threat sink in. “Do you desire it? The penalties for vampirism in Florence are very grave.”

Cass balled her hands into fists under the coverlet, so Piero wouldn’t see. She trusted Siena implicitly. She knew the marks on her neck were from repeated bloodletting. But if she publicly accused Piero, he might diagnose her with a vampire bite. The Florentine priests would take her away.

She would be Hortensa on the platform. Flailing, drowning. Tossed aside like a broken doll. Piero Basso had the power to sign Cass’s death warrant.

“Think carefully, Signorina,” he said, drawing away. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were hard.