This Rough Magic

shriveled up crone, that's for sure. Quite a handsome devil, actually. In fact, I've been considering . . . well. The point is, he's an accomplished apothecary and knows a number of magics.'

'Have you . . .'

'I certainly wasn't trying to get pregnant! My problem was the opposite, actually. If Morando's as good at fertility as he was at abortion, you'll be fine.'

They were now near the entrance to the Castel a terra, where the Tomasellis lived. Bianca drew to a halt. 'So, do you want me to set you up with him?'

Sophia didn't hesitate. 'Yes,' she hissed. 'If I could get that problem taken care of—' She glanced over her shoulder, back the way they'd come, her eyes narrow. 'That bitch!'

Bianca issued her soft, friendly laugh again, and placed a hand on Tomaselli's shoulder. 'One thing at a time, Sophia. I'll give some—ha.' She broke off, as if struck by a sudden thought.

'What is it?'

'It just occurred to me that Morando might well be of help on that problem, also. Apothecaries and magic- workers—good ones, anyway, which he is—often know . . . You know. Poisons. Hexes. Curses.'

The words seemed to fill Sophia Tomaselli's figure, removing any trace of hunched shoulders. 'Yes. Set it up for me with this Morando, Bianca.'

Bianca nodded and began to turn away, headed toward her own domicile in a less prestigious part of the Citadel. But Sophia stopped her with a sudden hug. 'You're such a good friend!'

That was a bit startling. It was the first time Sophia had ever expressed any affection for Bianca beyond the gossipy and sniping camaraderie of two women of like temperament. Their friendship was close, after all these months that Bianca had spent cultivating it, but only in the sense that two spiteful conspirators were intimate with each other. There had never been any warmth in the thing before.

Immediately, Bianca returned the embrace. Rather fiercely, in fact. Partly, to maintain the pose—but mostly to disguise the sheer thrill from showing. She loved that moment when the trap was sprung.

* * *

'Well?' asked Morando, closing the door behind her and giving Bianca his well-practiced arching eyebrow. Morando, Bianca knew, thought the expression gave him a certain enticingly satanic air.

It did, in fact. Studying him for a moment, Bianca decided to let him finally seduce her. That would help snare him as well; all the more so because a man of Morando's type invariably thought of himself as the conqueror. Of all prey, predators were the easiest.

Besides, Bianca was tired of Querini's clumsy lovemaking herself. She'd only initiated the affair and continued it in order to tangle Sophia Tomaselli in her web. Morando would probably make a pleasant change. If nothing else, he'd be too suave to grunt.

'Well?' he repeated.

'It's done. She should be coming here before much longer.'

Morando waved at the table where an open bottle waited. And two glasses. Not all that suave, alas.

So be it. Bianca had had worse, and would have much worse in the future. Gracefully, she slid into one of the chairs and allowed Morando to fill her a glass. Before it was half-finished, she'd accepted his invitation to tour his establishment.

* * *

It proved to be quite a bit more impressive than she'd expected. Later, after Morando fell asleep, she slid out of the bed and tiptoed into the hallway. There, she paused for a moment, listening carefully to be sure that she hadn't awakened Morando. Fortunately, he snored, though not as badly as Querini.

Yes, he was sleeping soundly. Bianca made her way to the flagstone in the floor that was actually a trapdoor. Prying it up slowly and carefully, making sure to remain silent, she peered down into the darkness. All she could see in the dim light were a few steep wooden stairs.

She rose and padded, still nude, to the door to the bedroom. After listening for a moment longer to Morando's snores, she decided he was a heavy enough sleeper to risk further investigation. She went to the kitchen and picked up the oil lamp burning there. With it in hand, she returned to the trapdoor and went quickly down the steps. She left the flagstone pried up, rather than closing it behind her. That was a bit risky, perhaps, but less risky than finding herself unable to lift it when she wanted to emerge. The damn thing was heavy.

Once she was down in the cellar, she spent little time examining what was obvious. Morando had already shown it to her, in the tour he'd given her earlier. She'd had a hard time to keep from laughing, then, and now found herself smiling sarcastically. Morando had been quite proud of his 'secret magical lair,' dropping a number of hints that he was even skirting the edges of satanic rituals. But to someone like Bianca Casarini, for whom those rituals were a reality and had been for several years, Morando's fakery was obvious. The man was a charlatan, pure and simple. Somewhere along the line—perhaps in Milan, in the days when Casarini had first met him as they each plied their separate swindles—he'd learned just enough of the trappings to be able to put on a reasonably good show. Good, at least, to anyone who didn't know the truth.

She wasn't interested in any of that. The only reason she examined the 'satanic altar' at all was to check for a secret passageway. There was none, as she'd expected. That would be too obvious.

There had to be a bolthole somewhere. Morando would not overlook something that basic. The man might be a charlatan when it came to magic, but Aldo Morando was a genuine professional when it came to his real trade. Trades, rather, since Morando was many things: procurer, swindler, narcotics peddler, seller of information. Anything, really, that was outside the law and involved no muscular effort other than copulation. When Bianca had discovered him on the island a month or so after she arrived herself, she'd practically crowed with glee. He'd make the perfect instrument for her plans. Countess Elizabeth Bartholdy's plans, rather. Working through Morando, Bianca could manipulate both Sophia Tomaselli and King Emeric's agent on the island, Fianelli.