Belladonna

onlookers. The sun cut like a knife. Sweat beaded up on her brow. Cass fumbled in her pocket for a fan or a handkerchief, but she had nothing.

Desperately, she fought to get close to the platform. But she found herself blocked and jostled from all sides. Across the piazza, a man with shoulder-length blond hair caught Cass’s eye. Cristian. She fought a wave of panic. Focus, she told herself as the man melted into the crowd. It wasn’t Cristian. It never was. She turned back to the platform. “Hortensa!” she cried out.

Just as Cass called her name, the priest seized Hortensa by her bound hands and thrust her face down into the tarnished basin. Cass gasped. Hortensa’s legs kicked out from her wide skirts. The basin water bubbled and splashed as if the priest were calling out a demon. The mob roared its approval.

“Stop!” Cass screamed. “I must speak with her.” But her words were swallowed up by the cheering and chanting of the crowd.

The priest lifted Hortensa’s head above the water. “Have you consorted with the undead?” he asked.

“No. No, please.” She was begging for the first time. Water dripped from her tangled hair. She coughed, a deep, wracking sound. She reached out toward someone in the crowd.

Cass followed Hortensa’s gaze. She couldn’t believe it. There, directly in front of the platform, was Don Zanotta. He not only wasn’t speaking out to save his wife, but seemed to be finding satisfaction in seeing her tortured.

“Then why do you bear the mark?” the priest demanded.

Hortensa stumbled, almost collapsing to her knees. “I don’t know,” she said, almost unable to choke out the words.

“Expose the monsters who did this to you and God may take mercy on your soul,” the priest intoned.

“No one did—” Hortensa’s protestation was cut off as her head went into the basin again. Cass watched in horror as the donna struggled a second time. A bell tolled repeatedly from the nearby Campanile. It filled Cass with terror, as though the bell were calling them all to their judgment. The priest pulled the donna’s head above the water once more, this time holding her by her hair.

“Last chance to confess and save your soul,” he thundered.

The crowd jeered. A rock flew through the air, colliding with Hortensa’s chest. She gasped and doubled over. Onlookers clapped and stomped their feet.

Hortensa didn’t beg again. She didn’t even speak. Her head disappeared beneath the surface of the water for the third time. Limbs flailed. The crowd cheered. And then, Hortensa’s body went limp.

sixteen

“Stories exist of those who were determined dead, buried, and subsequently resurrected.”

—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE

The body was lifted roughly from the tin basin, carried to the edge of the platform, and dropped unceremoniously onto the hard wood. Around Cass, the crowd shouted and stomped their feet. A shrill voice pierced the dull roar: “Serves you right, vampire.”

Cass was carried forward by the mob, close enough that she could see the sweat on the faces of the other accused women. They were now on their knees begging for mercy. Their pleas were weak through their sobs, like lambs bleating before the slaughter.

Cass stared at Hortensa, at the heap of soggy satin and tangled blonde hair that had only a minute ago been a woman. She knew there was nothing she could have done, but a sense of loss still gripped her. Hortensa was gone—murdered while her husband stood by and watched—and with her went one of Cass’s chances at clearing Luca’s name.

She couldn’t bear to see any more. She turned away as the priest grabbed the second woman by the silver- laced straps that bound her wrists behind her back. Cass forced her way through the mob, swimming against the current of people still pushing toward the platform, ignoring the explosions of jeers and taunts.

Feliciana stood at the edge of the piazza.

“Are you all right?” she asked, seizing Cass by the shoulders. “I thought you were going to get trampled.”

Cass didn’t know if she was all right. She had never seen anyone executed before, and she couldn’t get the image of Hortensa out of her mind, how inhuman the woman looked with her pale limbs splaying out underneath the bunched fabric of her dress. Like a broken doll, cast aside.

“Come on.” Cass realized she was shaking. She looked around, but didn’t see Falco anywhere. He had left her. A fist clenched and unclenched in her stomach. Clearly, she had disappointed him. He didn’t know she sought only a chance to ask Hortensa why she had lied about Luca. When Cass had pushed her way toward the platform, he must have thought she wanted to watch the executions, that she believed in vampires.

She wasn’t sure what she believed anymore. She didn’t want to think she had unwittingly followed Hortensa into a party full of vampires, escaping just barely with her life. But the alternative—to believe as Falco did—meant accepting that the Church was executing people for no reason. Cass didn’t want to believe that either.

She retreated into the palazzo with Feliciana, covering her ears with her hands to block out the jeering of the crowd and the shrieks of terror from the women on trial. Some trial. If you confessed, you were executed. If you maintained your innocence, you were executed.

Inside, Madalena sat primly on a divan in the portego, sipping from a small gold-rimmed cup. “Herbal tea,” she said. “You should ask for a cup. It soothes the nerves.”

Cass had problems that were going to require more than herbal tea to fix. “I hope it soothes your temper, as well,” she told Madalena. “You didn’t need to get so angry.”

“Me? What about him? What about you?” Mada replaced her teacup in her saucer. “What can you possibly see in that peasant?”

“Probably what all women see in him,” Feliciana blurted out.

Cass twisted around to give Feliciana a severe glare. Feliciana dropped her eyes, dipped somewhat ironically into a curtsy, and retreated.

Cass inhaled and turned back to Madalena. “He isn’t usually like that,” she insisted. “He was very upset.”

Mada sniffed. “He said terrible things.”

“It’s true he does have some . . . disagreements with the Church,” Cass admitted. That was putting it mildly. She wondered what Mada would say if she knew that Cass had witnessed Falco’s gruesome nighttime activities back in Venice: the stealing and selling of corpses. “But he hardly ever loses his temper. Perhaps he’s having difficulties here in Florence.”

“Perhaps I shall make difficulties for him here in Florence,” Mada said defiantly.

Cass sighed. Madalena had been kind enough to invite her along to Florence, and Cass was squabbling with her already.

“You’re right.” Cass sat down next to Mada and reached for her hands. “He was completely inappropriate. He was wrong.” She believed the first part. Falco had been inappropriate.

“Can I get some more tea, please?” Madalena called out to no one in particular. She fussed with her top skirt. She was obviously still in a terrible mood.

“Falco did offer to wrangle us an invitation to tea with his patroness,” Cass said hopefully. “Signorina Briani? Apparently she’s very well connected.”

Madalena’s expression softened slightly. “Your Falco works for Belladonna?”

Cass furrowed her brow. “Belladonna?”

“If it’s the same woman, her name is Bella Briani, but everyone calls her Belladonna because she is so exquisitely gorgeous. She’s a legend, even in Venice. I’m surprised you never heard the name.”