Belladonna

The butler hurried into the room with a second teacup and a painted ceramic pot. He refilled Madalena’s cup and left the steaming pot between them.

Cass twisted the fluted edge of her cup so that her lips avoided a crack in the rim. “Just one more piece of news that never made it to San Domenico.”

Madalena’s eyes brightened. “Apparently, when Belladonna was younger, about our age, she took a fall from a horse and hit her head. Everyone thought she was dead, even the physicians. They put her body in a coffin and entombed her in a cemetery out in the country.”

Cass stared at Mada fiercely. “If this is another one of your vampire stories . . .”

“Just listen, Cass.”

Cass sipped her tea and fell silent. She’d had enough of monsters and vampires for the day, but at least Mada seemed to be cheering up.

“So there is Belladonna in a deep sleep in her coffin.” Madalena paused for emphasis. “And then comes the cemetery caretaker, who just happened to remember that the girl was buried with a collection of jeweled rings.”

Feliciana had told Cass a similar tale when she was younger: of a beautiful young woman, prematurely buried. At the time, Cass had believed her, but later she had thought Feliciana was just trying to scare her.

“So the caretaker breaks into the tomb with a machete . . .” Madalena made a slashing gesture with her arm. “He had to cut right through her finger to get at the ring. And what do you suppose happened?”

“What?” Cass asked, even though she knew what was coming.

“The girl woke up. Quite suddenly, too, if the stories are true.” Mada smiled. “Can you imagine? The caretaker thought she was a vengeful spirit. He ran off, leaving the tomb door open behind him. No one ever saw him again.”

“And Belladonna?” Cass asked.

“Rumor has it that the experience preserved her somehow. She’s perfect in every way except for the loss of her finger.”

“That’s quite a story.” Cass ran her fingers beneath the collar of her dress. The lace was beginning to itch.

“It’s real,” Mada insisted. Her face darkened again. “It’s as real as the vampires haunting this city.”

Cass looked away. Before meeting Falco, she had simply believed what others around her believed: vampires were real. The Church had the best interests of the people in mind. Murderers were executed or imprisoned. Innocent people were not.

Now all of those beliefs were being called into question. But she didn’t want to admit this to Madalena. Mada wouldn’t understand. Cass took another sip of her tea and set down the cup and saucer.

“So,” she said, trying to keep her voice light, “should I tell the peasant that you aren’t interested in having tea with this famous Belladonna? I could always go alone.” She knew this wouldn’t sit well. Madalena never missed a social function.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Madalena said, her voice sharp. “Your aunt entrusted me to look after you here in Florence and I intend to do so. You can tell your peasant friend whatever you like. I’ll simply request an invitation to meet with Belladonna through Father.”

Hooves rattled on cobblestones, and Cass rose to look out the front window. The Alioni carriage slowed to a stop. Signor Rambaldo stepped down from the compartment as though he had heard Madalena’s request and come immediately to appease her. Marco was right at his heels.

Madalena barely let the men get inside before she began cajoling her father about sending a message on their behalf.

Signor Rambaldo rubbed his graying beard. “Signorina Bella Briani, you say?”

“You’ve heard of her, Signore.” Marco sat down on the divan next to Mada, tossed his hat onto the table, and called out for some tea. “She’s supposed to be the most beautiful woman in all of Florence. Except for you two ladies, of course.” He winked at Mada.

“I’ll see what I can do, love.” Signor Rambaldo bent to kiss Madalena on the forehead. The butler appeared with additional teacups.

Mada’s dark eyes sparkled as she refilled her own cup of tea. “He’ll set it up,” she whispered to Cass proudly. “I know he will.”

* * *

As usual, when it came to his only child, Signor Rambaldo did not disappoint. The girls received an invitation to an afternoon tea with Signorina Bella Briani the very next day. Cass was secretly relieved that she didn’t have to ask Falco for a favor. The thought of being in his debt made her nervous.

She fidgeted as the Alioni’s carriage bounced and jolted through the streets of Florence. She sat on one of the compartment’s padded benches with Siena while Madalena and Eva occupied the other. The carriage cut through the vast Piazza della Signoria, the center of Florentine politics. Cass recognized several famous sculptures from her studies decorating the square’s periphery, including Michelangelo’s David and Cellini’s Perseus. She couldn’t get over how clean Florence was. No piles of trash and rotting food like on the Rialto.

Siena peeked over Cass’s shoulder out the window and giggled at the sight of a crowd of peasant women using the gigantic Fountain of Neptune as a washbasin. The carriage continued, passing several churches and smaller piazzas on its way out of the city center. The compartment jostled slightly as the horse reached the end of the stone cobbles and transferred onto a soft dirt road.

Madalena wrinkled her nose as the buildings gave way to greenery. “Why do you suppose Belladonna lives all the way out here?”

Patches of forest had cropped up on both sides of the road, absorbing some of the sound from the wobbling wheels and pounding hooves. Still, there were plenty of villas dotting the landscape. “It’s hardly remote, Mada.” Cass pointed out the window at the houses that were visible through the breaks in the trees. “Perhaps she doesn’t want to live in the center of town, where she can watch executions from her bedroom. Or perhaps she likes trees.”

The howl of a dog sounded, off in the distance, followed by a chorus of yips and barks. Mada made a face again. “Perhaps she likes wild animals.”

The carriage passed a small church, with twin bell towers framing a central dome of gold leaf and red clay shingles. It was more of a chapel, probably built for only the wealthy who lived out here past the edge of the city. Most of Florence probably attended Mass at the Duomo.

The horse slowed.

Cass hung her head out the window. “Santo cielo,” she murmured as Villa Briani came into view. She heard Siena gasp behind her.

The stone walls rose three stories in the air, the flat roof adorned with a gold-trimmed parapet. Watchtowers complete with battlements extended above the roof on two opposing corners. Wisps of ivy crawled across the entire front of the villa and framed the large arched windows.

The lawn leading up to the villa was expansive, with neatly clipped hedges framing both sides of a path of marble stepping-stones. Beyond the hedges, flowers bloomed in large terra-cotta pots, and a pair of starlings did battle in a marble birdbath. Sapling trees bowed in the gentle breeze.

This wasn’t a villa. It was a castle. Falco had mentioned that his patroness was wealthy, but this estate made Madalena’s family palazzo on the Grand Canal look like a shack. Cass was surprised Falco hadn’t gone on about his glamorous new place of work. Then again, he never seemed that taken with the trappings of nobility. She remembered how he had made himself at home in her aunt’s villa, strumming away on Agnese’s priceless harp as if it were a carved lute he’d bartered for at the market.

Madalena seemed stunned into silence. In a daze, the girls descended from the carriage and moved as one across the circular stone path to the front door. A butler dressed in brilliant red satin breeches and a blue doublet piped with silver trim opened the door before Cass could even knock. He introduced himself as Signor Mafei. The ends of his silky blond hair fell into his face as he dipped into an impressive bow. Cass always thought of butlers as senior members of the staff. She had never met one close to her own age, yet the man before her didn’t look any older than Luca.

“Bongiorno,” he said. “Signorina Caravello and Signora Cavazza, I presume? My