Belladonna

mysterious hooded figures to enter would stick fast when she tried to enter. Exhaling deeply, she curled the fingers of her right hand around the cold black handle. The door easily opened under the pressure of her hand. She pushed it just a crack and peered inside.

The entrance hall was dark.

Cass said a silent prayer and slipped inside. As her eyes adjusted to the blackness, she noticed a faint red glow coming from the direction of the altar. Wisps of incense smoke curled in the air. The sweet, flowery smell reminded her of Palazzo della Notte. Was there a connection? There the attendees had worn masks. Here everyone wore hoods draped low.

The robed figures had all taken seats in the long wooden pews. Cass slid into the very back row, which was empty. Pressing her palms together, she bowed her head so that a casual observer might think she was deep in prayer. She peeked out from beneath the hood of her cloak.

The church was cross-shaped, its high, arched ceiling covered with peeling frescoes. Someone had pushed the main altar back against the wall and dragged a large baptistery carved with angels and roses into the transept—the area where the two arms of the cross intersected. A lone figure in black rose up from the first pew. The lithe form almost seemed to float as it stepped gracefully into the baptistery. Cass didn’t see the ripple of holy water. The baptistery pool was empty. Or was it? The faint light, the smoke—Cass couldn’t trust her vision from the back of the room. She slid to the end of her pew and made her way slowly up the side aisle, keeping her hood pulled low. She ducked into an alcove where she could get a clearer glimpse of the proceedings without being seen.

The pool was indeed empty. If the figure were to be baptized, where was the water? And why not do it on a holy day instead of secretly, in the middle of the night? Cass was struck by the most horrible thought: that she was about to witness the baptism of a vampire. But then the figure loosened the belt of its cloak and flung the garment to the floor of the chapel. Cass barely stifled a gasp.

It was Belladonna. And she was naked except for her silver bracelet and a pendant that hung down between her breasts—a six-petaled flower inscribed inside a circle.

A deep murmur ran through the crowd.

“Witness the power of young blood.” Belladonna turned a slow circle. “As most of you know, I just celebrated the fortieth anniversary of my birth.”

Cass nearly choked. Fortieth? Impossible. It was what she had originally thought, but that would make Belladonna almost twice as old as she looked. Cass stared at her, both horrified and fascinated by her nakedness, at her milk-pale skin and soft curves.

Cass’s eyes drifted, coming to land on the tiny stump of middle finger on Belladonna’s left hand. Had Belladonna really reawakened from the dead? What if the story was wrong, and Bella hadn’t been in a deep sleep? What if Belladonna really was a vampire?

A pair of hooded figures—men, clearly, by their broad shoulders and stiff gaits—approached the baptistery. Belladonna’s body relaxed, and for a second Cass thought of what she had seen at the Palazzo della Notte. Her cheeks went hot. Perhaps the Order was just about sex, some noble-class alternative to a brothel.

Belladonna turned to the hooded figures and kissed each of them. One nearly lost his hood as she wrapped her lean arms around his neck. Cass caught a glimpse of high cheekbones and blond hair. It was the butler, Signor Mafei—she would have sworn to it.

The two men at Bella’s sides each raised a silvery chalice in the air.

“Behold,” Belladonna called out, “an offering in the name of the Eternal Rose.” The men tipped the containers, and dark, viscous liquid poured down over Belladonna’s hair, splashing off the angles of her elbows and spattering the marble basin of the baptistery and sending an occasional droplet out toward the floor.

Blood.

Cass could smell it. She instinctively drew back, but the cloaked figures leaned forward as a group, murmuring and moaning, arms outstretched. They were reaching for Belladonna.

No. They were reaching for the blood.

Cass felt as though she might be sick. What was happening? Her vision went momentarily dark. She couldn’t faint—not here. She took a deep breath and the room came back into focus. She stared at the ruby liquid as it spattered off Belladonna’s skin, as the black-robed figures clamored for it. Could it be her own blood the mob was fighting for? Some of it, perhaps. There was too much to have come from a single person—unless someone had been drained completely dry.

As the last drops of blood poured from the chalices onto Belladonna’s bare shoulders, the people grew quiet again. The glistening fluid began to darken and coagulate on her skin, masking half of her face, obscuring one of her breasts as if she were wearing a dress that had been partially torn away by a madman.

Belladonna raised one spattered arm to her face and inhaled deeply. She dragged her wrist across her mouth, licking her lips.

“Divine,” she said. “I can sense the power. Who is it I am tasting?”

“The young Tatiana de Borello,” a man said. Cass recognized Piero’s voice. “Sadly, the humors in her blood were of inferior quality. I saw to it that she passed away just an hour ago.”

Tatiana de Borello. Cass had heard the name before, at Belladonna’s afternoon tea. Tatiana was the young noblewoman one of Bella’s guests had asked about. Cass shivered, remembering how everyone—even Madalena —had seemed hypnotized as Belladonna described the girl’s illness.

Belladonna reached out and touched her fingertips to Piero’s hooded face. “Certainly the blood of someone so young will have some beneficial properties.”

She turned back to address the masses. “Devoted followers of the Eternal Rose. We are increasing our efforts and drawing nearer to the creation of an Elixir of Life. Once we have created a pure specimen of the fifth humor, we will be able to produce enough elixir for all of us.”

A ripple of excitement moved through the crowd. Then a man burst out, “From what, exactly, are you creating this magical pure specimen? And what of your sister chapter, your loyal supporters in Venice? Will there be no elixir for us?”

Cass knew this voice too. Her heart stopped. Angelo de Gradi.

Belladonna’s face twisted into a frown. “I have been telling you for years, Dottore, that the fifth humor can be procured only from the blood. Not by slicing away at livers or spleens. My own father, who dedicated his life to seeking out the research of those before him, made this clear before his death. His words are inscribed in the Book of the Eternal Rose. Have you never gotten a chance to review its pages?”

Cass sucked in a sharp breath. If someone had stolen the book, Belladonna didn’t yet know it was missing. Could de Gradi have taken it?

“I have, but—”

Belladonna silenced de Gradi with a wave of her hand. “Blood is, as you know, difficult to obtain, and sadly there seems to be great variation among our subjects as to its quality.” She narrowed her eyes. “But we will succeed.”

Apparently the Order believed in the fifth humor, and in Florence they were going as far as to steal blood from the living for their research. The parties at Palazzo della Notte suddenly made perfect sense. Attractive men luring lonely and bored women away from their husbands. Drugging them. Drawing off their blood and sending them home weak and confused, marked as victims.

Belladonna gestured to Signor Mafei to help her with her cloak. He draped the garment over her shoulders, and she cinched the belt around her waist. “And yet, Dottore, you still persist in your barbaric methods of trying to extract humors from the tissue of the dead. Wasting time. Wasting blood. What makes you think we here in Florence owe you anything?”

Cass’s head was spinning. Angelo de Gradi hadn’t purchased corpses to study anatomy and improve medical techniques. He had been cutting up bodies to try to create the fifth humor.

“Begging your pardon, Bella, but the dead have always been in good supply, and far more compliant than the living,” de Gradi said. “I should like to observe young Dottor Basso’s persuasive techniques. Then again, perhaps there is safety in tradition. Wasn’t the Order almost destroyed from within during your father’s time at the helm?”

Belladonna stared at him coldly. “You would do well to not speak ill of my father, Angelo.”

De Gradi backed slightly away from the baptistery pool. The rest of the Order members still encircled him