Belladonna

closely, perhaps hoping there might be a chance to bathe in his blood if he kept talking.

“Did not Signor Dubois donate generously to your cause while he was living here in Florence, back when you were just a girl?” de Gradi asked. “Was it not his gold that helped pay for your physicians?”

“Joseph’s money did not go as far as you presume,” she said. “And I no longer need his fortune.” She tugged on her belt again. “One can only imagine what he might squander the elixir on. Imagine, eternal life for Venice’s finest courtesans.”

The group tittered, and the tension seemed to ease.

“Bella,” de Gradi said, almost in a playful tone. “Rather than talk of finances, perhaps we should talk of common interests. Does not the Book of the Eternal Rose say it was a Venetian woman from whom your father once isolated a near-perfect specimen of fifth humor?”

Belladonna raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying the women of Florence are inferior to the Venetians?”

“Not at all.” De Gradi bowed. “Your beauty makes such thinking unimaginable. I was merely suggesting that the purest fifth humor may come from a Venetian bloodline. If the good Dottor Basso would share his notes, Signor Dubois and I could continue your research in Venice.”

“I’ll consider your proposal,” Belladonna said, with a wave of her hand. She stepped out of the baptismal pool and spread her arms wide before the crowd. “Brothers and sisters, what is left is yours.”

Cass watched in disbelief as the hordes of robed figures leapt from their seats. They pressed forward, crawling into the baptistery, clawing at the smears of dried blood, even rubbing their faces against the sides of the marble pool. Hoods were falling, and Cass knew that if she got closer, she might be able to identify some of the members writhing around in the baptistery.

But she was revolted, and could not force herself any closer to the blood fest.

Belladonna strode down the center of the church, with Piero and Signor Mafei flanking her. With her, Cass knew, lay additional answers. Discreetly, she ducked out of the alcove and headed down the side aisle, straining to make out what Belladonna was saying.

“It’s disgusting, don’t you think?” Belladonna asked. She paused at the threshold to the entrance hall, gesturing again at the crowd. Cass tucked herself back in the corner of the nave, keeping her hood pulled low. “The way people lose control over a little blood.”

“It’s only natural.” Piero shrugged. “You yourself know the benefits of fresh blood. To what else can we attribute your exquisite youth and beauty?”

“I don’t claw and fight to get at it,” Belladonna pointed out.

Piero’s voice seemed to contain a smile. “That is because you have your faithful shepherds to bring it to you.”

“If the magistrates of Florence were witness to this, the whole Order would be strung up as vampires,” Signor Mafei said.

“Convenient, isn’t it?” Belladonna said. “The Church and their obsessive worry about the undead. A most opportune way to hide our tracks and dispose of our unwanteds. Poor girls. They can’t even defend themselves without admitting to what they think happens at our decadent little parties. And their husbands and fathers would likely execute them for those crimes as well.” Belladonna smiled. “Grazie a Dio for lust and fear. Without them our work would be much more difficult.”

Signor Mafei opened the church door, and wind rushed in.

Cass realized she was shaking violently. She pressed her body against the wall of the church. Everything was starting to make sense. The Order of the Eternal Rose was using the city’s fear of vampirism as a cover for stealing blood. They were extracting humors from the blood and attempting to create the mythical fifth humor, long rumored to be instrumental in extending human life.

But apparently not all blood worked. It had to possess a certain quality. It had to be the right blood.

Angelo de Gradi had suggested that it might have to be Venetian blood.

No wonder Piero had been draining her.

And what if her blood didn’t contain the required properties? How much time did she have before the remainder of her blood would be taken forcefully from her? How long before it was Cass, and not Tatiana de Borello, who was being poured over Belladonna’s perfect skin.

twenty-four

“Prior research suggests the four bodily humors are blood, black bile, yellow bile, and phlegm. It is rumored that recombining them in the proper proportions might yield the fifth humor.”

—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE

Cass stayed crouched in the back corner of the nave for several minutes. The other members of the Order at last began to file out of the church, murmuring to each other as they made their way down the aisle.

The temperature seemed to have dropped several degrees. She gathered the oversized cloak tightly around her as she continued to piece together everything she had heard, as she struggled to believe it. Piero had saved her life. If it weren’t for him . . .

If it weren’t for him, my blood would have been wasted, she thought. A puddle on the stone doorstep in front of this very church. Clearly it was her blood he had saved from the dogs, not her.

She swallowed back the taste of bile. She thought of the party at Palazzo della Notte where she had first laid eyes on Piero. He wasn’t the one who had lured Hortensa upstairs. Signor Mafei, perhaps? How many other men were doing Belladonna’s evil deeds? How many other women had fallen prey to the scheme, enticed by promises of seduction only to be drugged and bled without their knowledge? Perhaps all of the women who found themselves on the drowning platform had been victims of the Order. It was perfectly horrible.

But it was perfect.

Cass realized the church was almost empty. Just a handful of black-robed figures still clustered around the baptismal pool, clawing at the remaining minuscule spots of blood. The wispy smoke from the scarlet candles faded into the gloom. She remembered how the doors had been locked the night of her attack. The last thing she wanted was to end up trapped inside. She rose quickly from her hiding spot, but her legs wobbled beneath her, and she sank back to the floor.

Tears stung her eyes. Her arm didn’t hurt, not too much. It was her heart, her whole being that ached. The realization that her parents might have accepted—supported, even—something so depraved sliced through her.

Willing away the surge of darkness that threatened to overcome her, she tried once more to stand. Slowly, with one hand on the back pew for balance, she struggled to her feet and returned to the entrance hall. She flung open the heavy door and let the rush of air pull her out into the night. The door slammed shut behind her.

She glanced across the vast field to where the outline of Belladonna’s villa loomed. She wasn’t going back there. Not ever. She needed to return to Florence, to Madalena and Siena. But she was at least a couple of miles from Palazzo Alioni, with no real guarantee that she’d be able to find it even if she did walk all the way to the city.

A chuffing sound made her turn her head. There were still two carriages parked on the road along the side of the church, undoubtedly belonging to the Order members who were still lingering inside. Cass crept toward them. Both drivers stood in front of the lead carriage, passing a silver flask back and forth.

She quickly circled behind the second carriage. It had a rack on top for supplies as well as a deep wooden compartment built into the back. Were the owners going into Florence? Probably, but there was no guarantee. She opened the door to the compartment and peered into the black space. It was big enough for a pair of trunks.