against the murk. Strange lighting effects gave him glittering wings—reflections from his equipment buckles and air tank, Geena guessed. There was no way of telling how far they had progressed other than Sabrina’s commentary.
“Floor’s pretty treacherous,” she said. “Shelves fell and broke. Some of the books are still whole. Most are pulp.”
Tonio sighed, and Geena placed a hand on his shoulder. We got most of it, she wanted to say. But what she really wanted to see was farther down. She wished the audio link wasn’t just one-way—she wanted to tell Sabrina to hurry. An urgency was bearing down on her, though she could not discern its origins. Impatience made her shift from one foot to the other. Domenic was behind her, a warm presence, and suddenly she wanted his hand on her shoulder, the comfort of a human touch. Because something in that last vision had felt inhuman.
The divers moved on, Sabrina filming the mess on the floor, and then they paused when they reached the open doorway leading down.
“Go on,” Geena whispered, and Tonio glanced back at her.
“Maybe it’s too deep,” Finch said. “Or too dangerous.” Nobody replied, but Geena thought, Is he feeling it, too?
The lead diver started down the staircase.
“Here goes nothing,” Sabrina’s distorted voice said. One of the BBC technicians adjusted something on the laptop’s sidebar, and Sabrina’s breathing came in clearer and louder.
Geena’s neck bristled. No! she thought. And she held Tonio’s shoulder again, locking her knees and concentrating on standing upright as—
She’s fighting the forward motion. People look at her. Sunlight blinds her, scorching eyes so used to darkness. The people who look appear unsettled, as if they’re seeing someone they can’t quite place. Through a narrow street where cafes hustle on either side, vying for trade and custom, she emerges onto a street she knows, running alongside a canal and crossing a narrow bridge, heading toward the Piazza San Marco and the Biblioteca. More people see her, and they stand aside. She’s struggling, fighting, exerting every ounce of her energy, and there’s a desperation there that makes her feel—
Geena opened her eyes and swayed a little, then felt Domenic’s hand on her shoulder.
“I think you need to leave,” he whispered in her ear. “A doctor, or rest. I’ll come with you.”
She shook her head and shrugged his hand from her shoulder. Nico’s coming, she wanted to say, but Domenic would only ask how she knew.
“We’re heading down,” Sabrina said. “The water down here … much colder. Strange.” Strange. The picture was all shadow and movement, and there seemed to be no order to what Geena could see on the screen. They watched, none of them speaking, as the image opened out into one of greater shadow. Their powerful diving lights played around the chamber, barely piercing the murk, alighting on one toppled obelisk with a broken lid. Geena stretched forward, frowning to concentrate her vision.
“What is that?” Finch said. He turned and spoke directly at her. “You don’t think there are still …?” She could smell garlic on his breath, and stale wine, and for some reason she wondered where he had spent the night.
Zoom in, she thought, and Sabrina seemed to have the same idea.
“Concentrate your lights here,” Sabrina said to the others, but neither of them did. “Hey, can’t you—?” Her voice was cut off, and the image on the screen became confused again: blurs, shadows, flickering lights. The technician played with the sound levels.
“It’s not that,” Geena said. “I can still hear her breathing.” And she could … slightly harsher than before, heavier, and when Sabrina’s voice came again it suddenly seemed much louder.
“What is that?” The camera steadied and homed in on a tumbled section of wall, and glaring pale from the slump of rocks, silt and building blocks slewed across the chamber floor, things that looked like bones.
“My God,” Finch said.
“I don’t think so,” Domenic said
Geena gasped. They built those walls using … And then everything faded again.
Zanco Volpe waits outside the grand Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, enjoying the sun on his face and the cool breeze blowing in across the lagoon. There is a hint of anticipation about him—something is coming, and it will change everything—but there is also a warm glow of satisfaction. He looks at his hands, feels a sense of pride and excitement at what they have done, and within him there lies a solid heart of magic. Black or white, it does not matter. The nature of magic is not dictated by its source, but by its user. And Volpe knows that his aims are pure.
He remains seated on the ornate stone bench even as he sees movement in the building’s doorway. Il Conte Tonetti appears, still hidden by shadows but twitchy as a hunted bird. He lowers his head and walks from the building, down the steps and across to where Volpe is waiting. He only looks up when he approaches; people move out of his way. He’s dressed in his best finery and is redder than usual.
“It is done,” Il Conte says. “Caiazzo died quickly. Soldagna put up a fight.”
“Good for him,” Volpe says, and he feels the butterflies of excitement stroking his insides. It’s almost done, he thinks. I’m almost free again.
As Volpe stands, Il Conte reaches out to take his hands, his own hands smeared with blood.
“Not on mine!” Volpe shouts, stepping back with his arms raised. He has no idea what effect another man’s blood on his skin might have. The spells are delicate as yet, his talents still uncertain, and he will not risk them for an instant.
“I … I apologize,” Il Conte says, and his face crumples.
“Be a man,” Volpe says, his voice strong and deep. “You are Il Conte Rosso now. That’s how you’ll be known. And you helped save Venice today.”
“Yes,” the Count says, “of course.” Though he cannot conceal his doubt.
“Tonight we move on Aretino.” Volpe turns away from the Count and the building that hides the Chamber of Ten. The next time he sets eyes upon this place, the city will have a new Doge, and he will have moved on yet once more.
“I’ve never felt such power,” he says. For the first time in a long while, he cannot feel his many decades weighing down upon him.
Outside, Geena thought. That’s all from outside. She opened her eyes but still everything seemed dark. Someone was pulling her against their chest, arms around her waist—Domenic. Her legs felt weak, and she shifted position until she could feel herself supporting her own weight again.
“Geena,” Domenic said, and she turned to look up at his face. The concern was almost heartbreaking, because she knew she had been shunning him. “I won’t take no for an answer this time. We have to get you —”
“No,” she said. “I’m not ill. I’m just …” Seeing visions from the past? That was Il Conte Rosso, and I saw the fresh blood on his hands that gave him his name. She could not just run now. If she did, she might miss Nico.
“You look like you’ve seen a—”
“I think he’s outside,” she said, and they both glanced through the arched door of the reading room and into the foyer of the main entrance. Sunlight, but no shadows.
“You mean Nico?” Domenic asked. Ramus was looking at them oddly, but the others—Finch, the BBC crew, and even Adrianna—had their attention riveted to the laptop screen.
“They filled the walls with bones,” Finch said again, and it had the sound of someone trying to convince himself of what he saw.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” came Sabrina’s muffled voice. She was breathing faster, and Geena
