As she headed deeper into yet another thick crowd, she began to feel claustrophobic. It was getting harder to move, as the crowd seemed to grow continually thicker, people pouring into the square from all directions. Worse, she was overwhelmed by the stench. It seemed no one bathed, and that the closest attempt was throwing on cheap perfume, which didn’t even work.
Caitlin looked over and noticed Polly take out a small pouch from her pocket, and raise it to her nose.
“What’s that?” Caitlin asked.
Polly looked over, and realize that Caitlin didn’t have one, and reached into her pocket and handed her one. It felt funny in Caitlin’s hand, like a small, silk bag of potpourri.
“Hold it to your nose,” Polly instructed. “It helps.”
Caitlin held it up, and it helped right away. Instead of the smell of the people, she inhaled the scent of roses and perfume.
“It’s really impossible to get through Venice without it.”
Caitlin surveyed the crowd, and saw the other coven members were holding them, too.
They finally exited onto a side street, and as they walked, the street ended in a footbridge. They had to ascend, up about 15 steps or so, then the bridge flattened out, over a canal of water. Caitlin looked left and right as they did, and saw the canal wind its way through the narrow side streets of Venice. Seeing water like that, right in the middle of the city, was really incredible. It was amazing to her that she couldn’t have continued walking down this street without crossing a small bridge.
They came down the footbridge on the other end, and turned down another side street, and entered yet another square. The square was much more elegant than the others, lined with huge palaces, elaborate marble facades, arched doorways, and huge arched windows. Caitlin wondered if this was where royalty lived.
Just as she was about to ask Polly where they were, the group stopped in front of one of the more beautiful buildings, before an oak door. One of them reached up, grabbed the metal knocker, and slammed it with three short knocks that echoed throughout the plaza.
Within seconds, an elaborately dressed butler opened the door. He bowed his head and stepped aside.
“Just on time,” he said with a smile.
Caitlin entered the huge palace, sticking close to Polly, and looked up at her surroundings in awe. It was unlike any place she had ever been. This huge, opulent palace had soaring ceilings, painted with frescoes and lined with fancy moldings. The walls were covered in oil paintings and enormous gold mirrors. A gigantic chandelier hung low, holding dozens of candles which lit up the room. Beneath Caitlin’s feet was an intricate black-and-white tiled marble floor, so shiny that she could almost see her reflection in it. Before her was a wide marble staircase, winding to the left and to the right with an ornate railing, and lush red carpeting right down the middle.
The room was packed with people. It was a different sort of crowd than had filled the streets—
here, the people seemed refined, elegant, and were clearly very, very rich. They were all dripping with jewelry—some of the most brilliant and opulent jewels Caitlin had ever seen. Their costumes were more fancy, more ornate, and everyone wore masks, some covered in jewels. The laughter in here was more subtle, and nearly everyone drank from a crystal glass. It felt like she was in an exclusive cocktail party inside a lavish museum. There were hundreds of people milling about, as far as her eye could see.
The room was also filled with music. In the corner of the room sat a string quartet, the mellow sounds of the violin and cello echoing off the high walls. Caitlin wondered who lived here. Was it some sort of government palace? Or was it a private residence?
“It’s the Doge’s Palace,” Polly said, answering her thoughts, as she tugged on her arm, leading her through the crowd. “He’s the elected ruler of the humans. The palace is used for parties by the richest family in Venice. They’ve ruled this town for hundreds of years.”
“How did they get so rich?” Caitlin asked.
“Salt.”
“Salt?” Caitlin asked, thinking she’d misheard.
“It used to be a precious commodity. There was a time when no one in Europe could get it. And Venice had it in troves. Haven’t you seen the water? Smelled the air? It’s packed with salt. That’s why all the buildings are rotting. The salt water’s corroding their foundations.
“When the first Venetians came here, they quickly realized they were sitting on a gold mine. All they had to do was extract salt from the water. It was like minting money, and they created more wealth than you or I could ever imagine.”
They continued weaving through more of the crowd.
“But it’s a dying family now,” Polly continued. “Their empire is dwindling. The descendants now are nothing like their ancestors. But some of them are kind of cute. I’ve got my eye on one in particular. Robert. The grandson. He’s about our age, and he’s never been turned. He’s fabulous,”
she said, her eyes lighting up. “He wears the most outrageous outfits. I think he likes me, too. I’m hoping he’ll ask me to dance tonight. Every time I see him, he’s spending money in the most ridiculous, lavish way.”
They finally reached the far end of the room and Polly opened a grand door, and as she did, Caitlin’s jaw dropped.
“Like hiring Mozart,” Polly added.
There, on the far side of the room, seated at the end of an immense banquet table, sat Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
Wearing a white wig, dressed in an elaborate costume, he was the only one in the room without a mask—and the only one who didn’t need one. His personality was more than enough. Short, pudgy and very pale, he sat behind a harpsichord, drinking with one hand and playing with the other. When he set down the goblet, he broke into wild laughter, and continued playing with both hands.
For all his levity, his music was intense, spiritual. It was unlike anything Caitlin had ever heard.
She had, in fact, never heard a harpsichord in her life. It had a tin, metallic sound, and it was not very loud— yet it really resonated in its own way. His playing was fun, upbeat, playful. Much like the man himself. But still, there was an undercurrent to it, something so profound.
The table already sat about a hundred, and was half full with humans. There remained about fifty empty chairs, and Caitlin found herself led to the table with her coven members. They all sat together, completing the table, and the other diners all raised a glass and cheered as they did.
Caitlin’s group raised their glasses back, and as Caitlin picked hers up, she saw that it was already conveniently filled with a red liquid.
Caitlin sat in the lush, red velvet armchair, sinking into it, propping her elbows on its huge arms, and examined her glass. It was fine crystal, the red liquid illuminated by the huge candelabra on the table. She had a feeling she knew what it was, and as she drank, she realized she was right: blood. It coursed through her veins with a rush, energizing her, and she realized there was something else mixed in, too—some kind of alcohol. Caitlin felt it go right to her head, and felt a bit dizzy. She also felt relaxed. She realized how on-edge she’d been since she’d arrived.
Elegant china was set before her, on which was a small piece of raw meat. Similar plates were being placed before all of her coven members. The fleet of waiters disappeared, and before they’d even left, another fleet arrived, setting down all sorts of delicacies and meats on the table. In the center sat a huge stuffed pig, an apple in its mouth.
There was more food on this table than Caitlin had ever seen, and every second it seemed another servant brought out a new dish. This was in addition to the dozens of servers who circled around them, constantly refilling everyone’s glasses. They filled Caitlin’s side of the table with the dark liquid, and filled all the others with what looked like champagne.
Caitlin wanted to ask Polly what this was all about, why they were here, whose house this was, but she was too mesmerized by Mozart. Caitlin didn’t understand classical music, and didn’t know how to appreciate it, but even so, it was obvious, even to a layperson, that he played with a skill and passion unlike anything anyone in the room
