Chapter 7
EMBERLINE
If there was one thing Giovanni DiRavello loved more than secrets, it was spectacle.
Tonight, he would turn my death into the latter, and I was going to use his smug arrogance to my advantage. He’d killed me, after all.
I might as well capitalize on my own godsdamned death.
A month had passed since my empty casket was paraded past the entire Dynasty and burned on a pyre. Tonight, my uncle was hosting a mourning ball in honor of his poor, beloved niece, taken from this life too soon.
How sweet of him to care.
I stared out over the dark lagoon at the glowing city, deciding how much I was willing to pay to save my husband.
Any price.
I would give Emilia anything she asked, so long as I ended up with the location of the Fossa at the end of tonight. We’d exhausted all our other options, and this was the only way.
Still, no sense in seeming overly eager.
“What do you want in return for granting me this favor?” I asked, fingers drumming on the baluster, a bead of sweat tracing my backbone. I was taking a huge risk, but something told me Dante was running out of time.
Uncle Gio knew the Fossa’s location.
And chances were that information was locked in the safe in Father’s old study.
Emilia DiSangue came up beside me, her hands resting lightly on the stone, red silk sleeves fluttering in the breeze, her dress cut down to her navel.
With her dark hair piled on top of her head and lips painted the color of blood, the Queen of the Occult looked more like a bored, in-demand courtesan than the most dangerous female in the D’Immortali Dynasty.
She tilted her head, studying me with such cruel concentration that even that dark place inside me shivered beneath her regard.
“I need to get inside that palazzo. Tonight. Suffice it to say, you can add this favor to my already long list of debts I owe you. Think of it as a loan you can collect on whenever the time is right.”
At the rate I was going, a loan I would never be able to repay, but bringing my husband back home would be worth the cost.
“If you are discovered, then I will never collect,” she pointed out.
“The Draconi Brotherhood guards every inch of the palazzo. The probability you will discover anything useful tonight is… slim. Though I heard he had our finest artist paint your memorial portrait. They say the rendition is very… flattering.”
I snorted. “I don’t give a flying fuck about a painting. I want my husband back.”
“He’s been rehearsing his speech at council,” she added as if I hadn’t said a thing, red lips curling.
“Lots of talk about sacrifice and duty. About the DiRavello line standing strong despite such a tragic loss. Your brother will be there.” She slid those black as coal eyes my way.
“Twins have a way of knowing one another, no matter the illusion. I can make you look like someone else, but Luca… he may recognize you.”
“He won’t,” I said, gripping the cool edge of the railing until my knuckles went white. Luca wouldn’t recognize me because I’ll stay as far away from him as possible.
“This is my best opportunity to search for clues while he’s busy with his guests.” I kept my explanation vague. “And for that, I need a new face, a new scent, a new everything.”
Emilia’s dark eyes slid to me, amused. “You’re very determined for a dead female.”
“A dead female who wants answers,” I countered. “I need information Giovanni has. The location of the Fossa, a money trail, a fucking name… anything I can use to track Dante down.”
“I see you’re determined to die twice. You DiRavellos, overachievers to the very last.” She huffed out a humorless laugh.
“Emilia. Please.” This could be my only chance to slip inside Father’s study, and I’d only need two minutes to crack the safe. Five, tops.
“Fine.” She sighed dramatically.
“Where are your guardians, by the way? Did they agree to this plan… or did you slip away on one of your little… quests?”
My eyes shot to hers, and this time, she laughed for real. “Don’t look so surprised, little one, I know your every move. Nothing escapes my attention, not even a certain problematic princess.”
I studied Emilia closely. My ally for now, but possibly my enemy by tomorrow. And was she bluffing? Or had I been followed without my knowing?
“I’m running out of time.” Or rather, Dante was running out of time. “Can you do what I asked?” I sounded breathless. “Can you change me into someone else?”
“I can do anything if you are sure.” She tapped a red-nailed finger on her chin. “I can alter your face. Your scent. Wrap you in enough glamour, even a mirror won’t recognize you. But the moment you step across that threshold, your countdown begins. But I warn you, if Giovanni sees through…”
“He won’t,” I insisted, more confidently than I felt. “There will be hundreds of vampires there from all three dynasties. I’ll blend in with the crowd. Now, do we have a deal? One small favor for a future debt owed?”
“Hardly a small favor, princessa.”
She was going to do it. The lure of having me so deep in her debt I could never crawl out was irresistible.
But that was a problem for the Emberline of tomorrow. Tonight’s Emberline had a plan, and she wasn’t going to fail.
Emilia’s slow smile sent goose bumps rising on my skin. “Yes, I will make you into someone else. Follow me inside. This won’t be fast or simple, I’m afraid.” Her eyes brightened. “Or pain-free.”
We left the balcony for her private chamber—a room full of shadows and candlelight, all dark wood and guttering candles and deep red fabrics. The scent of sex clung to the heavy curtains and the intricate carvings on the furniture, and I shivered.
My thoughts went to dark places, given the only other living things on this island were about two hundred silent, creepy monks with sigils tattooed on their throats.
Still, who was I to yuck another’s yum?
A silvered mirror leaned against the far wall, framed in black wood carved with intertwined serpents, the symbol of her empire. I caught my reflection as we approached—pale face, dark eyes red-rimmed from too many sleepless nights, hair piled on my head.
I’d lost weight these past weeks, my clothes hung loose, collarbone jutting sharply.
Emilia circled me, lips pursed.
“You can’t go in as a D’Immortali member since they’ll all be in attendance,” she decided, “And you need to be forgettable. Pretty enough to blend in with the blue bloods, unremarkable enough to be dismissed.”
“I know how to blend in with the other bloodsuckers. I’ve only been doing it my entire life,” I sniped.
“Hush.” Long, cool fingers brushed my jaw, tilting my face toward the candlelight. She studied my features like a sculptor contemplating raw stone, chisel in hand, an idea in her head. Somehow, I didn’t want to be the block of marble right now, not with that cruel glint in her eyes.
But Emilia was the only one who could give me what I needed most tonight—time. I had to root through Giovanni’s safe—my father’s safe, just mere weeks ago. If there was a direct link between my uncle and the Fossa, I would find it there.
Then I’d get my husband out and burn the fucking place down.
“We’ll start with the obvious,” she murmured. “Hair.”
That didn’t sound too bad.
She lifted a hand and whispered a spell under her breath. Power stirred, the hairs along my arms rising as a cold breath wrapped around me. For a heartbeat, the world was baked in ozone, then my scalp began to burn like she’d set me on fire.
Oh gods, this hurt.
“Keep your hands down,” she snapped.
Tears raced to my eyes as the blistering sensation spread, but I lowered my arms, clenched my hands into fists as my head burned and burned, until the strands of hair around my face lightened, dark curls turning gold.
Not the pale, icy shade of an aristocrat, but a warm, honey color, threaded with lighter streaks, catching the candlelight. The color of a lesser empire to the north.
“Eyes next,” Emilia said, just as I managed a shaky breath.
The world blurred, agony drove spikes up into my head, my warped vision going black before clearing, tears pouring down my cheeks. The vampire in the mirror blinked back at me with hazel eyes instead of rich espresso—green and gold swirled together.
“How much more?” I asked breathlessly.
“Jaw,” Emilia said thoughtfully. “Cheekbones. We don’t want to change your bone structure too much, or the glamour will fail faster. Small adjustments last the longest, perhaps even until tomorrow. Let’s roughen up that DiRavello elegance just a bit.”
The moment her fingers brushed my cheek, a faint pressure built under my skin, and then, before I could brace myself, skin and tissue twisted painfully, like my face was being ripped off my skull.
The sharp angles rounded out, dotted with freckles—pretty, but unremarkable, the kind of face you would immediately forget.
“And your voice,” she added with a grin, and razor blades clawed up my throat, as if she was carving out my voice box with a knife.
I panted, hands on my knees, glaring up at a totally unrepentant Emilia.
“I did warn you. Lastly, your scent has to go,” she added. “Citrus and lavender are a memorable combination. Luca and your uncle would know you by that alone. This will be tricky since you will be in an enclosed space with vampires who know you.”
Just the idea made me twitchy.
“Something plain, then,” I told her, wanting to go curl up in a sobbing little ball somewhere. This was definitely the worst idea I’d ever had.
Every muscle in my body clenched when she pulled out a small vial and flicked a few drops of dark liquid onto my collarbone, then traced three sigils in the air around me. The smell of my own magic—lemons and lavender—receded, wrapped in something cloying and unfamiliar.
I swallowed, my shoulders sagging in relief. At least that last part hadn’t felt like I was being torn to pieces.
“There. I do good work, if I do say so myself. No one will recognize you,” she said as she stepped away.
I turned to the mirror, and a stranger stared back.
If I squinted, there were still similarities—slight build, rigid posture—but the details had blurred together into a smear of mediocrity. Light hair, muddy eyes, softer features, a mouth more prone to smiling than biting.
I almost looked… happy.
“What is your name?” Emilia asked.
“I’m not going there… to make… friends,” I pressed my hand to my throat. Oh, my gods. I sounded so strange. My voice was pitched higher, the tone clearer.
I tried again. “I’ll slip past the security and use the party as cover. None of that requires a name.”
This would take some getting used to.
“Someone will ask,” she replied, shrugging her narrow shoulders. “Giovanni has invited all of Venice, Rome, and Florence as well. This is his chance to solidify his alliances while Marcello is weak.”
“And using my murder to do it.”
“Your almost-murder, but yes. I heard Lord Blackwood from Rome and Don Rosetti from Florence will both be in attendance.” She clicked her tongue. “Feathers in your uncle’s cap to have them both there. Security will be especially tight. Someone will want to know who you belong to.”
The Rosettis were Florence’s version of the Dominicos, and Lord Blackwood was evil to the core. I’d only met him once, but… I tried to ignore the chill creeping up my spine, that hard knot of doubt growing heavier in my stomach.
This is a bad idea.
Then I thought of Dante, suffering somewhere far away.
“I’ll be Isabella,” I said finally. “Some minor cousin of yours no one actually cares about.”
Emilia’s lips twitched. “I have no minor cousins, but… that will work, piccola. Now let’s get you dressed.”
Emilia opened her enormous wardrobe and pulled out a gown—dark gray silk, not a hint of actual color, simple but well-made, the kind of thing that would blend in and disappear at the same time.
I sighed. She lifted a brow.
“The theme is black and gold. You can’t sneak into a mourning ball looking like that.
” She ran her sharp eyes over my fitted pants and leather jacket.
“Hunt the city in whatever you want, but tonight you’ll be sipping blood-wine with the Dynasty’s finest. No cousin of mine would ever appear at such an esteemed gathering looking less than royal. ”
“I’d rather face a nest of feral Strigoi,” I muttered, but I snatched the dress from her and ducked behind the screen, grumbling to myself the entire time.
An hour later—dressed, with a heavy gold chain around my throat where Dante’s bite had once marked my skin—my transformation was complete. Emilia rested her hands on my shoulders, meeting my gaze in the mirror with a pleased smile.
“Remember,” she reminded me softly. “You’re not there to draw attention. There will always be someone watching, but even the Draconi tend to ignore harmless girls.”
“I’m not harmless,” I said, bristling, even though she didn’t mean it as an insult.
“Oh, I know.” Her grip tightened, just a fraction. “But do try to pretend, Emberline. If only for one night.”
“Thank you,” I offered. “For helping me. Again.”
She waved a hand. “I am calling in one of my favors tonight. Bring me something interesting from Giovanni’s study, and we’ll check off one of your debts. I can’t have you digging too deep a hole now, can I?”
Sure.
No pressure.