Chapter Twenty-Seven
The next day I tell Verrocchio I’m sick so no one will bother me. Nothing makes sense.
Niccolo is alive, but he says he has no brother.
But I know it’s him. There’s no mistaking his scar.
Elisabetta threw the rock in anger, and then broke down sobbing when she saw the blood.
Niccolo took her on his lap and showed her the cut and reassured her that it was an accident: Look, see how it was heart-shaped and becoming a mark of her love?
He’s angry and pretending not to know you, an awful voice whispers. You deserve this. This is your fault.
I need to go back. I need to apologize and beg him to return to us. He can ignore me all he wants, but Mamma and our sisters will need him when I’m gone. I half stand, ready to leave right then.
Except… if he is angry, why would he still wear the ring I gave him? Why keep it at all?
“What if he’s not angry or ignoring you?”
Leonardo’s question stops me. I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud. I also didn’t realize he’d slipped into my room like a flea-ridden cat.
I whirl on him, scowling. “Shouldn’t you be working on our painting?”
“Last I heard, it was a group project.”
“I’m sick.”
He sits cross-legged on the floor. “Looks fatal. Shall I summon the priest?”
Must he make me spell it out? “I want to be alone.”
He has so many smiles, they could be their own language. This one says I’m full of shit. “No, you don’t.”
If he’d asked if he could be here, I would’ve said no. But the fact that he’s already here… it’s like setting down my brush when it’s too dark to paint anymore. A break I didn’t want, but one I needed.
“If my brother’s not ignoring me, then what do you think he’s doing?”
Leonardo tips his head and taps the black mark on his wrist. “I think he made a bargain and gave up a memory for it.”
A bargain. Of course. I collapse on my bed and release a long breath. “But the only people who can make bargains are in workshops and the Florentine families blessed with their own… demons.”
It feels odd to call them demons still, even if that’s what they are.
Odder still that Niccolo would make a memory bargain with one.
When I came home from Verrocchio’s workshop with my first mark, he’d given it a long, dark look and begged me to be careful.
He didn’t like the thought of me giving up my life for magic, even if it was just a day or week.
His grim expression didn’t change when I said it was expected, that all the other artists did it too.
Leonardo tugs his bottom lip thoughtfully. It’s stained with the faintest brush of deep purple, the same color as in the Medici wedding portrait. I scrape my tongue along the back of my teeth and shove away the memory of how his plush lip felt under my thumb when I almost kissed him.
How it looked when he asked me if I wanted to open a workshop with him.
What did he mean by that?
I desperately want to know, but I’d rather swallow paint than ask.
He was probably jesting. I was upset and he needed me to stop bawling in public like a child.
He’s my co-conspirator. All right, fine, a friend.
A distressingly attractive friend, but still.
There is no future for me, and I need to focus on what’s important. I can’t be distracted by him. I won’t—
“… could be hidden. What do you think?” He stops talking with a bright, expectant look.
Sod it all to hell! A mouth has no business being that distracting.
“Something on your mind?” Leonardo asks lightly when I stay silent.
I force my gaze up, making dedicated eye contact and everything. “No. ’Tis a lot to consider, that’s all.”
His mouth curls. “I said we’ve been told demons can only make bargains with the people they’re bound to, but how do we know if that’s true? Your brother could have a hidden bargain mark.”
That’s not a half-bad theory.
“We could bribe his valletto and ask if he’s got any,” Leonardo says.
I frown. Asking the person who dresses my brother questions about his body feels wrong. “Won’t that seem… odd?”
Leonardo shakes his head emphatically. “You wouldn’t believe the things people pay good coin to learn about the ladies and lads of the Baldracca—”
“And I never want to!” The absolute last thing I need to think about is Leonardo in the city’s notorious bordello district.
He crooks a finger, beckoning me closer. Against my better judgment, I give in. “Promise me one thing.”
“What?” His breath smells faintly of the fig jam from breakfast. I imagine he’d taste like it too.
“Don’t try to visit your brother alone.”
Cold souses my fantasy of kissing him. “Why not?”
Leonardo grimaces, like he’d prefer not to answer. “Because when you talk about your brother… you get this look.”
“What sort of look?” I don’t like the thought of him seeing things in me I can’t see myself.
“Like it’s life or death to you.”
I cross my arms and look away, chafing warmth back into the skin. “I don’t like it when you tell me what to do.”
Leonardo grimaces. “I’m not. I’m just trying to look out for you.” Hurt hovers behind the words, and I instantly feel bad.
But not bad enough to take it back. Niccolo is just north of the workshop.
There’s nothing stopping me from going to talk to him.
It would be faster than all this talking and planning.
Each tolling of the church bells feels like the start of a funeral.
Every hour I wait is another hour of my life gone.
What if Leonardo and I lose the Medici wedding commission and its winning purse?
What if I die before I solve Niccolo’s mystery?
Who will take care of my mother and sisters then?
“I could help,” a new voice says from the door.
Oh good, and now Lupa’s here too, a white cat in her arms and several more trailing her skirts. Am I the only person in this entire workshop who respects another person’s right to sulk alone?
Leonardo’s mouth drops open. “Is that Buttermilk? I haven’t seen her for days!”
“Buttermilk?” I repeat, aghast. “You named them?”
“Of course.” Leonardo strokes the head of a fluffy tortoiseshell, who hisses and swipes at him. “You’d name them too, if you opened up your heart to the joy of cats.”
“I’m not—I don’t—I’m allergic to them!” I punctuate this with a tremendous sneeze.
Leonardo’s mouth quirks, and he tosses me one of my own stockings as a handkerchief. “The gray tabby is Prancer, this one is Fifi, and the brown stripy one is Mykee.”
“Mikey is a terrible name.”
“It’s short for ‘my kitty,’ because he was the first one who liked me.”
The cat in question bumps his head against the boy’s hand, and I have to admit, something warm and soft crawls into my heart at the sight of their reunion.
Who wouldn’t want to kiss a boy who cares for animals? a small, secret part of my heart whispers.
I promptly tie it to a chair. Then smother it with a sheet for good measure.
“Why do the cats like you? Is this some demon magic?” I ask Lupa. I don’t actually care, but I need to think about anything other than softhearted boys with kissable mouths being kind and gentle to creatures that don’t deserve it.
“Yes. Cats are descended from demons. They can walk between worlds.”
Leonardo freezes, his hand still on the animal’s head. “I thought you didn’t remember anything of your life before you came to earth?”
Lupa lets the mean fluffy cat climb into her lap. “I don’t. But I can recognize my kin.”
Well, that’s horrifying and certainly explains my dislike of cats.
“You said you could help.” Leonardo sidles closer to Lupa. “How?”
Her too-long fingernails flick to the cats. “The same way I recognized them. If I smell or taste your brother’s blood, I’ll know if there’s magic in it.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, holding back a wave of frustration.
“You’re forbidden from leaving the workshop.
If Verrocchio sees you’ve left again, he’ll blame me.
” Being tossed out of the workshop would take up time I don’t have to spare.
I don’t like our odds of breaking into my brother’s fancy house at night, either, even with Lupa’s magic.
Leonardo bolts upright, one finger lifted. The cats startle. “I have an idea!”
A fissure of hope darts through me. That quicksilver mind of his could come up with five ideas before I even came up with one. It once would’ve made me cross, but now… “What is it?”
He rubs the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “It’s a smidge sacrilegious.”