Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mass,” I whisper-hiss accusingly. “You’ve brought a demon to mass!”
A finely dressed lady gives me a judgmental look down her long, pointy nose. Leonardo motions for me to be quieter. “We won’t let her take the Eucharist; it’ll be fine.”
Fine, he says! I’m not someone who’s fretted much about his immortal soul, but this seems like a step too far.
And a mass not just in any church, but in the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, the place to be and be seen.
The cathedral’s red duomo is my north star, the landmark that takes me anywhere I want to go within the city walls.
But walking beneath it today makes the huge red dome feel like a lid trapping me inside a boiling kettle.
I’m not doing a good job hiding my unease, because Lupa nudges me and whispers, “Am I doing this right?”
She’s wearing an inconspicuous dress, a gauzy veil over her hair.
There’s nothing we can do about her eyes, though.
They flash gold green when the burning braziers catch them at the wrong angle.
My hand flexes, resisting the urge to throw the hood of her cloak up.
She only needs to make it to the pew. Once mass starts, no one will care about a girl they haven’t seen before.
“You’re the very picture of piety.” My smile is a limp dishrag.
She frowns. “Is that a good thing?”
“Right now it is.”
I rise up on my toes, searching for a curly black head, a heart-shaped scar beneath smiling hazel eyes—
I flinch at a horribly familiar red cap instead.
“Oh merda.”
Leonardo whips toward where I’m looking. His eyes widen. He drags us behind a Corinthian column. “What’s Verrocchio doing here?”
The master artist smiles and laughs among the beautifully dressed crowd.
He attends mass at Santa Croce with the rest of his apprentices, but come to think of it, I haven’t seen him there in a few weeks.
He must be here to glad-hand Florence’s wealthiest into commissioning more art for the Medici wedding.
It’s why the workshop’s been so busy. Curse his excellent business instincts!
“We should go,” Leonardo whispers. “We can see if your brother struck a bargain another time.”
“You want to leave?”
Usually, he’s the one who goes charging in, and I’m the one pleading for caution. Past Virgil would both appreciate and applaud this unusual display of restraint from him, but that was before I knew Niccolo was alive. I don’t have time for caution anymore.
There’s a stirring at the church’s doors. I turn, and my stomach swoops to see Niccolo entering the nave dressed in scarlet and gold. Is it my imagination, or does his appearance cause a ripple through the crowd? Is he as important to them as he is to me?
“You two can leave,” I say, shouldering out from behind the column. “I’m staying.”
Leonardo catches my sleeve, mouth tightening. “You won’t even know if he’s made a bargain without Lupa!”
Even in the dim church light, his freckles stand out.
They’re growing darker in the sunlight, more bronze than gold.
Witnessing the change feels like my own private autumn here in the spring.
Will I live long enough to see how brown they are in the fall?
My hand fists, quelling the urge to trace them.
“I know. But I need to get closer to him.”
I tug my arm free. I don’t look back as I stride the marble floor toward the stranger shining in the splendor of it all.
Niccolo.
His hair is longer, combed back. The panes of his face are sharper, his jaw stronger. He’s older, and he looks like it. My heart aches, soft and helpless, at all the changes I missed in him.
I hold my breath as he walks toward me down the aisle. I know I shouldn’t stop and stare, but I can’t help myself. When he walks past me, my eyes flicker to his.
A furrow appears in his brow, so brief and sudden, I could’ve imagined it, and then he’s behind me.
My heart pounds like a drum. Maybe Leonardo was right. Maybe Niccolo’s not avoiding me. Because surely if he recognized me just now, I’d see it on his face. I was always the better liar.
“Signore.” Someone ambushes Niccolo. “It’s a delight to finally meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” my brother says in a voice both his and not. “Florence is lovely.”
“You grew up outside of Bologna, did you not?” The man’s voice is eager. As if he’s fishing for information, just as I am.
There’s a moment of hesitation, far longer than expected. When Niccolo finally does answer, it’s uncertain. “Yes… that’s right. I’ve been living in the countryside for the past few years.”
I gnaw the inside of my cheek. If that’s true, it explains why I never saw him in the city until now.
“Such a pity about your uncle’s death. You and he must’ve been quite close if you were named his heir.”
This time, the silence stretches even longer. An anxious pang races through me. For some reason, it feels vital that Niccolo answer this question right. Something is… off about all this, in a way I can’t quite place. It’s like Niccolo doesn’t know his own story.
“I miss him terribly. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
The other man startles, his face the very study of shock. “Do you not mean to seek revenge for him? Everyone knows Iacopo Soderini’s death was no accident!”
Soderini. Why is that name familiar?
A name from Father’s merchant circle? But no, I feel like I’ve heard it more recently than that.
Niccolo leans away from the other man. His hands clasp behind his back.
He rubs the black stones of my ring, spinning the silver band around his knuckle.
The movement is fitful, nervous, at odds with the stiff set of his shoulders.
The skin underneath the ring is rough and red, as if he does this often.
I gasp, the answer coming to me in a dizzying rush.
Soderini was the name of the prior Piero de’ Medici killed. The one who accused the Medici of wrongdoing with the angels.
A force catches my shoulder and pulls me back. “What are you doing?” Leonardo says. “You’re staring at the man like he owes you money. Don’t be daft!”
An annoyed snarl builds in my chest, but it dies when I see he’s right. We’re some of the last people standing, and it’s drawing attention.
I turn away before Niccolo notices, before he can recognize me from the steps of his house or in his own reflection.
Because Niccolo isn’t Niccolo here, is he?
He’s Soderini—the heir of the man Lorenzo and his father killed.
Leonardo strong-arms me into a pew beside Lupa. I turn to him breathlessly, even though the mass is starting. “Did you hear that?”
“I heard enough.” He runs his finger over his lone bargain mark, brows drawn together. “Is that how your brother usually acts?”
I shake my head. Niccolo’s halting answers.
His fidgeting. He was like a player who doesn’t know his lines.
But if his lie is discovered, he’ll be arrested and executed, Medici protection or not.
Why would he do something so foolhardy and dangerous?
Is this why he warned me not to follow him?
Is that why his face was on the wall of the Palazzo della Signoria—to better sell the lie of him being a man named Soderini?
But my brother wouldn’t do this. He’s no criminal.
Or would he? My bargain marks prickle, each one a reminder of my own bad choices.
There’s a spiking throb in my temple. It feels like I’m trying to guess what someone else’s painting looks like before it’s finished.
Leonardo’s knee nudges mine. “You still want to go through with this?”
My brother is sitting somewhere behind me. His presence feels overwhelming—like a mountain or a raging river. “Of course.”
Leonardo’s mouth thins, but all he does is nod.
When the congregation stands for Communion, the three of us don’t file out with the rest of our pew. I watch the queue go to the priest, heart in my throat as Niccolo gets closer and closer.
When he reaches the end of our bench, Lupa slips out.
She slams into Niccolo.
He catches her. She pulls back with a gasp. “Apologies, signore! I am so hopelessly clumsy. It brings great shame to my family.”
Niccolo frowns. “I—erm—yes?”
Lupa grabs his wrist and rightens herself. Niccolo hisses once and grabs his arm.
But Lupa’s already pulling away, her index finger in her mouth.
She’s tasting his blood.
My entire body strains toward her, desperate to know what she sensed. She finds my fervent stare through the crowd.
And does nothing but stare back.
I shake my head, then nod, raising my eyebrows. Did she forget what we discussed? She ducks her head and arrows over, knocking people out of her way. Annoyed grumbles fan behind her, and my temper spikes. What the hell is she doing? She’ll get us noticed.
She thunks on the bench and speaks before I can tell her off. “Your brother has no soul.”
“What?”
She’s frowning like I’ve said something she doesn’t like, but there’s a frightful white ring around her eyes that doesn’t match the expression. “His soul is missing. Gone. I tasted nothing.”
I feel like a rock someone’s skipped over the river’s surface. Everything’s spinning so fast, I can’t get my bearings. I look to Leonardo, hoping he can make sense of it, but he’s shaking his head, mouth paper-thin. “That can’t be possible. Niccolo’s right there. He’s alive.”
“Of course he’s alive,” I hear myself say. “What are you two going on about?”
Both of them turn to me, concern and fear warring across their faces. Lupa’s words finally sink in, water closing over my head.
When my brother first went missing, my greatest fear was that he was dead.
The truth is worse.
His soul is gone. Stuck somewhere I can’t reach. What if I found him but it’s too late to save him?
“How do we get it back?” Curious heads ripple in my direction.
Leonardo motions for silence. “Virgil—”
“How do we get it back?”
Lupa blinks, biting her bottom lip. “I don’t know.”
“But you knew it was missing. You can figure out where it went, can’t you?”
Leonardo grabs my elbow. “Be quiet and think.” There’s a wheedling edge in his voice that stings like nettles.
I toss him an annoyed glare, but he doesn’t stop talking.
“Your brother is involved with the Medici, who are involved with—” He mouths the word “demons,” hands twisting helplessly.
“I’m sorry, but I think there’s only one place it could be. ”
I gasp and shove away from him.
Hell.
He’s trying to tell me my brother’s soul is trapped in hell.
All at once, the cathedral is too crowded, the incense too cloying. I can’t hear the priest prattle on about God and heaven when my brother’s stuck in hell. I need to get outside, where there’s more space and air, where my beloved brother can’t look at me with nothing in his eyes.
Leonardo inches closer, his face so gentle, I want to scream. “Virgil, you can’t—”
“Let’s go.” I take Lupa’s hand and stand, pulling her with me.
Only to collide into someone returning to their seat from Communion. I’ve gone the wrong way out.
“Excuse me!” the woman cries.
Lupa turns, her face a full moon in the circle of her veil. Her eyes catch the candlelight—
A gasp, as loud as a scream, cuts through the quiet.
The woman’s face goes milk-white. Her shaking finger rises.
“Angel.” Her eyes are wide and shining. She pivots to the congregation and shouts joyously, “An angel is among us!”