Chapter Thirty-Four
The church bells chime the hour. Lorenzo’s wife ducks her head and counts out another bead, another prayer. When she closes her eyes, I see tears clinging to her lashes.
I glance at Leonardo, but he’s not looking at me. He’s watching her, with a patient, gentle expression I’ve only seen him use on me when I’m at my worst. He slowly settles on the pew beside the girl. Clarice, I remember. Clarice Orsini from Rome.
“I know that the angels are demons,” I admit. “But that’s all.”
Clarice nods and squeezes her eyes shut even more tightly. “My husband tried to tell me that magic is what makes his family so powerful, that it’ll make me powerful too, but I know it’s wrong. He’s been betrayed by evil just like his father.”
“Tell Virgil what you told me,” Leonardo urges gently. Only now do I see that he’s covered up his bargain mark with a leather bracelet. I brush my long sleeves, making sure they haven’t risen far enough to reveal mine.
Two tears roll down Clarice’s cheeks. “How do I know I can trust him?”
I sit next to her. “You can’t. Trust is earned, and I don’t have time to earn yours.
” Leonardo lets out a dismayed squawk, but Clarice’s eyes flick to mine.
“I can tell you magic has hurt me. My brother has forgotten who I am because of it. If you can’t trust me, fine, but you can trust that I agree with you that the magic can’t be trusted. ”
Clarice’s fingers pause their rapid counting. She searches my face for a long moment, then nods. “Piero de’ Medici has been corrupted by demons. He moves things without touching them. When he speaks, I feel sick and have no choice but to obey.”
“Do you remember when we were in his office?” Leonardo says. “And Piero demanded that Soderini tell him the truth? I wanted to… confess things to you.”
I remember it too, his warm breath on my palm, how a feeling like a rising storm almost made me admit that his freckles were the only thing I wanted I paint. The desire seemed to come from somewhere outside of me. It’s not something I would’ve said to him at that time no matter how true it was.
My mind starts racing, picking up the pieces one by one. The unnatural creature that attacked Lupa. My brother’s missing soul.
’Tis all magic. Magic unbounded by art and bargains or anything I’ve ever heard of before.
Sod it all to hell, the prior killed by Piero was right. The Medici are getting far more from the demons than they let on. Their household never had its own angel because they didn’t need one.
They found a way to wield magic on their own.
I swallow, a sick feeling coursing through me. “Do you know how Piero got his power?”
Clarice scoffs. “Isn’t it obvious? The devil has turned his heart away from God.” The rosary clicks faster, louder. No longer counting prayers but racing heartbeats.
Leonardo and I exchange an appalled look over her bowed shoulders. “You mean that… figuratively, right?” I say.
Leonardo’s voice drops lower. “Can you take us to the room you mentioned before?”
She shakes her head, knuckles white on the rosary. “The chapel is the only place where I feel safe.”
I suck in a soft breath as Leonardo touches her shoulder. “Please. I promise you we want the same things.”
Her tear-filled eyes meet his for an eternity.
Then she nods once and stands.
We follow Clarice out of a second exit from the chapel, one leading to the Medici’s private quarters.
Here lies the most magnificent of the family art collection: paintings and statues and tapestries that all seem to glare at us as we pass by.
Can they tell we mean their masters harm, like a pack of loyal hounds?
“How did you earn her confidence?” I say to Leonardo, too low for Clarice to overhear.
“She judged the wedding portraits this afternoon. Ours was the only one not magicked. She was frightened of the others, so I got her alone and asked why. I promised her we were trying to rid Florence of the demons, and if she picked our portrait to win, we could help her. She picked Rucellai’s instead.
” He runs a hand down his jaw, frowning.
“She wouldn’t tell me why but insisted we’d be more useful if we didn’t win the commission. ”
None of this sounds good. Except… “So she liked our painting more than Bartolomeo’s?”
“Of course that’s what you’d latch onto.” But his mouth quirks anyway.
Clarice comes to an abrupt halt in the middle of a hall. At the end, two Medici guards flank a door. A torch burns close, its light catching strangely on their sword pommels.
I brush the skull-handled key hidden in my inner pocket. I’d wager anything it matches their swords.
At the sight of their new mistress, the guards square their shoulders. “Signora, what are you doing here?”
Clarice draws herself taller. “Step aside! These are my chosen painters.” Gone is the terrified woman from the chapel. She strides forward, not waiting for a reply, but one of the guards stops her with a gauntleted hand.
“Your husband’s instructions were clear, signora. No one is to let the winners inside except for him.”
Clarice’s nostrils quiver. “This is outrageous! I will not be denied.”
The three of them begin arguing in earnest.
This close, I can see their weapons clearly: ruby-eyed skulls on both pommels.
Leonardo nudges me forward. “Go on.” His hand lingers on the small of my back, brushes along the base of my spine. “I’ll stay here and keep watch.”
Too distracted by their argument to pay me any attention, I slip my key into the lock.
And the door creaks open.