Chapter Forty
The cats race toward the river, silent, seething shadows.
Leonardo and I run side by side, our shadows stretched out before us, the sun at our backs. It feels as though it’s begging us to turn around, to go back to where we came from.
But I couldn’t. Not even if I wanted to.
Lupa saved me so many times. She’s why I know where Niccolo is now. She’s why Leonardo’s fingers keep brushing mine every few steps, his touch a constant reminder that I’m still here, I’m not alone, no matter how much time I have left.
I don’t care who says there’s something monstrous about her.
There’s something monstrous in me, too. I feel it shifting under my skin, spiked and hot, ready to roar if I find out that anyone has hurt her.
I skid to a stop, eyes wide.
A flooded-out ruin of a church stands before us—a collapsing, moss-choked pile of stones, the gurgle of the river just beyond it—but we’re not the only ones here.
Dozens and dozens of cats stare, their gold-green eyes flashing in the shadows. “This must be every goddamn cat in the city,” I whisper.
Leonardo reaches down. A cat butts his hand, purring aggressively. “Thanks, Buttermilk. One day Virgil will appreciate your charms.”
The stink of rot fills my mouth. This church must’ve been destroyed in a flood and abandoned. The Arno River is tempestuous and fickle. Its deadly presence cuts through the heart of Florence like a banked fire. Safe, most of the time. Until a storm ignites its destructive powers.
I square my shoulders and take a deep breath. Release it in one long shudder. Then I cross those last few yards and push open the church’s door.
A shaft of silver light spikes in from the collapsed ceiling, illuminating a single chair.
Lupa is tied to it.
I cry out her name and rush over. She lifts her head groggily, eyes half lidded and slow. They sharpen when they see me. “Not you.”
I fumble with her bonds. They’ve tied her hands with iron, not rope. The links have already bitten into her skin and left smears of gold blood on the metal. I’ll have to break the chair back to free her. “We’re getting you out of here, all right?”
She jerks away, hissing. “You shouldn’t be here!”
“I’m not leaving you behind.” I try to bend the chair’s wooden slat and fail. “Leo, I need your help.”
He’s stopped behind me, transfixed by something. At my shout, he jolts, turning with awful slowness, his face white beneath his freckles. “You need to see this.”
There’s a portrait of Lupa on the wall behind her chair.
The chain slithers from my grip.
If I didn’t know her so well, I’m not sure I would recognize her. The angel in the portrait wears her hair in a thick braid over one shoulder, the strands combed and glistening. Her teeth are blunt, not pointed. Her expression is guarded, like it’s hiding a secret she’s just daring me to ask about.
But it’s her eyes that stop my heart. They’re painted in bold, confident strokes, so lifelike, they seem to see straight through me. There’s a faint shimmer in the irises that offsets their main color, a rich, smooth—
“Brown.” I turn slowly, tearing myself away from the portrait. “Your eyes aren’t brown.”
She glares at me with those bright golden eyes I’d recognize anywhere. “I told you to leave!”
I flinch at the sound of a dropped object, the muffled curse that comes after it.
Niccolo emerges from the darkness. Gone are his fine clothes from the wedding.
He’s wearing the rough-spun clothes of a laborer, a disapproving frown growing deeper and deeper.
A fresh cut weeps red down his cheek. Does he know the truth about what Lupa is?
A good, God-fearing Florentine would hesitate before treating an angel like a prisoner.
“The Medici were supposed to take care of you two,” he growls. There’s no brotherly recognition in his eyes.
But he definitely remembers me from last night. “Surprise! They didn’t,” I say.
His frown turns ugly. He unsheathes a long, curved knife. “I suppose I’ll have to do it myself, then.”
The bottom drops from my gut. I’m suddenly ten years old, crying hysterically in Casa delle Volpi’s garden because Niccolo’s bruised my fingers with the flat of his practice sword.
Father pulled me out of arms lessons the very next week, too embarrassed to have his youngest son crying in front of the hired arms master.
Niccolo is the one who stayed in the lessons. And judging from the way he holds the handle, some part of him remembers every minute of them. Even if I did know my way around a blade, I couldn’t bear to hurt him. I need to do something else.
“Volpone. Do you remember me yet?”
He shudders. “You’re a liar.”
“I’m not. Your favorite food is coccoli. You used to sneak into the kitchen and try to eat them all before dinner.”
Niccolo’s eyes widen, revealing bloodshot, sleepless red where they should be white. He surges forward, blade first. “Shut up!”
I sidestep him, just barely. His knife snags on my stolen shirt, opening up a long gash. “This isn’t your life. Do you remember your parents? Your childhood? I know all about it. You have two little sisters named Elisabetta and Giovannia. They love you more than anything.”
Niccolo’s face flushes burgundy, chest heaving. “You’re lying!”
“I’m not.” What goes through his head when I name these memories? A blank, opaque wall of nothing? An entire false life that was never real? My gaze drops to his garnet ring. “I gave you that because you saved my life. You helped me escape before Father could kill my spirit. Do you remember?”
He makes an agonized sound. “Stop it!”
He’s rushing again—but not at me.
At Leonardo.
Niccolo crashes into him. Leonardo screams, doubling over. Red blooms on his arm.
My vision goes red too. Weaponless, I throw myself at my brother’s back, arms noosing around his neck, kicking every part of him I can reach.
Leonardo grabs my shoulders. “I’m fine; please, Virgil, we’ve got to go!”
But it’s too late.
The thud of footsteps approaches, followed by gleeful shouts.
The guards from the workshop have finally found us.
Rough hands surround me. I feel the skull-headed key pulled from my trouser pocket, hear the clatter as it falls.
Fingers start to dig in the pocket containing Lupa’s vial.
I lunge forward and sink my teeth into the meaty palm.
The guard curses and shrugs me off, banging my nose.
There’s a shock of pain, then blood pours from my nostrils, hot and salty on my lips.
“Gesù Cristo.” Niccolo makes the sign of the cross against me. “This demon has cursed them! He thinks she’s one of us!”
He called Lupa a demon. He knows the truth, just as I suspected.
I spit at not-Niccolo’s feet, stumbling to Leonardo’s side. “She is one of us!” He’s all right, thank God. A thin coat of blood sheets down his arm. Niccolo’s blade only nicked him.
“Why are you doing this?” Leonardo’s voice is small and helpless.
Niccolo stalks to Lupa’s side. “She’s become too human.” He tilts her chin with the knife. She hisses, and he flinches. He digs the knife in deeper, opening up a weeping gold line on her skin. “We knew a woman was not a worthy vessel.”
Damp rot fills my mouth.
I’ve failed Lupa.
I’ve failed her just like I failed Niccolo. She told me to live, and now I’ll be the one watching her die.
Lupa’s eyes meet mine, fierce and full of resolution. Her mouth lifts. “Goodbye, Virgil. I’ll see you on the other side.”
Niccolo’s knife arcs up over Lupa, a gleaming, glittering fang.
“Lupa!”
It slashes downward and rips through my soul.
Leonardo grabs my face at the last moment, tucking it into the crook of his elbow, sparing me from the horrible sight of the mortal blow. There’s a terrible, wretched scream, and it takes me a moment to realize the sound is tearing from me.
Then an awful stillness.
I throw off Leonardo, rushing to the body slumped over and silent in the chair.
I cradle her face, sweep away her tangled hair.
Her eyes are shut, eyelashes fanned across her cheekbones.
There’s no blood, which surprises me. I feel lower, around her neck, her chest, and then her stomach, searching for the handle of the knife.
Leonardo steps beside me, his arm extended, fingers lighting on the knife’s handle.
It’s sticking out from the portrait just above her head.
The ruined canvas peels from its frame, one bold, brown eye staring back at me.
The girl in my arms wakes up and starts to scream.