Chapter Fifty
Lupa escorts me through the palazzo, bringing us to a vast ballroom as the awful music I heard before swells.
Inside, demons lurch in a clumsy pantomime of dancing.
They look more or less human—minus a tail, or a pair of wings or horns—but their clothes are all wrong.
Some wear skirts on their torsos and corsets on the legs.
Some are completely naked, save jewels dripping from their ears and fingers.
Even though it’s all an illusion, I blush and look away.
Lupa bows. “Here is Virgil, my honored guest for the evening.”
The ballroom lurches to a stop.
A hundred pairs of eyes fasten onto me.
I force my face to ease into a smile, force my waist to bend, bowing to the crowd even though my entire body screams at me to turn around and run. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”
When I lift, I see the devil.
Young, handsome, more human than anyone else.
He’d be the least monstrous thing here if it wasn’t for the writhing shadows that blur his edges like dark fire.
His power fills me, a nauseous, dizzying wave.
A poison of the mind. I stumble and cough, vision wavy at the sides.
Only Lupa’s grip on my elbow keeps me upright.
The devil’s voice is a silky pout. “We don’t bring humans here anymore. Remember Hercules?”
The other demons murmur and hiss, remembering something so far gone, it’s considered myth in my time.
Lupa ducks her head. “He’s not merely a human. He’s also my friend.”
The devil flinches at the word “friend,” shock fading away to mounting anger. “Why did you do this? Do you mock my rules?”
Lupa raises her hands, asking for silence. “Virgil is dead, Your Majesty. The dead cannot hurt you here.”
Is it my imagination, or does her voice press into that “here” a little more than usual? A shiver races down my back.
If the devil can’t be hurt here, then there must be a there we need to get to.
Channeling a confidence that would make Leonardo weep with pride, I stride closer. Past the shocked faces of the demons, past the gilded tables bowed with maggoty cakes and vases of molding flowers. One demon crunches a mouthful of roses, bloody streaks running from the corners of his mouth.
I stop at the edge of the devil’s dais. I kneel, even though getting this close to him makes my stomach roll and head pound.
In his human illusion, I see the flicker of something else.
I swallow back an iron taste and keep my eyes on his crown, the only part of him that doesn’t shimmer and shake.
“I want to make a bargain with you.” The words taste ancient and binding.
“I want to put an end to the Medici’s power. ”
The devil flashes a dazzling smile. “Is that truly why you’re here?”
Up close, his beauty is painful to behold.
Black, curling hair cascades into dark, drowning eyes.
His olive skin shimmers with the faintest bronze glow.
He looks like a sculpture made from living flesh.
How could I possibly make someone so beautiful unhappy?
I want to fall to the floor and kiss the hem of his cloak.
I want to call him master and sit by his feet.
Why else would I be here, if not to spend forever at his side?
I clamp my eyes shut and take a deep breath, another.
With his beauty still searing the inside of my eyelids, I paint over the image with one of my own until bronze dust becomes freckles, until black curls become red waves.
Until all I can see is my Leonardo.
If I can’t undo the Medici’s bargain with the devil, he’ll be forced to paint for them, to condemn people’s souls to the same fate of his stepmother. It would break him. I can’t let that happen.
“Yes,” I say, lifting, clear-eyed, from my bow. The nausea is still there, but fainter. “The Medici think themselves your equal. They believe they’re more powerful than you. They use your magic, your gifted power, to worship God!”
An unholy chorus of screams rends the air. Parts of the illusions curl away like peeling wallpaper, showing the shadows, the rot and filth, underneath it all.
The entire room shudders, and my knees buckle from the force.
The devil throws out a ringed hand, his fingernails suddenly black points. “Enough!”
The screams stop, dissolving into shuddering sobs instead. No one is dancing now. The demons huddle in sad piles, some of them bereft of their illusions entirely. Even Lupa is affected—her dark, curving horns now visible over her blond head, her eyes red-rimmed.
The devil doesn’t tear his stare away from me for an instant. Slowly, so slowly, the illusions decorating the ballroom slip back into place. He claps his hands. The sound echoes strangely, too loud and layered to be anything but magical. “You, play louder!”
The musicians startle back to their feet and saw away on their uncanny instruments once more.
“You, keep dancing!”
The dancers slam into each other and start swinging their partners around so fast, it makes me ill to watch.
“And you.” The devil hovers over me, terrible in his wrath, his eyebrows two curving daggers above his glare. “You’re coming with me.”
He snaps his fingers, and the last thing I see is Lupa’s stricken face before the ballroom dissolves.