Chapter Fifty-Three
I jolt awake, engulfed in white.
For a moment I’m stunned, overwhelmed by the roughness against my skin, the pull of pressure along my arms.
I’m alive.
Wild, beating, beautifully, here.
But I can’t move a muscle.
Fabric. I’m wrapped in a funeral shroud. I’m about to be buried in the dark earth forever, where no one can hear me scream.
My pinned hands claw at the muslin, nails digging holes in the tough weave. One hand rips free, and I kick the rest off with a frantic movement.
The Mary over the altar gives me a patient, knowing smile. I’m back inside the Medici chapel again. My ragged breath is the only sound.
I’m alone.
I don’t know how long I lay beneath the shroud, but my body is whole and unharmed, my clothes the same as the ones I died in.
I start to leave, flinching when my foot sends an object skittering across the floor. I pick it up, see the glint of the beads and their dangling crucifix in the guttering candlelight. A rosary.
My skin prickles. These are Clarice de’ Medici’s beads. She said the chapel was the only place she felt safe.
Now she’s not here.
A faint scream echoes from beyond the chapel door.
My head whips up. I pocket the rosary and find a paintbrush I tucked away and forgot about. I almost throw it aside, but think better of it.
I ease the chapel door open. The creak is swallowed by the ceaseless pounding of the rain. I cross the empty corridor and peer out the window.
Water sluices down in torrents, washing the streets and buildings a dull winter gray.
The clouds press low, bruise-purple and tinged with pink.
Dark heavy shadows flit through them, larger and faster than any bird.
One emerges on the corner of a building across the street, something horrible and dangling caught in its grasp.
A guard. I flinch and turn away when the body drops to a growing pile on the street below.
The devil wasn’t jesting when he said he’d destroy Florence. He’s already started.
I clench my jaw to stop my teeth from chattering, try to smooth away my fear.
Lupa told me to find the devil’s portrait and destroy it. If I do, the rain will stop, the violence will end. My brother’s soul will return.
I don’t know how much time I have, but I won’t do it without Leonardo. I’ve got to find him first.
Not bothering to close the chapel door behind me, I set off for the hidden painting studio.
The Palazzo Medici looks like it was ransacked by an army.
Serving trays shattered on the floor, frescoed walls smeared with cake.
The eye-watering burn of spilled alcohol fills the air.
The corridors are devoid of guests. A few guards huddle outside barricaded doors like cowering boys; most have fled their posts entirely.
None of them bother to look at me, all focused on the rain pummeling the earth outside, straining to hear something far worse.
The palazzo is under siege from divine beings.
No one gives a damn about someone stupid enough to wander around at a time like this.
Passing the windows overlooking the gardens is the hardest. The tables and chairs are all abandoned in sodden puddles.
Broken bodies dot the lawn, wedding guests and guards, their eyes open and staring at the unnatural gray sky.
One demon with a vulture’s wings and sharp talons plucks the eyes from the corpses one by one.
When its head jerks toward me, I freeze.
Its stare burns a fiery, flagrant red. Just like the devil’s.
I rip away from the window. I ascend one staircase, then another, following a half-remembered map, praying I’m right.
When I spot a familiar door on the highest floor, terrifying hope sinks its teeth into me. I brush the prayer beads in my pocket and surge down the hall.
Unless he’s gone—unless I’m too late—I’m almost certain the Medici’s painting studio is right there.
Is Leonardo still inside? Is he safe?
My hand grazes the doorknob—
A sharp point digs betwixt my shoulders.