Venom (29 page)

Paolo’s dark eyes gleamed with amusement. “Signorina. It appears we have a mutual friend,” he said. “You should join us.”

“This isn’t really the place for a lady,” Falco said. His voice was light, but contained a bit of an edge.

“Something tells me you can protect her, Falco.” Paolo held open the door of the taverna. “I insist. What harm can one drink do?”

Falco arched an eyebrow at his roommate. “Fine. One drink. Then Signorina Cassandra and I have some plans of our own.”

“I can only imagine.” The tall boy’s eyes glittered like black glass. “I take it I shouldn’t expect you home tonight then.”

Heat surged through Cass’s cheeks. She prayed that no one could
see her blushing in the dim light. She followed Falco and Paolo back into the dim taverna, and over to a table where two other boys sat swilling some sort of alcohol out of tarnished pewter mugs. Paolo pulled a chair over and situated it next to Falco, who glanced over at her with an apologetic expression as she settled awkwardly into her seat.

“So this is what’s been taking up so much of your time.” Paolo held up his lantern so he could see Cass better. “A bit skinny, but otherwise not bad. How do you afford her?”

The other boys laughed. Cass stared down at the tabletop, her cheeks burning again. She concentrated on the seams in the knotty wood.

Falco folded his hand around hers, lacing their fingers together. “This is Signorina Cassandra. Cass, you’ve met Paolo. And this is Nicolas and Etienne.” He gestured to the other men, and then turned back to his roommate. “Cass is a friend of mine, so it might be best to keep your attempts at humor to yourself.”

“A friend, huh?” Paolo’s eyes narrowed. “Well, there’s no accounting for her taste. How did you two meet?”

Cass half listened as Falco spun a tale about doing her portrait as a present for her aunt. All she could focus on was the feel of his hand on hers. His fingertips, pressing tiny indents in her flesh. Cass heard a roaring in her head, felt a rushing, as if all of her body’s blood was making its way into that hand.

The conversation flowed quickly between the boys—they obviously knew one another well, and chattered easily back and forth. Falco had finished his story and they were now discussing an essay, something Paolo had read and then passed on to the rest of the group.

“Paolo is the learned one of us,” Falco explained. “His master is a scholar as well as a painter, so he is always getting his hands on literature from abroad.” He winked at Cass. “He is not nearly so dumb as his jokes—and his looks—would suggest.”

“True,” Paolo said good-naturedly. “And I find I gravitate to the French.” He drained his mug and signaled the barkeep for a refill. “Last week I was reading an essay by Michel de Montaigne.”

“Not more of this.” Nicolas, a stocky blond with the beginnings of a beard, rolled his eyes. “Why do you two always feel the need to impress the ladies with your knowledge of all things dull?” He turned to Etienne and began to discuss his favorite card games and the best places to go gambling.

The barkeep grabbed Paolo’s empty glass and slammed down a mug of a sour-smelling liquid with a thin coating of foam on the top. Cass assumed it was ale. He raised his eyebrows at Cass. “Anything for you?” he asked with a grunt.

Cass started to refuse but Falco cut in. “She’ll have the same as the rest of us.” He produced a coin from his purse and handed it to the barkeep.

Paolo waited for Cass to get her drink before continuing. “De Montaigne. He described marriage as much like a cage full of birds, where the unmarried struggle to get in and the married struggle to get out. Do you agree, Signorina?”

Cass struggled to swallow a mouthful of the sour ale, then set her goblet down on the warped tabletop and met Paolo’s challenging gaze. “As you know, there is no conversation more boring than one in which everybody agrees,” she said, firing back some of de Montaigne’s exact words. “Personally I have no desire to force my
way into the cage of marriage.” Cass took another long drink of ale. It tasted better the second time.

Paolo’s dark eyes widened. “The lady also reads de Montaigne. Impressive.”

Falco squeezed her hand. She cast a glance sideways to see that he was looking at her with a mix of surprise and admiration. She wondered what Agnese would do if she found out Cass was using her tutoring to impress boys at the local taverna. The thought made her laugh out loud. “Well, was it not de Montaigne himself who said, ‘There is no desire more natural than the desire for knowledge’?” Cass drained her goblet and smiled triumphantly.

Paolo broke into a grin—the first time Cass had seen him smile. “Learned and lovely,” he said. “I see now why you’ve been spending time with her, Falco. Just because she cannot be your bride doesn’t mean she cannot be your muse.”

Cass’s good mood faded instantly. Even in the dingy taverna, the reality was obvious to everyone. She and Falco could never be together.

“Let’s get out of here, my lovely muse,” Falco said, as if sensing that Paolo’s words had upset her. He pulled her chair back for her, and she stood and adjusted her skirts. Cass bid the other artists good night and let Falco lead her to the door.

“Falco.” Paolo’s sharp voice cut through the hazy darkness.

Falco turned around. “Yes?”

“I trust she knows little of your line of work?”

Cass felt Falco’s body tense up momentarily, and then relax. “We’ve spoken briefly about the work I do for Tommaso, if that’s what you mean.”

Paolo stared at Falco without speaking. Nicolas and Etienne looked up as well. Cass could have sworn they were having an entire conversation without words.

“Let’s go.” Falco broke the spell by turning away. He pulled Cass through the door and out into the night.

“What was that about?” she asked, shivering in the damp air.

Falco put an arm around her and pulled her close. “Who knows,” he said. “Paolo feels the need to make himself a pain to everybody. I just let him pretend he’s in charge.” Falco led Cass behind the bakery where a small
batèla
was tied. “Are you ready for our next adventure?” he asked, untying the ropes of the wooden rowboat as though he stole boats every night of his life. “Skulking about the outskirts of a few wealthy palazzos should be child’s play compared with some of the work we’ve done.”

Cass tried to smile but found she couldn’t. Paolo’s words kept running through her mind…
She cannot be your bride…she cannot be your bride…

She let Falco help her into the small rowboat and went through the motions of adjusting her skirts and settling herself against the side of the batèla as if she were sleepwalking. Falco pushed the boat away from the dock as he hopped over the side. He manned a set of warped wooden oars, their hinges crusted over with dirt and rust.

She cannot be your bride.
The words cut her like a scalpel. She looked up, unable to meet Falco’s eyes. A handful of stars glimmered through the haze. “What are we doing?” Cass asked. Her voice sounded broken, like a stranger was speaking through her.

The oars made a groaning sound with each stroke, so Falco had to pause to answer her. “We’re going to the Rialto. I thought that’s what we agreed.”

Cass looked at him. Of course they were going to the Rialto. Was he being evasive on purpose? “Not now. I mean us. What are
we
doing?”

“We’re trying to find a murderer before he finds us.”

“And that’s it. That’s all?” Cass waited for him to confirm what she was afraid of, that she was his partner in the investigation, but nothing more.

Falco didn’t answer at first. He steered the boat between the Giudecca and San Giorgio Maggiore. “I’m not sure what you mean, Cass,” he said slowly.

Cass stared out at the choppy water. It was her turn to go mute. She had thought seeing Falco tonight would fix everything, but she felt more confused than ever.

They continued toward the Rialto in silence. When they floated past the church of San Giovanni, Falco pointed out the block where the mask maker had his shop. Cass recognized a few of the palazzos across the canal. Most were owned by senators or wealthy merchants. In fact, they weren’t far from Madalena’s house. The streets and canals in the area were dead quiet; everyone was tucked into bed by this late hour. Only the yowl of an occasional cat disturbed the silence.

Cass didn’t know what she and Falco were looking for, but whatever it was, they weren’t going to find it rowing around wealthy neighborhoods in the dark. “This is pointless,” she said. “The man with the falcon mask could live in any of these palazzos, or none at all. Besides, we don’t even know if he has anything to do with this mess.”

Falco shook his dark hair back from his face. “I was worried this would be a dead end, but I…” He trailed off.

“You what?” Cass asked.

Falco rubbed at the scar under his eye. “I wanted to see you,” he said. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

Cass looked away from him. Again, she felt like someone was stabbing her between her ribs. “Maybe that’s pointless too,” she said. Their boat floated past a gondola. Two forms were visible in the moonlight. A man and woman lay intertwined on the base of the boat. Bare skin, gentle rocking.

Falco followed her eyes. “You know that I care about you, Cass.”

“But it doesn’t mean anything.” Cass tried to keep her voice from trembling. “Because it can’t lead to anything more.”

Falco set aside the oars and turned her face toward his. “You’re wrong. It means everything. You mean everything.” He held her chin between his thumbs and forefingers. “Why do my feelings have to lead anywhere at all? Why can’t we just be here, now, in this moment?”

His touch made shivers dance up and down her back. Maybe Falco was right. Why did she care so much about the future? Maybe she should just be thankful that they could be together here, right now.

“Why can’t you just be who you are?” Falco asked, his lips moving toward hers.

Because I don’t know who that is anymore.
“You’re changing me,” she whispered. “I see everything differently now.”

Cass didn’t fight it when Falco leaned in and kissed her. She didn’t resist as he tipped her gently backward and laid her down on the wooden bottom of the batèla.
Just be who you are.
Easy to say, but so difficult to do. Falco unfolded a blanket over her. “So you don’t get cold,” he said.

“What’s going to keep you warm?” Cass asked softly, reaching up to tousle his hair.

Falco laughed. “Trust me, I’m plenty warm.”

“Prove it,” Cass said, pulling him down to her level.

She pressed her lips to his, surprised at her own bravery, emboldened by the way his body responded to hers. They fell back deeper into the boat, its creaky wooden sides offering privacy in the already-dark night. He kissed her harder, his tongue exploring her lips and mouth in soft circles. The small boat rocked underneath her, swaying with the gentle current of the canal. The weight of his chest pressed down on her rib cage, her hip bones pressed against his, even through the many layers of garments she wore. She felt a rush of warmth, a heat that made her forget everything else that had been bothering her. It was like she had slipped outside of her skin, and that only her soul, her essence, lay in the boat with Falco.

As Falco traced her hairline with his lips, he reached behind her back and loosened the ties of her bodice. He stroked the bare skin of her upper back. Cass couldn’t believe how warm his hands felt. She let her own hands wander beneath the hem of his shirt. Her fingers traced his muscles—first the stomach and then the chest. His pounding heartbeat accelerated as they kissed. Her own blood raced through her veins, trying to keep up. Again Cass thought of the way the body was a single thing, yet was made up of so many different parts all working together. She could barely believe this was happening. She felt like a stranger, a wild, impulsive stranger.

“Cassandra,” Falco murmured. He reached up and twisted all her hair into one of his hands, pulling it slightly as he held it behind her head. His lips made their way across her cheek and her jaw
and her brow bone. His other hand caressed her left leg through her cotton stocking. His fingers followed the repeating diamond pattern embossed into her leather garter and then stroked the soft skin just above it.

Cass felt transported by his touch, his soft voice, and the mist rising off the canals. Everything felt otherworldly. It was a dream or a hallucination. Any moment now she’d wake up tucked beneath her covers with Slipper snuggled against her chest.

Just let go.

The batèla floated beneath a bridge. A man shrouded in darkness hung over its edge, leering at her. Cass sat up suddenly, wrapping the rough blanket up around her shoulders. She looked back toward the bridge. No one was there.

“What’s wrong?” Falco asked.

“I thought I saw someone. Hanging over the bridge. Watching.”

“Probably just some deviant. Not lucky enough to have the company of a beautiful woman.” Falco moved to kiss Cass again.

But fear was drumming through her. It sharpened her focus, and made reality come slamming back. Cass put her hand out. “Wait. We have to stop, to slow down.”

Falco sighed. “You’re right,” he said, running both hands through his hair. “Sometimes I think—well, I fear that you shouldn’t trust me.”

“Why?” Cass asked. Holding her lantern high in the air, she looked back toward the bridge again, but it was still deserted.

“Because I don’t trust myself around you.” Falco’s voice turned soft again. He ran the knuckles of his right hand down the side of her face. “Who knows what I might do?”

Cass blushed. “Who knows what I might
let
you do?” The words
just slipped out, but she didn’t want to take them back. She didn’t want to hide any longer.

Falco pulled her close to him, positioning her back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her slender waist and leaned his chin on her left shoulder, his jawbone against her cheek. “Your beauty lights up the darkest night,” he said. “I could paint an entire chapel just for you. Maybe I will someday.”

Cass imagined herself in the future, standing in a church filled with Falco’s art. She could almost see the nude figures frolicking in meadows and pools of brilliant blue water. The forms might be beautiful or not, but they would be real, so real they would come alive and dance off the walls of the church to sit in the pews and stare at her.