Venom (37 page)

C
ass made it to the island’s tiny village in record time. She had to look for Falco at the taverna and then escape San Domenico before anyone realized she was missing. When she left the villa, she was reasonably certain everyone was asleep, but who knew when a servant might awaken and find Narissa snoozing in the library. Cass felt a little guilty. Narissa was in for a good scolding—and possibly worse—if Cass got caught. Especially if Cass got caught stealing a boat and going all the way to the Rialto by herself.

But she
wouldn’t
get caught.

She had spent the walk to town trying to convince herself that she was strong enough to row across the lagoon and then back again. It was doubtful, but she had to try.

The whole mystery was a tangled web, and Cass was hoping that the chapel tucked away in the back streets of the Rialto held the answers that she sought.

Cass ducked into Il Mar e la Spada. She quickly scanned the clusters of men hunched over the battered wooden tables. No Falco. She
made her way up to the bar. The barkeep had a silver hoop in his left ear and a black star inked on each of his fingers.

“Help you?” he asked.

Cass tried not to stare at the ring in his ear. “I was wondering if I might leave a message here for Falco. Do you know him?”

He grunted. “Falco da Padova? Tommaso’s boy? I know him.”

Cass slipped the man the letter she had hurriedly written in the library, and pulled out a silver coin as well, sliding it toward the barkeep. “Is this enough?”

The man smiled a reply as he pocketed the coin and tucked the letter underneath the bar. Cass noticed he was missing several teeth. He turned away from her as a gray-haired man with a patch over one eye hollered for a refill.

“Good-bye, then,” she said, making her way back through the crowded taverna and out into the night.

The air felt thick. The moon above was an almost-invisible sliver of light. She was filled with fear and exhilaration, both emotions running through her like blades. The lantern swayed in her trembling fingers. Cass tightened her grip. Having it comforted her, not only because it provided light, but also because it would make a decent weapon, if needed. She remembered the lepers from the Rialto, how she had been ready to swing the lantern if they attacked her.

Behind the bakery, a small fishing vessel and a long wooden gondola bobbed in the brackish water. Cass was surprised to see the gondolier nestled in the bottom of his boat beneath a ratty gray blanket. Maybe she wouldn’t have to row herself all the way to the Rialto and back.

She bent down and tapped softly on the edge of the gondola. The boat bobbled back and forth in the water. “
Scusa,
” Cass said. The
breeze whipped her braids around her face, tendrils of wild hair stinging her cheeks and eyes.

The gondolier muttered something in his sleep. He turned on his side, pulling the threadbare cover up over his head.

Cass leaned over, gripping the edge of the gondola with one hand to keep from tumbling into the murk. Tiny waves lapped against the dock, sending fine sprays of icy water in her direction. She reached out with one hand and nudged the gondolier gently.

Something silver cut through the inky darkness as the man sat up with a start. Cass fell back onto the dock, wincing as the rough wood bit into the flesh of her palm. Her eyes widened. The gondolier was clutching a dagger in his right hand. He looked at her with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“Signorina!
Caspita.
You scared me halfway to the grave.”

“
Mi dispiace.
” Cass couldn’t pull her eyes away from the blade still clenched in the man’s fist. “Please. I—I require safe passage to the Rialto. Will you take me?”

The gondolier slipped the dagger into the pocket of his breeches and narrowed his eyes at her. “At this hour? What for?”

Cass thought quickly. “I need to return home,” she said. “My aunt will disown me if she discovers I snuck out of her palazzo.” She tried to look desperate. It didn’t take much effort on her part. “Please. I will pay you double. You won’t find as good an offer in the morning.”

The man smiled knowingly. “Let me guess. You were meeting somebody.
Amore
. Say no more.” He accepted Cass’s fare and assisted her into the gondola.

Cass settled as far back in the felze as possible, wrapping her arms around her middle to conserve heat. The gondolier handed her his
woolly gray blanket. The fabric was scratchy against her skin, but Cass was grateful for the extra warmth.

As the boat bobbed and rolled across the vast lagoon, Cass tried once again to untangle the snarl of suspects and clues regarding the pair of grisly murders and Liviana’s missing body. But she kept coming back to Falco. Falco in the graveyard. Falco burning the mysterious threatening note. Falco, who knew of the brothel where Mariabella worked. Falco, who was friends with Angelo, and possibly Dubois as well. Falco, who had twice refused to go to the town guard with information about the murders. Cass wanted—no, needed—to believe he was innocent, but how could she ignore so much evidence?

Cass indicated that the gondolier should drop her by the Rialto Bridge.

“Which one is your palazzo?” he asked. “The streets are unsafe. I will take you directly to your dock.”

“It’s fine,” Cass said. “It’ll be quieter if I go around to the back on foot. I wouldn’t want any of the servants to awaken when you moor your boat.” The falsehood rolled off her tongue with almost no thought. Cass couldn’t believe how easy lying had become.

The gondolier shrugged and tied his boat beneath the Rialto Bridge. After alighting from the gondola, Cass slipped into the darkened alley between the large palazzos. The buildings were so close together that their overhanging roofs completely obscured the sky above her. She could have reached out and touched both exterior walls if she had wished. Instead, she moved slowly, her lantern clasped tightly in her right hand.

Despite the darkness and the tangled streets, Cass felt certain she’d have no trouble finding the chapel again. Her body seemed to
be moving independently from her brain, as if a higher power were guiding her toward her destination. Sure enough, a few minutes later she emerged into the campo where the crumbling statue of San Giuda lay on its side, and the chapel and monastery sidled up against each other. The night was damp and chilly, the air layered with mist.
Now what?
She decided to explore the chapel first.

She headed around the side of the building, figuring it was safer to sneak in through one of the smaller entrances in case the chapel wasn’t as deserted as it looked. Just as she put her hand on the wooden door, Cass froze. Behind the chapel, beyond the wrought-iron gate, a small sphere of light winked on and off in the tiny graveyard, almost as if signaling to someone.

Ducking down, Cass made her way along the stone wall of the church, toward the gate and the graveyard waiting behind it.

The gate was propped open, as if a funeral party had recently brought in a body. But that was madness. No one interred bodies in the dead of night.

As Cass made her way beyond the iron fence, the temperature seemed to drop. Her skin prickled with goose bumps. She stole through the graveyard, holding her lantern close to her body for warmth. She tracked the sphere of light as it moved along the row of crypts. As she approached it, she saw a second, dimmer lantern, propped next to the first.

The pair of lights swirled and wavered in the pitch night. Cass felt herself being pulled forward, like a moth to a flame. Perhaps Falco was here, sketching, as he had been that night on San Domenico. Perhaps she had been magically drawn to him. Not magically, divinely. Perhaps God had brought the two of them together. Just because Falco didn’t believe didn’t mean it wasn’t real.

Fate.

Cass was so certain Falco waited for her at the end of the row of crypts that she opened her mouth to call out to him.

And then a horrible scratching sound rent the air. The noise seemed to tunnel deep inside of her. The lantern slipped from her fingers and fell to the wet grass. The flame went out. Instinct gripped Cass, telling her to get as far away from the graveyard as possible. The scraping noise pierced the quiet night again. It sounded like the claws of demons forcing their way inside a crypt to feed on innocent souls.

Go back. Go back. Go back.
Cass heard her own voice screaming in her head. But she couldn’t move. She was terrified, transfixed.

Then she heard other voices. Whispering. Muffled cursing.

Falco’s voice.

For a moment, the graveyard, the cold, the mist—all of it disappeared. Cass felt as if she were hovering outside of her body: she was walking forward, moving mechanically, without thinking. She could no longer feel anything. She didn’t even know that she was breathing.

And then she saw him.

The lanterns illuminated Falco’s face. His hair was hanging in his eyes, and his forehead was beaded with sweat. He was standing next to a tomb, dragging a heavy, white-wrapped shape across the ground, toward a wooden cart where Paolo and Etienne were waiting. Nicolas was watching, holding a metal hammer, muttering instructions Cass couldn’t make out.

Falco stopped, straightened up, and said something indecipherable. Paolo came forward to help him. Nicolas abandoned his hammer and scooped up one of the lanterns.

Suddenly, the cart and Falco’s wrapped bundle moved into the faint light.

An arm broke through a fold in the burial shrouds.

White, bloated, its fingers swollen in death. A human arm, connected to a corpse. Falco cradled the dead body against his chest as he wrestled it over to the cart.

A horrible wailing noise pierced the air.

It took Cass a minute to realize the sound was coming from her.

S
he clamped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late.

Falco dropped the body he was holding, whipping around to face her. His eyes went wild.