Venom (46 page)

So Luca wasn’t going to offer any explanation either. Maybe they deserved each other. He
must
have followed her to the art exhibition. But he couldn’t know about Falco—could he? Surely he would have confronted her.

Cass stood frozen in the exhibit hall for a moment, paralyzed with indecision. She wanted to escape from Luca, to search the exhibit and Palazzo Loredan, not just for Falco, but also for clues to the murderer. After all, he had to be here, somewhere. Or if not, surely there was someone who knew the identity of the artist who had painted
The Fallen Ones.
Someone had seen him as he arranged his display. Who knew if their paths would intersect again? If she left now, the killer would slip right through her fingers.

And so would Falco. Cass was still desperate to warn him about the guard coming for Paolo. She was desperate to
see
him. Just one last time, she promised herself.
One last time and then I’ll let him go.

But Luca wasn’t budging. And she could hardly tell him about Falco or seeking out the killer. She remembered his outburst at dinner. She would only prove him right about the women of Venice, and
herself, if she confessed her recent actions. Cass struggled to think of any plausible reason why she shouldn’t follow her fiancé to Madalena’s wedding. There was nothing.

After one last glance at the trio of paintings, Cass reluctantly allowed Luca to pull her through the exhibition hall. Was the killer there, hiding in plain sight? Was he masquerading behind handshakes and polite smiles while plotting his next murder? And what about Falco? Was he tucked back in a corner somewhere, watching her from a distance? Cass felt hollow, like a tunnel had been opened at the bottom of her stomach.

Luca pulled Cass through the door of the exhibition hall, and she blinked hard as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight. The wedding procession had opted to parade through the city streets rather than go to Mada’s palazzo via gondolas. She could pick out the wedding guests among the normal traffic on the streets by their silken gowns and jubilant expressions. Some of the younger girls were holding hands and laughing as they skipped along the stone streets. The air was still thick with the scent of perfume, and jasmine petals littered the ground. Cass and Luca fell in behind the last few guests as they passed by.

Cass wondered what Siena had told Agnese. Her aunt was sharp and had no doubt seen through whatever tale the maid had concocted. She hoped that the day’s festivities would put Agnese in a forgiving mood. If not, Cass might find herself married off to Luca before sunrise.

Luca took Cass’s arm as they headed toward Palazzo Rambaldo. She struggled to keep up with him. Her ankles wobbled in her chopines, and she adjusted her stride so that she was taking two small steps for each one of his.

“You missed a lovely ceremony,” she said, even though Cass had missed the ceremony herself. Luca’s intensity was starting to scare her. Cass tried to keep her voice light. “Madalena’s dress is the most amazing blue.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it,” Luca said shortly. Then he lapsed back into silence. Cass wondered what he was thinking about. Was his mysterious errand related to his visit to the art exhibition or had he just followed her there? Why had he looked at
The Fallen Ones
with such dismay? Cass wondered if there was any chance Falco would know who had painted the pictures. Maybe he had seen the artist when he dropped off the canvases.

Just thinking of Falco made a sharp pain knife through her chest.

She pushed the pain away. “You hate art, Luca. Why were you at the exhibition? Did you follow me there?” Cass planted her feet on the stone street. She was tired of being led around by men. She would stand there until she got some answers.

Luca turned to look at her. For a long moment he said nothing, his face a strange mix of hard and soft. “Come with me,” he said, yanking her forcefully from her position. Cass sensed he was finally going to explain things, to share some of his secrets with her. The two ducked into a nearby alley. The back door to a small house stood open. A peasant girl was emptying chamber pots into the street.

“What is it?” Cass asked breathlessly, trying her best to ignore the fetid stench. The last few wedding guests blurred by them. Behind them, a trio of children in ragged clothing dodged their way through the crowd, pretending to be part of the wedding procession.

Luca licked his lips but didn’t speak. Cass suddenly felt uneasy. Her fiancé’s grasp was strong. He had pressed her up against the
rough stone wall of a neighboring palazzo. Cass tried to pull her hand away. “What?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly in pitch.

The peasant girl disappeared inside the house, slamming the door shut behind her. Luca reached toward Cass’s face and she flinched. But he didn’t seem to notice. He was in his own world, in the grip of emotions Cass didn’t understand. Pain and fear and regret—all of it swirled behind his eyes.

His warm fingers brushed the side of her face. Cass felt hot all over.

“If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself,” he said, tracing his hand from her cheekbone to her chin.

“Luca,” she croaked out, trying to swim up through the haziness of her own confused feelings. “What—”

“Just please stay in the crowd,” Luca said. He bent close to her, and for a second Cass thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he pulled a curling tendril of hair from the corner of her mouth. “Stay with your aunt. Don’t go anywhere alone.”

“But I don’t—”

“Just promise me.”

His urgency frightened Cass. She didn’t know what he was talking about; had he seen something at the exhibition? “I promise,” she said.

“Thank you.” Luca brushed his lips across her forehead. Then he took her hand and the two of them headed back to the main street. Cass sucked in a deep breath, and felt the tight whalebone ribbing of her stays press into her skin.

The main doors to Palazzo Rambaldo stood open. A pair of men wearing the distinctive Rambaldo green and gold livery stood guard,
making sure that only invited guests were granted access to the inner party and feast.

Servants wandered the piano nobile with trays of wine and tartine. Guests milled around the spacious portego, eating and drinking and laughing. Luca towed Cass through the vast room until he found Agnese, Narissa, and Siena all lingering near a large window.

“I have to talk to a few people,” he said abruptly. “Please remember what I said.” He vanished into the crowd. Still shaken by Luca’s urgent command to her—
don’t go anywhere alone
—Cass huddled close to her lady’s maid.

Siena pressed her hand to Cass’s back just for a second. “I’m glad you’re all right,” the blonde girl whispered.

Agnese sat on a plush divan, her back to the festivities, looking out over the Grand Canal. Narissa hovered protectively behind her. As Cass stared at her aunt, she wondered if Agnese ever missed her own childhood home.

Cass sank down next to her aunt and the old woman turned blazing eyes on her. Agnese’s face was as deeply wrinkled as the purple silk of her dress. “Where have you been?” she demanded.

Cass knew that she had been foolish to hope her aunt would be in a forgiving mood. Agnese hated crowds; she hated being jostled by strangers. “Didn’t Siena tell you?” Cass asked breezily, while shooting a meaningful look at Siena. She had no idea what story the girl had told her aunt.

“I told her how you came here to the palazzo early to make sure everything was ready,” Siena answered smoothly, with just the slightest flicker in her eyes. “How you wanted everything to be perfect for Signorina Rambaldo.”

“Right,” Cass said. Guilt pricked at her insides. That was exactly
what she
should
have done, but Mada’s wedding celebration was the furthest thing from her mind. She had solved the mystery of Liviana’s disappearing body, but a killer was still lurking in Venice.

Agnese pursed her lips together but didn’t respond. Cass knew her aunt wasn’t fooled; then again, she had no proof of Cass’s wrongdoing.

Joseph Dubois sauntered into the room with a young girl on his arm—a courtesan, judging by the looks of her. The man brushed a handful of blonde ringlets out of the way to whisper in the girl’s ear, and she winked in response. Cass’s blood turned to ice. Was this pretty fair-haired girl going to wind up strangled and mutilated, her bloodless body dumped somewhere for an innocent passerby to discover?

Dubois’s gaze seared straight through the crowd of wedding guests until it found Cass, as if she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. Cass flinched and looked away.

“Let’s go find our spots at the table,” Cass said with fake cheerfulness, eager to put distance between herself and the Frenchman. “The servants tell me the feast looks stunning.”

Narissa helped Agnese to her feet and the four women headed across the portego. Servants were just beginning to bring out the food: platters of braised peacock and roasted badger stuffed with pears, plates of soft bread, bowls of every type of fruit and cheese imaginable. Cass wondered where Cristian’s magical cheese from France had ended up.

Cass and Agnese found their names on pieces of vellum in front of chairs at the far end of the largest table in the portego. Narissa and Siena helped them get settled and then left for the kitchen to go eat with the rest of the servants. At the head of the table, Madalena’s
father’s business associates were admiring the boiled head of veal and making toasts about how they never thought this day would come.

Cass tried to join in the merriment, but she kept thinking back to Luca’s words.
Stay with your aunt.
Why was he so worried something might happen to her? Did Luca suspect the murderer was among the guests? And where had he gone? Cass shivered. She scanned the crowded banquet hall, looking for anyone who seemed out of place.

Surprisingly, she didn’t see Madalena. Cass frowned. She felt a flicker of anxiety. It wasn’t like her friend to miss even five minutes of a party in her honor. Cass thought back to her vision of the white fire outside the church: Mada as Mariabella. Blood dripping from her smile…

Cass fiddled nervously with the small piece of vellum bearing her name. She flipped it over and over between her fingers, so quickly she almost didn’t notice that someone had scrawled a message on the back. Almost.

With trembling fingers, Cass read the five words someone had written in shaky handwriting on the back of her nameplate.
Do you like surprises, bella?
Cass caught the edge of her wineglass with her elbow. Crimson liquid splattered onto the table and made its way to the edge of the table. Blood dripping, Cass thought as the dark droplets rained onto the stone floor.

“Cassandra! Look at the mess you’ve made,” Agnese scolded.

“Excuse me,” Cass mumbled. She pushed away from the table as one of Madalena’s servants hurried over to mop up the spilled wine. She hadn’t taken even a sip of wine, and still she felt dizzy and disoriented. The sounds of the feast—noise and conversation—rebounded
through the cavernous rooms, filling her head with echoes.

Where was Mada? Where was Luca?

Cass pushed her way out of the portego and turned down a hallway, taking immediate comfort in the cool and quiet. At the end of the hall was a small salon, pale pink, with four cushioned chairs positioned around a small marble table. Cass shut the door behind her. She needed to be alone for a few minutes. She was starting to feel the way she had at the church. The last thing she needed to do was faint again.

One of the servants had decided to use the little room to store wedding gifts, and as Cass leaned against the door, exhaling, she marveled at the mountain of wrapped cartons and boxes. Madalena was fine. She wasn’t Mariabella. She was probably off in some dark corner kissing Marco. Those two had never been able to keep their hands off each other. Now that they were officially husband and wife, they had probably decided to kick off their wedding night early. Cass hadn’t seen Marco among the revelers either. Of course they were together.

Feeling instantly better, she wandered over to the table and skimmed her fingers over the great jeweled boxes and packages wrapped in brightly colored cloth, trying to guess what they contained. A carved wooden frame peeked out from beneath a giant cylindrical hatbox. A painting. Cass moved the box to see it.

She sucked in a sharp breath. It was a painting of Madalena done in the same small blurry brushstrokes as
The Fallen Ones.
Mada’s hair was properly braided and she wasn’t reclining like the other girls, but her hand was reaching out toward the artist just as theirs had, as if she were inviting the artist to come closer.

As if she were offering herself up to him.

The whole world seemed to stop as Cass leaned toward the picture.
Please no. Please no. No. Nonononono.

Yes.

There was that same, wavering initial at the bottom of the frame.

The killer was here.