Mada rotated her face in toward Marco’s chest. “But you’re going to be so busy.” She sounded childlike, honestly afraid.
Marco kissed the top of her head. “Not too busy to protect my beautiful wife.” He led her back toward the carriage, and the rest of the girls turned away from the grave as a group.
The driver took the repaired carriage for a short test loop around the uneven ground of the field and then declared it fit for travel. Cass hopped back into the travel compartment and pulled the curtains closed across the window. Within moments, the group was heading toward Florence again.
A clap of thunder made the seat beneath Cass tremble. Parting the curtains with her fingers, she peeked out, expecting to be pelted with cold rain. But the air was dark and dry. The storm was chasing them, but it hadn’t yet caught up.
They left the field and the graves behind, passing through a series of rolling green hills. A sharp breeze tickled her skin as Cass leaned slightly out the window. She could just barely make out a jagged skyline in the distance. Florence. After a grueling week of travel, they were finally there.
By the time the carriages reached the outskirts of the city, the storm had blown past and night was beginning to fall. Again, Cass peeked out through the curtains.
Her first thought of Florence was that it was heavy and deserted. Large, hulking palazzos made of red and tan brick lined both sides of the cobblestoned streets. Elaborately painted chimeras loomed from the rooftops like hideous protectors. Most of the houses looked abandoned, their shutters pulled tight against the gathering dusk. The streets were mostly empty; there were no merchants returning home from a long day at the market, no peasant boys prowling for women and wine.
Cass inhaled deeply. The air was different, sharp and crisp, with only the faintest tinge of stale water from the Arno River, which cut through the city. She had grown used to the sweet moldy smell of Venice, to the low-hanging fog that blanketed everything. The air of Florence was a welcome change, clear and fresh.
Cass heard the crescendo of angry voices as the carriages rolled past a large, open piazza with a statue at its center. Here was where all the people were gathered, apparently. Peasants in brightly colored breeches and doublets stood in a throng around a statue. One of them was waving a piece of parchment.
“What are they doing?” Cass asked.
Marco leaned over to look out the window. “This is the Piazza del Mercato Vecchio, where the townspeople shop and gossip. It looks like they’re posting pasquinades.”
“Pasquinades?” Mada repeated, wrinkling her nose.
Marco gave her a squeeze. “Complaints against the church, public statements, and pronouncements. Nonsense, mostly. The citizens are always complaining about something.” He frowned. “The place where we’ll be staying is just off the piazza. I knew the square was always full of people, but I hope we won’t have to suffer their constant noise.”
“Here?” Mada squealed, wrinkling her nose. “This isn’t how I remember Palazzo Alioni at all. This whole neighborhood looks so run-down. So old.”
Marco nodded grimly as the driver slowed the horses to a stop. “Your father sent word to warn me that your aunt’s living conditions had deteriorated, but I had hoped for better than this.”
They had pulled over in front of a three-story palazzo made of red stucco and trimmed with marble. The chipped roof tiles and peeling paint made Cass think of Agnese’s villa. “It’s not so bad,” she said, with forced cheerfulness. “It looks lived-in.”
The carriage driver opened the wooden double doors that led into the palazzo’s courtyard. Mada’s face fell even further. Up close, the house looked even older than Agnese’s villa, and the only thing growing in the garden was weeds. A rusty bucket sat on the edge of a well. Mada turned to Cass incredulously. “It looks like no one’s lived here for a hundred years,” she insisted. “There’s no one outside to greet us and not even a candle burning in the window. Did they forget we were arriving today?”
The driver had returned to the carriage and prepared to help the ladies out. He caught Mada’s last few words. “Many are afraid to be out on the streets after sunset,” he explained as he helped Cass step down from the high carriage. “Because of the vampires.”
Cass and Madalena exchanged a look. Mada reached down, her fingers finding the crucifix that dangled from her belt.
They made their way across the uneven stone courtyard. Each side of the palazzo’s wooden door was flanked with a faded banner emblazoned with a pair of white unicorns, their horns crossed as if in battle. Marco reached out and rapped sternly on the wood. A stooped and sagging butler opened the door after a few moments. He ushered them into the house and up into the portego.
The inside of the palazzo was a slight improvement over its exterior. The portego was wide and airy with high, vaulted ceilings and solid, if slightly worn, furniture. Giant murals decorated each wall, though the paint was faded in places, revealing the cracked plaster underneath. The candlelight illuminated only portions of the murals, so it took Cass a moment to realize she was standing next to a giant nude Eve holding an apple. She flinched slightly and turned away, but not before her eyes traced the Serpent’s coils all the way out to the forked tongue that was flicking in the direction of Eve’s exposed breasts.
The far wall was even worse: a white-wrapped Lazarus emerging from his tomb. It made Cass think of Liviana and the vampire girls and her dream of being buried alive. She shivered. The butler had disappeared into the bowels of the house. Cass hoped he was alerting the kitchen staff as well as the mistress about their arrival. She needed a cup of tea and something to eat.
Feliciana came up behind Cass. “This is where you expect me to find employment?” she whispered. “They don’t look like they are able to feed the staff they already have.”
“Don’t worry,” Cass whispered back. “If they can’t use you, we’ll find someone else here who can. At least you’re safe now.”
Madalena’s father emerged from the back of the house, his brilliant green-and-gold breeches lighting up the dingy room. A plump older woman in a lilac gown trailed behind him. Cass assumed this was Madalena’s aunt.
The woman smoothed the front of her bodice. “I’m Signora Stella Alioni.”
The signora had grown up on the Rialto with Mada’s father, and remnants of her Venetian accent still lingered. Cass found her speech easier to understand than that of the men outside the city.
“My husband is already asleep,” Signora Alioni continued. “He’s leaving for Padua in the morning on business. I’m so glad I’ll have a full house to keep me company while he’s away.” But as she looked over the group, her lower lip twisted into a frown. Perhaps she hadn’t anticipated hosting so many people. “The servants can double up with some of my staff, and I have a pair of empty bedrooms, one on this level and one upstairs. I do hope the noise from the piazza won’t keep you awake. This district has gotten a bit rough. All day I get to listen to angry peasants. At night, the square fills up with drunks and revelers.”
Cass was given the smaller room on the upper level of the house. Unlike parts of Venice, where first floors were unlivable because of the moisture that seeped up through the rock, the palazzos in Florence had actual cellars, which housed the wine and foodstuffs along with most of the serving staff. The upper level was usually for the senior staff: the butler, the head gardener, and the ladies’ maids.
Cass’s chamber was empty except for a bed, a washing table, a ratty old chair behind the door, and a dusty painting of the Virgin Mary on the wall. The floor was in need of a good sweeping, but otherwise the room was satisfactory, though it lacked an armoire, meaning Cass would have to live out of her trunk. As she perched on the edge of the small bed, she again felt a pang of loneliness for Slipper. Narissa had promised to attend to him while Cass was gone, but he was used to being spoiled, and Narissa would put a stop to that immediately. She had probably already put him to work in the butler’s pantry as a mouser. Cass smiled to herself. If Slipper did manage to catch a mouse, he’d be more likely to play with it than eat it.