Someone knocked on the door. Probably Siena coming to assist her in getting dressed. Cass swore under her breath. How was she supposed to explain still being dressed in yesterday’s gown? Another knock. “Come in, Siena,” Cass said.
“It’s not Siena, silly. It’s me.” Madalena crept into the room with a tray of cheese and fruit. Luckily, Mada didn’t seem to notice that Cass had on the same clothing she had worn the day before.
“I was waiting for Siena,” Cass said quickly. “Have you seen her?”
“She and Feliciana are doing some mending upstairs. Do you need her immediately? I thought we could share a bit of breakfast.” Mada looked apologetically at the tray. “It isn’t much.”
“It’s fine.” Cass picked at a bundle of grapes while Madalena chattered about what she hoped to do later in the day.
“Marco and I spent the whole afternoon and evening together yesterday,” Madalena said. “Sorry to abandon you in the piazza. Did you have any luck finding Hortensa?”
“No.” Cass didn’t elaborate.
“Your skin is glowing,” Mada said suddenly. “The air of Florence is already doing wonders for your complexion.”
Cass had a feeling it was some combination of guilt and desire, not the air, that was making her glow. She practically smoldered when she thought of Falco’s soft touch, of the way his lips felt against hers. How easy it would have been to follow him home and spend the night in his arms.
“What are you thinking?” Mada tilted her head just slightly. “You look as though you might burst out into song.”
Cass blushed, debating furiously about whether to tell Madalena about Falco’s presence in Florence. If she did, Mada would do her best to discourage her from seeing him. But maybe that was what Cass needed.
Before she could respond, loud voices sounded from outside, in the piazza. Cass glanced up from her breakfast with mild interest. A crowd was forming.
“What’s going on?” she asked, grateful for the reprieve from Madalena’s questioning.
“I’m not sure.” Mada frowned.
Cass stood up and moved to the window. The men who had assembled the platform were now dragging prisoners to the center of the square. Women. Noblewomen, from the looks of their brilliant satin-and-taffeta dresses. The assembled crowd was yelling angrily, and people were pelting the women with pieces of garbage. Cass was so shocked, she could hardly speak. Then she caught a glimpse of the woman at the head of the line.
It was Hortensa Zanotta.
Madalena had come to the window behind her. “Isn’t that Hortensa?” she asked. “Santo cielo. She looks awful. I haven’t seen her since the last time she shushed us during Mass.”
Cass felt the impulse to turn away from the window. But she couldn’t move. “What—what are they going to do to them?” Cass whispered.
Mada just shook her head.
The mob was growing in size. A mix of nobles and peasants, of fine silks and muslins, formed a circle. Hortensa was led to the platform first, and the two other girls followed her. Were these the women Hortensa had been with the previous evening? Cass wasn’t sure. All she knew was that they were in some kind of terrible trouble. Their hands were bound, and they were crying.
Where was Don Zanotta? Why would he let this happen?
Feliciana burst into the room without knocking. “One of the servants just told me three more vampires are being put to trial in the piazza,” she said, then stopped abruptly when she saw that Cass wasn’t alone.
“More vampires!” Madalena exclaimed fearfully. She started to pull the shutters closed, but Cass held out a hand to stop her.
Feliciana looked doubtfully at Cass. “I thought we might try to get closer . . .”
“Are you mad?” Madalena burst out. “If they’re really vampires, they might break loose and kill everyone.”
Feliciana curtsied slightly. “Begging your pardon, Signora Cavazza,” she said. “They don’t look very ferocious to me.”
Cass thought about the way the masked stranger had stroked Hortensa’s neck, about the way the donna had seemed ready to collapse. Could Cass have stumbled into a whole party full of vampires? Her chest tightened, and for a moment she thought she might faint.
One of the women had fallen to her knees and was begging for mercy. Hortensa stood silently in the middle of the group, her chin lowered to her chest, her blonde hair dirty and tangled.
“Hortensa Zanotta,” Mada murmured. “I knew she was cold, but a vampire? She and her husband live just down the canal from my father.”
“What will they do?” Feliciana asked. A priest all in black was making his way up to the platform.
Cass remembered what the man from the mass gravesite had said. We’ve started drowning them . . .
A tiny part of her felt like Hortensa might deserve this gruesome fate for her accusations against Luca, but if the donna was drowned, Cass would never get a chance to question her about Luca’s charges. And Hortensa would never be able to return to Venice and admit that she had lied.
“We have to stop them,” Cass burst out. “I have to speak with her.”
Mada shook her head. “You’re insane. There’ll be no stopping anything. Do you see that mob? They’re bloodthirsty.”
But Cass wasn’t listening. She was watching a boy with dark hair struggling to make his way around the mass of people in the piazza.
Falco.
“Come on.” Cass hurried around the back of the house to where the crowd had doubled in size. Feliciana followed her and so did Madalena, though she continued to protest weakly that Cass had gone mad. Mada hugged the wall of the palazzo as if she thought nothing bad could happen to her as long as she stayed within arm’s length of shelter.
The crowd in the piazza continued to swell. Servants peeked out from high windows overlooking the square. A trio of schoolboys climbed the statue to get a better view.
“Falco,” Cass called.
He was heading toward the northern side of the piazza, but turned immediately at the sound of her voice. He navigated the swaying mob and met Cass at the back of Palazzo Alioni. He had a thick roll of parchment under his arm. Cass had intercepted him on his way to do some sketching, probably at the nearby Duomo or the Campanile.
Madalena’s eyes widened. She had never met Falco. Probably she hadn’t expected him to be so handsome. “We should go back, Cass,” Mada insisted, tugging at Cass’s gown with the hand that wasn’t still planted safely on the bricks of the palazzo. “It’s dangerous to be here.”
Falco’s eyes flicked to Mada, then back to Cass. “We meet again,” he murmured in a low voice. Then, turning back to the crowd, he raised his voice a little and said, “Why are you ladies bearing witness to this? The Church, executing the infirm.” His words were laden with sarcasm. “I suppose it is an excellent way of preventing an outbreak.”
“They’re not ill,” Mada said. “They’re vampires.”
“There are no such things as vampires,” Falco snapped. “The priests would have you fear invisible attacks by monsters, all the better to keep you from fearing what is really threatening Florence—the tyranny of religion.”
Feliciana stood behind Madalena, watching the exchange with interest. Or was she just using it as an excuse to stare at Falco? Cass couldn’t be sure. It was petty, but she felt a surge of relief that Falco hadn’t so much as glanced at Feliciana. He was too busy glowering at Madalena. Cass gave Mada’s arm a squeeze.
“Falco has some strong opinions about the church,” she said soothingly.