He let that hang in the air between them. Neither of them wanted to think about “otherwise.” They hurried over the cobblestones, Geena feeling a prickling on the back of her neck that might have been a result of her rising fever but felt like the eyes of hidden observers. She shook it off as paranoia. The feeling had none of the skin-crawling urgency and certainty that she had felt when Caravello had been stalking her. But how strange she thought the two of them must look, covering their faces and carrying coffee cups in their hands …
“What now?” she muttered as they approached the bloodstains …
… and felt Nico touch her mind. His fear blazed brightly, along with a fierce love for her. He was more frightened of losing her than he was of dying himself, and the raw intensity of that love nearly brought her to tears. God, why had this happened to them? They had been so happy.
And will be again, Nico thought, sending the words to her.
Lowering the shirt from over her mouth, Geena glanced around the church square. You believe that?
I have to.
She nodded, turning to him. “We need Volpe.”
The old Venetian, the magician—whatever he was—had retreated into Nico’s mind. The question of what exactly he was lingered in Geena’s thoughts and she had seen it in Nico’s as well. If there were such things as ghosts, that was one thing, but Volpe was obviously something else. To possess the body of a man five hundred years after your own death … Volpe had power. But exerting it exhausted him, and he had been silent in Nico’s mind since they had fled the café. Geena had no sense of him in there. He had left Nico with a firm impression of what must be done, but they needed Volpe now.
Nico nodded. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Whatever Nico did to attempt to summon Volpe, Geena heard nothing in her own mind. But then Nico gave a sharp intake of breath that became a hacking cough and he brought a hand to his mouth to cover it. And when he lowered his hand, his expression had changed again. She knew she was looking at Zanco Volpe, hiding behind Nico’s face. And Volpe looked tired.
“Are we being watched?” Volpe asked wearily.
Geena shook her head. “I don’t think so. What can you do? We can’t just leave the blood out here if it’s infected.”
“No,” Volpe agreed. “We can’t.”
He began to turn, but then shifted his gaze back to her. Geena did not have to ask what he was looking at. New sores had appeared on her arms and legs and one on her left cheek. More had erupted on Nico’s flesh as well.
“It’s moving so quickly,” Volpe said.
“Too quickly for us to … to have a chance?” Geena asked. She had been about to say “survive,” but couldn’t bring herself to use the word.
“This is insidious magic,” Volpe said. “Caravello’s blood exposed us to this infection. I could almost admire it—the assured destruction of whoever might be responsible for your own murder—but this won’t only kill us. This is a hex-plague. Thousands could die, and all out of spite.”
For the first time, Geena understood the loyalty Volpe had to his city. The old magician could be cruel and brutal in his efforts to preserve and protect Venice, and his arrogance was monumental. But she no longer doubted that the Doges were the enemy here. They were putrid creatures. Only a truly evil man could conceive of such an abhorrent act as Caravello’s fail-safe contagion.
Volpe handed her his coffee cup and their two spoons but otherwise ignored her. He glanced around once, then thrust his arms downward, palms open and fingers splayed as though he were warming his hands over a fire. His fingers contorted, sketching odd symbols in the air, and he whispered something she could not hear.
The bloodstained cobblestones burst into flame. Geena gasped and stepped back as fire raced along the spilled blood and flashed up from each of the splotches they had left behind when moving the Doge’s corpse to the abandoned taverna. It lasted only an instant, not much longer than the fire from the hand of some stage magician—a parlor trick.
But what Volpe had done was no parlor trick. The cobblestones were not scorched at all, but they were clean—cleaner, perhaps, than they had been in generations—and no trace remained of the blood of Giardino Caravello and the sickness it carried.
Nico staggered coming through the side door of the taverna. “So fast,” he muttered.
Geena followed him in. He watched her close the door and said a silent prayer that no one had seen them. But his prayers weren’t only for their benefit. If the police came and caught them before the work they needed to do here had been completed, all of Venice might be in danger. All of Venice, and far beyond.
She winced in pain as she coughed, and Nico felt her pain as his own. He tried to soothe her with his mind, but it was of no use. He could let her feel the depth of his love for her, the fullness of his heart, but he could not hide his own fear.
Geena’s thoughts were clear. We just need to focus. Please. If there’s any chance to save ourselves, we have to hurry.
Nico nodded. Together they slid a table against the door to prevent anyone else from coming in. The broken lock would be easily discovered, but at least this would gain them seconds in which to attempt escape, or finish the task at hand.
With Geena so close, he could not avoid looking at the purplish-red swelling under her neck and the wet, leaking sores on her face. He bit his lip and forced himself to focus.
Caravello’s body lay behind the bar, just as they had left it. The bloody trail on the floor had vanished, cleansed by the fire Volpe had summoned, but the corpse remained. Now, though, the flesh was pustulent and raw, and the dead Doge’s throat had swollen massively and turned black. They set the coffee cups and spoons and napkins on the floor beside the body.
“I don’t understand,” Geena said. “If the Doges want Venice, why would Caravello do this, knowing it might kill everyone in the city?”
“I don’t know,” Nico said. “Maybe it’s a side effect of accessing Akylis’ power? His evil? They’re contaminated.”
“Maybe,” Geena said. “Or maybe he didn’t even trust his cousins. Maybe the fail-safe was so the other Doges couldn’t betray him. We don’t even know if the others are also carrying it.”
Nico started to reply, but choked on a cough, which turned into a hoarse, seal-like bark that bent him double. When at last he caught his breath, he spat blood onto the floor.
Geena stared at him. “Nico, your eyes.”
He reached up to touch them and his fingers came away wet, not with tears but blood. Geena reached a hand toward his face. Nico felt his legs weaken and he collapsed to his knees, blackness swirling in his peripheral vision.
Volpe, he thought, turning his focus inward. The ancient presence remained, but diminished. Nico could barely feel Volpe’s awareness within him. We’re going to die if you don’t wake up and do something. And what of you? Will you die without a host?
Nico felt Volpe stirring, felt him rush upward, stepping forward to take control once again. But even as he did, he sensed barriers in place now between his mind and the old magician’s. Once again, Volpe was hiding something.
Geena saw it happen. Still on his knees, Nico sagged further, his head lolling onto his chest. Then his head snapped up, eyes narrowed, and though the fear remained it was no longer Nico’s fear, but Volpe’s. The shape of the mouth was different, and the merciless curl of the lip had returned.
Volpe looked up at her. Then he reached out for a nearby chair and used it to pull himself to his feet.
“Get me a knife. And hurry.”
Chills racked her body, cold sweat dripping down her back and between her breasts, but Geena did as he asked. The kitchen had been stripped of most of its valuable equipment, but a drawer near the sink in back held a handful of old knives and wooden spoons and a ladle. She grabbed one of the knives and stumbled away from the counter, accidentally pulling out the drawer, which crashed to the floor. Geena barely noticed as she staggered back through the door into the restaurant proper.