The dead Ten—those Foscari had not destroyed—restrained Aretino while the magician, this strange combination of Nico and Volpe, silenced the old Doge with a spell. He could not speak enchantments, could not warp the air without fingers.
Eyes wide with the terror he would have gladly brought to others, Aretino struggled uselessly as the dead men began a chant that sounded more like creaking hinges than voices. They cut the papery skin on their palms and held their hands forward, but only chalky dust fell to vanish in the water on the floor. When Nico sliced his palm open, true blood flowed and pooled and swirled in the water with that dust, and the ritual gathered its power.
So much remained to be done. With the Doge’s life essence preserved just as Volpe’s had been, his heart still alive and still beating, the spells that had been woven around the plague jars and the chambers where they had been hidden would be maintained. She and Nico would have to find every single one of those chambers and destroy the plague jars with the cleansing flame Volpe would teach them how to use. It would take time, but Geena was beginning to realize that they would have that time. Time to learn. Time to love.
But only if Volpe kept his word.
When Nico—and Volpe, always Volpe—stepped in to drive their knives into Aretino’s chest and carve out his heart, Geena couldn’t watch any longer. She bolted for the stairs, knowing as she did that she had seen the Chamber of Ten for the last time.
Aren’t you going to say good-bye? Volpe whispered in her mind.
He had promised to leave Nico, to let his spirit pass into the next world and leave Venice to a new generation of Oracles, but she still did not trust him. How could she? The question followed her up the stairs into Petrarch’s library, and then up into the Biblioteca, and finally out into golden morning of the city that had chosen her and Nico to be the keepers of its soul and its secrets.
Venice. La Serenissima.
The Most Serene.
XIX
THE SUN shone bright on the day they buried him.
She sailed to San Michele in a water taxi with Tonio, Domenic, Sabrina, and several other lecturers and students from the university. It was the first time she had seen them all since the melee that had ended in Ramus’ death. She’d arrived at the jetty moments before the water taxi, and stood behind them for a while, staring at their shadows. Today, they were as darkly attired as the shadows themselves, all visions in black. Domenic had seen her first, raising an eyebrow as he glanced back over his shoulder, and when they boarded the taxi the others offered her nods, or smiles, or awkward combinations of the two. Only Tonio had seemed unfazed by her appearance. He had granted her two weeks’ sick leave, on the proviso that upon her return she spend some time explaining. He knew, of course, that in the meantime she was helping the police with their inquiries.
She had a week left in which to construct her watertight story. It was more than long enough. She hoped that Nico would be there for that week to help her.
She had not seen Nico in five days, but she had always sensed him close. It was nothing like those usual sensations she picked up from him, because he was no longer himself. He was Nico and Volpe, Volpe and Nico—the merging of a 15th century magician with a 21st century academic. He was a stranger that she recognized, and today was the day she hoped everything would change. To face a new beginning, first she needed an ending.
Aren’t you going to say good-bye? Volpe had whispered. Perhaps he had remained in Nico waiting for just that.
The boat hit a small wave and Geena swayed, shifting her foot to regain balance. A hand held her elbow, strong and firm, and she glanced sidelong at Domenic. He smiled sadly, and in his eyes she saw something that she clung to, storing away for future reference in case the future became too harsh: the ability to understand. When she’d asked him to gather the soaked remains of Volpe’s heart and transport them out of Venice, he had not questioned her request, strange though it had been. She was beginning to suspect that perhaps he loved her, but it was more than that. Domenic could see past the normal and into the incredible, and maybe in his mind the line between the two had always been blurred.
“How are you?” he asked. A simple question with so many answers.
“I’m bearing up,” she said.
“And Nico?”
She shrugged, because she didn’t know. Nico’s future was not yet defined. If Volpe kept his word, today would be the day. But she could barely let herself hope.
“Well, it’s a shame about him and the university,” Domenic said softly. The sound of the boat’s engine and its hull striking the low waves covered his voice, so that only Geena could hear. “He’s a clever guy.”
“He is,” Geena said. “He’ll find his own way.”
“So …” Domenic said. He still had a hold on her elbow, and she found herself comforted by his contact. Domenic was strong and firm, and there was no ambiguity about him. “So, that other thing? Those … remains I moved out for you? How did all that work out?”
It didn’t, Geena needed to say, because the old magician’s spirit it belonged to lied, and he’s tenacious, and after we’d killed the Doges and those other people he promised to go and … But she could tell him nothing of that, of course. Not now. Maybe later.
“It worked out fine,” she said, and the boat nudged against the jetty.
Ramus’ coffin was already on San Michele, and there were hundreds of mourners milling around the entrance to the cemetery as they awaited notice that the service was about to begin. Geena saw many students and lecturers she knew from the university, and plenty more she did not. Ramus’ family was also there—a large group of adults and children keeping close together like an island in the sea of mourners. There was much crying, and little laughter. That more than anything made Geena sad, and brought on her first tears of the day. Ramus deserved much better than this. If he’d been killed in a cave-in while on a dig, or the collapse of an ancient building he was studying, perhaps the mood here, though heavy at the tragic death of someone so young, might have also been lifted to celebrate the fact that he’d died doing what he loved.
But he had been stabbed to death in a café by a mysterious assailant. He’d bled out on the floor waiting for paramedics to arrive, with Sabrina holding his hands and Domenic struggling to stem the bleeding from his many wounds. That was no way for such a bright light to be extinguished.
Geena walked close to Domenic, looking out for Nico. She knew he would be here, because they’d arranged it. They had spoken that morning, mind to mind. They no longer had any need for phones.
“Quite a turnout,” Domenic said.
“He deserves it.”
“What happened, Geena?” he asked, quietly again. Behind Domenic, Tonio glanced at her, and she wondered if he’d heard. She smiled over Domenic’s shoulder and her boss smiled back, but there was a distance in his expression that had nothing to do with today’s funeral. She knew that he would never fully trust her again. The ongoing investigation into the Mayor’s murder had been linked by the police to the fight at the café, and Ramus’ death. And one of the abiding mysteries of that evening revolved around Geena. Who had the men been who’d dragged her away? So far, she’d stuck with the insistence that she didn’t know. But Tonio was not stupid.
“Domenic, one day soon we can talk,” she said, and she stepped forward to hug him tight.
“And that book you want locked away at the university?”
“A very old book about forgotten magic. It’s got to be kept secure and it deserves to be studied. But I need full access, at any time.”