Belladonna (35 page)

“I do.” Cass suddenly felt warm. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she looked up at him. “I will.”

Luca pulled her in close. He pressed his lips against her cheek. Cass turned her head. She reached up and stroked the back of his neck as she turned her mouth toward his. He tightened up for a second and then relaxed. His lips pressed against hers, gently at first. Then harder. Cass’s whole body trembled. She folded herself against him. Her hands found his hair, the muscles of his back. Everything was warmth. Light. New life.

New beginnings.

She wanted to kiss him until she ran out of breath, and then kiss him some more.

When they finally broke apart, Luca trailed his lips from her cheek to her jawbone to her earlobe. So softly, like rose petals being dragged across her skin. “Cass,” he whispered, “you make me want to be better.”

She buried her head beneath his chin. “You are already the best man I know.” It was true. How had she not seen it? Luca had lied to her once, but it had been to protect her. He wouldn’t lie to her again. And he wouldn’t betray her. Not like Falco had with Belladonna. Cass trusted Luca with her life. With her heart.

He squeezed her against him and lifted her up into the air, spinning her around once before setting her gently back on the sand. “With you, I feel like anything is possible,” he said. “I love you.”

Cass smiled against his chest. “I love you too,” she murmured, but the wind and the waves and the beating of his heart stole away her words.

No matter. Their time together was just beginning.

Piero turned the crank, and the metal cylinder began to whirl. Silver flashed. Glass tubes clinked together inside the mysterious apparatus. He cranked again. And again. A few more turns and the machine slowed to a stop. Piero removed a single tube. He held it up to the fire, nodding in satisfaction at the layers of fluid: a clot of darkness in the bottom, then red, then a skim of yellow, then clear on the top. All four humors, separate and pure. All four humors extracted solely from blood.

Consulting his notes, he carefully measured out the different humors with a pipette. Drops of red, yellow, black, and clear fell into a tiny crucible. Everything had to be done in just the right ratio and order, or the reaction wouldn’t work. With a pair of long iron tongs, he held the crucible just above the fire. The mixture needed to be hot, but not singed. If the flames surged too high, he’d have to start over.

He heard the fluid begin to sizzle. He pulled the crucible back from the fire. With a tiny wand, he stirred the solution five times clockwise, five times counterclockwise. The liquid bubbled and then turned clear. Not pinkish. Not yellowish. As transparent and colorless as water. It was the fifth humor, another remarkably pure sample. Piero stared in wonder for a moment and then added exactly one dram of spider venom. The venom kept the fifth humor from separating when it cooled, but Piero thought it was also responsible for the potency of the newer batches of elixir. Back when they had used wine instead, the resulting compounds had only slightly increased the longevity of the roses that served as Piero’s first line of testing subjects. His current test plant had been in full bloom for weeks, and there was not even a hint of wilting on any of the petals.

If the elixir worked as it should, they wouldn’t have to take it daily as they had been. Perhaps every other day, and then later once a week. It would build up in their bodies and keep them from getting ill. It would keep them from aging.

Finally.

Piero didn’t yet know why some blood resulted in a batch of fifth humor that was cloudy or imperfect, but what he did know was that this subject’s blood resulted in the purest humor he’d ever seen. And the strongest elixir. He had been testing it not just on the roses and spiders, but also on himself. He had never felt as alive as he did in that moment.

He scribbled a few notations on a loose piece of parchment and then waved it dry. When he had finished with this subject’s blood, Belladonna would insist on personally locking up his notes. Someone had stolen the Book of the Eternal Rose right out of her chambers, and she was livid about it.

He found her in the garden, composing a letter on her finest vellum. “What are you writing?” he asked.

Belladonna looked up. “Did you get a chance to meet Cristian de Lambert?” she asked. “He used to work for Joseph Dubois in Venice, but Dubois sent him away, so he came here, hoping to work for me. I sent him back to Venice to spy on Joseph and spread fear about the threat of vampirism.” Her tight lips turned slightly upward. It was the closest thing Piero had seen to a smile since the book had gone missing. “If Angelo de Gradi is right and mass amounts of the proper blood can only be found there, that could be very useful to us.”

“I believe you’ll find these notes useful as well.” He set a few sheets of parchment on the table next to her half-composed letter. “I know you are upset about the book, but truly, we didn’t lose anything crucial to our goals.”

Bella’s posture tensed, and for a second Piero thought she was going to pounce on him. “That book was my father’s, and my grandfather’s before him. I will get it back or I will die trying, do you understand?”

“Completely.” Piero bowed low. He had learned it was best to appease his patroness when she was in one of her moods.

“And when I find whoever took it, I will kill that person very slowly.” She watched his reaction.

Piero knew she suspected both him and the butler, Dionisio Mafei, of the theft. As members of her inner circle, they were two of the only people who knew where she kept the book. Piero hadn’t stolen it, though. Why would he? He enjoyed his current arrangement too much, and as the one actually making the elixir, he knew there was no way Belladonna could deny him his share.

She seemed to notice the vial clasped in Piero’s hand for the first time. “Another test batch of your favorite elixir?” Her catlike eyes tunneled straight into him.

“It is.” Piero gestured at a rosebush near the center of the garden. “I’ve been feeding this plant for two weeks.”

Belladonna’s lips curled into another half smile as she studied the roses in question. Her whole garden was stunning, but this particular bush was laden with the largest, most vibrant blossoms she had ever seen.

“I cannot wait to begin taking this elixir,” she said. “I do hope, whoever your donor is, that she hasn’t been executed as a vampire.” Belladonna laughed a cold, bitter laugh.

Piero thought of the shelf in his room, of the row of glass tubes stamped with the lily insignia. “Do not worry, Bella,” he said, smiling. “I know exactly where to find her.”

I have to start this page by thanking you, the reader. Getting a book published is almost like getting an invitation to a certain school of witchcraft and wizardry. Getting multiple books published is like getting
paid
to attend that school. It’s the best thing ever, and it’s possible only because of you. I will never forget that.

More thanks:

To my mom for her unwavering support, even though most of the time I have no clue what I am doing; Paul for always being a calming influence, and for driving me across several states to see a dolphin show that one time I was really sad; and Vicky for sending copious e-mails full of brainteasers and baby animal pictures, and for hiding chocolate all around my apartment every time I go out of town.

To Lexa Hillyer, Lauren Oliver, Beth Scorzato, and everyone at Paper Lantern. Beth, you are my backup calming influence. Thank you for not filtering my relentless 2:00 a.m. e-mails full of questions and semi-ranty tirades. Renaissance expert Eleanor Herman, once again your insights raised this book to a new level.

To Team Philomel: Michael Green, publisher, Jill Santopolo, editrix of wonder and tireless advocate for more kissing, Julia Johnson and the rest of the editorial team, Kristin Smith, Lisa Kelly, Sheila Hennessey, Anna Jarzab, Elizabeth Zajac, and anyone else who had a part in getting the word out about this book—you guys rock!

To Stephen Barbara and the people at Foundry, Jennifer Laughran and the Literaticult, the Apocalypsies, the Blueboarders, the book bloggers, Jessica Spotswood, Andrea Cremer, Antony John, Heather Brewer, Rhalee Hughes, all of the Breathless Reads girls, Left Bank Books, Pudd’nhead Books, Main Street Books, the St. Louis and St. Charles library systems, my crit partners: Cathy, Jasmine, Jess, Ken, and Marcy. I literally could go on forever listing other industry people who have helped me along this journey. I feel incredibly lucky to be part of a community that is so invested in the success of its members.

To everyone else who put up with my insane schedule: Connie for the late-night gossip and iced coffee, Julie for the bookmarks and inviting me to the hipster bar (I’m gonna go one of these days, I swear), Ben for going to the gun range with me when I needed to shoot things, Jeff for going out to eat with me when I needed to eat things, and all of my amazing colleagues at Award Winning Teaching Hospital, especially Debbie Hoog for taking me on a vicarious trip to Florence.

Adam, you continue to be my Kryptonite and not mentioning you here would just be wrong. We’ll always have Golden Tee.

Finally, the interwebz can be a scary place for a new author. You blog, you tweet, you pin, you post, but is there anyone listening? Or are you just shouting into the ether? Extra-special thanks to Monica Lopez, Nikki Wang, and my amazing group of cyber-pals, for being a constant reminder that I’m not all alone in this.