A heavy weight settled into Lucy’s chest, cold. “I must leave as soon as possible. Your family is not safe while I am here.”
“As you say,” he said, waving away her protests. “Later we will worry about safe.” He left the doorway. The small dog curled up on the rug by her bed, and she watched him as she drifted off to sleep.
The wind made Octavia’s dress sinuous as she walked from the balcony windows into the pension’s sitting room. Velvet curtains streamed ahead, announcing her like heralds. There were few people in the room. A gentleman on a sofa read a book, shifting so he would not make eye contact with her. Octavia’s eyes flitted over the others: a moody girl on her first trip to Serenissima, as she had called Venice last night at dinner, before she had moved to another table; and a stout, whiskered man whom Octavia admired because he had chatted with her and her family even though he had wanted to run.
Octavia’s eyes roamed the frescoes covering the room’s walls and ceiling, all cherubs and ribbons. There were angels and there were angels. Two years ago as Octavia prepared for her Trial, she had seen a real angel. She shivered and pushed her memory back down.
Other tourists milled about their business on the staircase outside the sitting room, in the world of light. Women in bright dresses, young ladies with hair coifed in ringlets, older women with higher collars and fewer ribbons. Gentlemen varied, dressed in waistcoats and cravat knots, running the gamut from the fop to the every day.
The moody girl drifted into the light. Mr. Darlington, the older gentleman, stacked a few books, smiled at Octavia, and stepped toward the stairs, passing Drusus as he came in.
“I’ve talked to the garrison commander. He will let us know if there is any sign of her. Did she come back? Send word? Anything?” Drusus peeled off his cloak and draped it over one arm. The hem dripped onto the carpet.
“No.” Octavia sat and smoothed her black skirt, which made the settee’s maroon velvet much brighter. Octavia’s voice was as soft as she could make it. Dulcet and pleasant tones, the books had advised for wifely demeanor. She was desperate not to cry, and the mask she had tied in place must not crack while he was watching. “We have to find her. The Trial is in two weeks. She has to go to the Temple of Erasmus. It is a requirement for all Binders.”
Drusus’ grip on his walking stick tightened. Octavia knew under the gloves his knuckles were white. “Temple of Erasmus?”
“We were going to detour, to Egypt.”
“Were we?” He perched on the settee beside her. “When were you going to tell me?”
“This morning I tried. Before this.”
“I was wrong. Here I felt we were a good match, but we have made a poor start.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve reported Lucy’s disappearance to the occupying army. Hopefully, there will be news. Not many people look like her.”
“If she’s smart enough to hide herself as a child, she could hide well.”
“Octavia, what happens if we don’t find Lucy? Can her Trial occur without her visiting the Temple of Erasmus, without her Anchor, without returning to England?”
Octavia studied her hands. “Trials happen whether Binders want them to or not. Having the Trial at Hathersage, at our home, visiting the Temple of Eramsus, all these are things we do to protect ourselves.”
“You don’t want Lucy to fail, do you?”
“It’s inevitable.”
Drusus touched his lips to her head. “What if she wins?”
Lucy could have run away because she knew she would lose the Trial. Did Lucy want to live Bound? Did Lucy also want someone to keep the voices in her head quiet?
“Lucy won’t win,” said Octavia.
Drusus handed her a handkerchief and she dabbed at the streaks tears had left. “I won’t let you kill her.”
“I’m going to summon Khun. He can track her.”
Drusus’ voice became flat. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“He can look for Lucy in ways no human can. We must do it. We don’t have much time.”
She sensed the tightness in him. He thought she was wrong.
Summoning Khun would be the only good thing to come out from this entangled mess.
Lucy’s feet didn’t reach the floor. She kicked back and forth, gazing at her bookshelves. They were full of stories and histories. A new math primer because she had finished her old one. A guide on etiquette and manners inherited from Octavia. Science. Peerage. The history of the magical families, all these books Madame Dantes would expect her to know this year.
The Binding books were missing. All the magic books were gone.
Ra’s head flitted like a serpent and swiveled toward her. You are destined to be mine, he said, his thoughts slithering into her mind. Even your father knows it.
She knew things would change now Mother was gone. No one would read to her anymore, tuck her in at night, encourage her to show off the small spells she knew. Her father would not look at her. The only good thing would be she could see Octavia again. She missed her sister in spite of what her mother said about her.
Father walked in. His eyes swept over her. She stayed sitting on the bed. She knew if she stood, her height would make him more disgusted with her. Lucy wanted to say something to make him feel better. He didn’t seem to feel bad, but she certainly did, and he must miss Mother terribly. She parted her lips, but he spoke over her.
“You might wonder what’s going to happen now,” he said.
Lucy did wonder, but she said nothing.
“You have no aptitude for magic, Lucia. Further, Ra is dangerous. You are to avoid other people as much as possible, for their safety.”
“Ra has never attacked anyone but me,” said Lucy. “He watches all the time and he kills animals, not people.”
“A poor habit your mother has encouraged in you is this propensity to correct your elders. You will never correct me again.”
Lucy pursed her lips. She felt like a doll, still dressing like a child, not ready yet for long skirts. Her tiny size made her long to be anything but a small girl. “I am sorry, Father. But magic… Mother said I was progressing well. She said I’m especially good at protective blood magic. Watch!”
Lucy removed a needle from her pinafore pocket and poked a finger. From the blood welling up, she reached into it, feeling the blood in her own body, spreading it into a fine, hard mist which cast a red dome around her, strong and safe.
Caius snorted and plastered a patronizing smile on his face.
Her spell fizzled out.
“Well,” said Caius. He bent down to look her in the eye. “Good effort. But it wasn’t Binder magic, was it?”
“No, sir. It’s Julii magic.”
Blood magic, shaping her body. Mother had taught her to listen to herself. Binder magic was learned through study and books, becoming yours if you survived your Trial. Blood magic was easier because you just had to concentrate.
“Not real magic at all,” said Caius.
Apparently Mother had lied to her, as mothers might do to a child who was deficient. This was magic to her, but not to him. Perhaps only her mother could love her, deformed as she was. Her father had repeated the phrase several times today as mourners came through Mistraldol. The entire world believed it.
Mother was gone and it was time to face her new reality. She was a poor Binder, and in this home, this family, Binding was what mattered. Lucy stared at the floor. She could feel Ra’s eyes piercing into her.
Not real magic at all, Ra said, echoing her father
“When everyone is gone, come and get dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Caius left. Lucy fell backward on the bed, shielding her eyes with her arm, and cried quietly. Ra fluttered out the window.
CHAPTER FOUR
Carlo ground a plant into paste as he thought things through. He had the feeling his usual life had boarded a boat and left Venice. Lucy had gone back to sleep, exhausted. Ra, the demon falcon, watched the house from the courtyard, announ
cing his presence to any neighbors who came to play, talk, or get water. Most people chose to stay inside today. It wasn’t only because of the rain.
In the house, Sofia was intent on stitching a shirt. Too intent. The silence smothered him. Another idyllic family morning at the Borgia home. Carlo glanced out the window behind him at the busy street, people on their way to market, to work, not the night shift he was used to. The rain made the race outside manic.
“Where did Nonno go?” Carlo asked.
“He has gone to see the soldiers about the girl. That will be an end to the Binder, at least.” Sofia tied off a thread and cut it with shiny silver shears.
Carlo paused in his grinding. “Lucy said we would be afraid of her.”
“Anyone with sense would be.”
Carlo stopped grinding. “You are not being very Christian, Mama. I thought you were supposed to be religious.”
“Carlo, she is a Binder. God would not want her in this house.”
“Would God turn out someone driven to despair, someone who tried to kill herself?”
Sofia pointed at Carlo with the shears. “Suicide is a sin. The worst sin.”
Carlo scraped the paste from the small bowl onto a plate. “I know it’s a sin. But hear yourself.”
Sofia brushed away the hair over her eyes. “It’s not like I think she should be thrown back in the canal. I feel sorry for her, I do. To be so young and involved in so much darkness… You must feel it about her, the dark magic.”
“I don’t,” said Carlo. “I like her and I saved her, so I will take care of her.”
Sofia crossed herself. “You have no idea what you are talking about. The demon outside—the sooner it goes, the better. Let the soldiers have your English Binder and get her back to her family.”
“Do you understand the demon wants to kill her?”
Sophia dropped the shears and the shirt into her lap. She rubbed her eyes. There were shadows under them like bruises. “Carlo, I do not want you involved with this. She is black magic.”
“I am already involved. You know I am responsible for her now.”
“Let your grandfather see to this. He’s good at fixing things.” His mother waited a few moments before going back to her sewing. “Nothing you or I can do will save her. Better to concentrate on saving ourselves from her.”
“How can you say that?”
“I’m saying nothing else. The matter is closed.”
“Why are you so afraid?”
Sofia returned to her even stitches. “She deserves to die. All those who fraternize with demons do.”
“Mama!”
Sofia was silent again. The fire crackled. Carlo heated like the flames. He’d never seen her like this. He glanced out the window again. Leaving was his best option, before he said something he would regret, before he was an undutiful son. “I’m going to find him.”
Clouds had come in during the night, and rain fell in a steady curtain. Carlo hunched into his cloak, still damp from carrying Lucy. As he sloshed through the streets, Carlo noticed activity among the Austrian troops. It wasn’t the day for their usual maneuvers in San Marco Square. Perhaps it was a leave day and they didn’t want to be cooped up? Unlike the Venetians, who took acqua alta in stride, the occupying army thought it an unnatural event. If a man wanted to swim, they said, he would jump in a canal.
Carlo’s eyes combed through the Austrians in case Paolo was there. Nonno was chummy enough with them for the entire household, which meant the Borgias supplied the apothecary needs for the Austrians. Paolo had even finessed a deal with the captain regarding serpentine gunpowder cakes, for their cannons. Many people saw the Borgias dealing with the Austrians as betrayal. Dignity was a worthy price for getting what you want, Paolo said, and what he wanted was to pull strings, to provide for his family. Carlo saw his grandfather’s view, but didn’t think it was one he wanted to adopt in its entirety.
Carlo peered into his grandfather’s favorite public house, the Cantina Do Mori. The bar was flush with Venetians enjoying a mid-morning meal. He made straight for his grandfather’s table, ducking a boisterous drinking contest taking place between two men. The floor was sticky, the air permeated with beer. Carlo sidestepped a puddle and hovered above his grandfather.
“I’ve been searching for you,” said Carlo. “After you tell me we have a Binder in the house, you disappear. Mama doesn’t seem too happy with you.” Or anyone, Carlo thought.
“Because of the Binder?”
“Because you’re you, keeping secrets. Always. I’m not happy either,” said Carlo. “Mama is acting like our guest is the devil, and I find out you both have been keeping secrets about our family from me. I resent that you didn’t tell me.”
“About the magic?”
“If you told me anything, ever, it would be helpful.”
Paolo smiled, food in his teeth, his breath thick with alcohol. “Are you thirsty? Let me buy you something.” A few words from Paolo and bread, cheese, and sour wine appeared. The innkeeper brought over a few sardines as well, knowing Paolo favored them.
Carlo stuck his tongue in the wine. It was cheap stuff, tasting like vinegar, and he placed it on the table.
Paolo bit into a sardine, fluttering its tail with his tongue, black juice trickling down his chin like fishy tobacco. “I’m listening.”
“Mama thinks we’re going to turn Lucy over to the Austrians. Are we?”
“Oh,” said Paolo, “she’s Lucy, now?” He wiped the sardine juice off his chin with his sleeve. “I don’t think we have any business telling a Binder what she can or can’t do, especially a Binder allied to a powerful demon.”
“Don’t you care what happens to her?”
“I don’t understand why you do.”
“I saved her life.” No one else seems to care about her at all, Carlo thought. Where were her people?
“Gallant, as usual. Why should you feel responsible for a stranger? I might add a dangerous stranger.”
“What magic demands someone fights a demon? That she might die?”
Paolo Borgia laughed. He wiped his fingers. “You foolish boy! You live in Venice and you speak about destiny and choice. We know about destiny more than most.” He slapped Carlo on the back. “You’ll grow up to be a hero, I suspect.” Paolo leaned across the bread and cheese and lowered his voice. “The Klaereons have a peculiar arrangement.”
Carlo sat back. The old man’s hands shook and his nose was too red. “You have been strange ever since I pulled Lucy out from the canal. What aren’t you telling me?”
Paolo swished some sour wine in his mouth. “About myself, I have told you nothing. Ever. But the time has come for me to tell you something, yes?”
Carlo stayed silent. He stabbed a sardine, disliked the rotting smell, and shook it off his knife and back onto the platter.
“The Klaereons are failed moralists,” Paolo began. “Their ancestor, Erasmus Klaereon, took it into his head to find the Scroll of Solomon. The great king imprisoned demons by using this scroll to keep the world safe, and the story goes Erasmus thought people might use the demons for nefarious purposes.” Paolo erupted into laughter again, then sobered. “Why Erasmus took it upon himself to keep this from happening, I am uncertain. If he wanted to use the demons, he managed things most poorly.
“After traveling night and day through the desert outside Alexandria, he met and impressed the virtuous guardian of the scroll. Some say this guardian was an angel or an efrit. Who can say really? Erasmus had to fight this guardian, and strangely enough, he won. He was given the scroll to protect, because the guardian had failed to do so. The scroll passed into the Klaereon family, and they tied their fortunes to demons. Each Klaereon from that time forward proved they were worthy to honor Erasmus’ original pact by fighting a demon Bound to them at birth. Some win and honor Erasmus’ original pact. Some don’t.”
“How do you know this?” Carlo asked.
Paolo soaked bread in the wine. “I am well read. Ever
y magical family knows a little about the other magical families. Our family, boy, we are magicians as well. Not their type. We are alchemists.”
“You haven’t taught me any magic yet.”
“What I’ve taught you so far is magic basics. Where we go next, medicine or magic, is up to you.”
Carlo distanced himself from the idea for the moment. “You said Lucy would be killed.”
“If the Binder loses their fight with the demon, the demon takes control. If the family discovers the loss, the family erases mistakes.”
“Erases?”
“Kills, Carlo. They kill the Binder, rather than let them wreak havoc. Lucy faces death if she loses.”
“Our family would never do such a thing.”
“No. Most alchemists do not put themselves in the position to be possessed by demons.” Paolo tucked an entire sardine in his mouth. “We set things up so others can kill themselves, if they choose.”
“There’s no way we can help her?”
Paolo placed his hand on Carlo’s shoulder and appraised him. “What do you want to do?”
“What do you suppose? I need to know. I need to be of some use. I’m your grandson, your heir.”
“You are your mother’s son as well, and that colors things differently yet again. So think upon it.” Paolo placed two coins by a sauce-covered platter.
Carlo scooted off his bench and stood. “Lucy wants to leave. She told me so. She thinks she’s endangering us.”
“She is.” Paolo jammed his hat over his wild hair. “The most elegant solution seems to be letting her leave.”
“How could you turn her away?”
“All magic has a double edge. Magic with demons. Magic with potions. All magic. Your mother doesn’t see magic like that. She sees only horrible magic.” Paolo shrugged. “This makes sense, given her brief encounter with it. She made me promise: no magic in the house and you and she would stay. So I agreed. I wanted to see my grandson grow up.”
“My past has nothing to do with Lucy.”
“Or everything to do with it.”
“I won’t let you turn her over to the soldiers.”
The Vessel of Ra Page 4