The Romeo Catchers

by Arden, Alys

  I follow a bloody trail out into the great hall—dark splashes and footprints at first, and then mere droplets, as if the person bleeding was moving with speed. Or healing? A memory flashes: my dagger slicing through Séraphine’s leg, and her laughter as I plunged it deeper. Her words: “Don’t worry, Niccolò. You have pierced me, but it is also you who will heal me.”

  “León!” I yell, following the droplets of blood up the stairs.

  They become farther and farther apart, until they lead me to my own bedchamber.

  I open the door to a familiar voice. “Nicco?” Maddalena asks.

  She is standing in the center of my room. I have to shield my eyes from the sunlight pouring in through the window in order to see her face. “Maddalena? What are you doing in here?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  I stumble toward her, blinking in the light. “But why are you standing here?”

  “She told me not to move.” Her voice shakes. “That you would come.”

  I push aside her flowing hair, exposing her collarbone and everything else beneath the thin chemise.

  “She told me that you’ll finally want me. For good.”

  I suppress every urge, but then her head turns up, her lips dangerously close to mine.

  “Do you?” she asks. “Want me?”

  My mouth moves against hers as I speak. “More than Icarus wanted to touch the sun.” It is only her I want. My lips press into hers as she pushes my doublet off my shoulders and then pulls my tunic over my head.

  It has always been her.

  I tug the ribbons of her gown and let it fall to the floor, regretting every moment I haven’t spent with her. Our kisses become feverish, and I lift her up to the bed. I have touched her skin so many times before, but now it feels softer than the finest talc.

  Softer on my hands, softer on my lips. Softer against my chest as my body brushes hers.

  The wanton way she pushes away my breeches makes me kiss her harder, and the need to make up for lost time consumes me.

  She flinches.

  I taste the blood in my mouth and stiffen harder. “Scusami,” I whisper, but the taste sends violent shudders through my shoulders, down my spine.

  Move away from her, Niccolò. Now.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispers, the look in her eyes changing from shock to desperation. The same emotions pummel through me as she pulls me close. “Touch my heart, Niccolò.”

  My kisses move across her jaw, to the soft skin under her ear, and then farther down, until my lips reach the place on her neck where I can feel her pulse. I can hear her pulse. I want to taste her. I need to. Her body tenses, but her leg wraps around my hip and snakes into mine. Every noise that escapes her throat encourages me to take her. Taste her. My desire to touch her heart consumes me so completely, I don’t notice when my kisses end and my teeth sink into her—all I can feel is her heartbeat thudding faster. She arches closer, her body begging for me, but it’s her whispers that make me shudder.

  “Prendimi, Niccolò. Prendimi, amore mio.”

  I suck harder. The world is only her. And red. Her body relaxes, and pulling the blood becomes easier. Her thumping heartbeat fills my consciousness, so strong and yet so delicate. It beats in time to her whispers of my name: “Niccolò-Niccolò.” Her arms circle my head. “Take me, my love.”

  And I do, until her muscles go limp and I collapse on top of her.

  I awaken to the sound of my name, but it’s not my bella—it’s a desperate cry from outside the door. “Niccolò!”

  Giovanna.

  My eyes pop open, and I jump up, stumbling off the bed—off Maddalena—away from the windows and the piercing light.

  “Niccolò!” my sister cries again, closer now in the hallway mezzanine.

  I grab my dagger even before pulling on my breeches—unable to comprehend the sight before me: Maddalena, covered in blood, my chest stained red. “Vita mia!”

  “Niccolò!”

  I run to the door and barely have it open before Giovanna—a flash of red chemise—jumps into my arms. “Niccolò!”

  “Are you injured, angelo mio?”

  She stiffens and inhales a deep breath. Her head snaps toward my door, which I hadn’t closed completely. “Who do you have in there, Niccolò?” she asks, the words a near snarl.

  I have to hold her tight as she tries to leap past me. I can’t let her into the room. She must not see what I have done.

  A door on the right side of the mezzanine slams open, and Emilio runs out in a vicious rage. “Where is she?” he yells, his hands sticky with blood. “I am going to shred her into pieces. Where is Séraphine!”

  The door to the left opens, and Gabriel, unclothed, walks out, stretching his arms. He is covered in blood from mouth to chest. Behind him in the room, a tangle of naked bodies are strewn over his bed—not an entirely uncommon sight, except that today they too are all bathed in red.

  “I need more,” he says.

  “I need more,” Giovanna echoes. “I always hated him, Niccolò.” A desperate mix of confession and exhilaration in her voice. “You hated him . . .” I assume her husband is drained in her bed. “I need more, Nicco. I need more.”

  I imagine Séraphine running through the palazzo, taking our lives and then breathing life back into us, one by one.

  “Madre e Padre,” I whisper, and together we run to the master bedchamber.

  Our father lies on the bed, lifeless and bloodless, next to our mother, who looks just as beautiful in death as she was in life.

  “No, no, no,” Gabriel says.

  My chest heaves, and Giovanna sobs loudly.

  The only one still quiet is Emilio. He simply stares at our parents, rage building in his eyes.

  “León!” Giovanna suddenly gasps. “Dove è León?”

  “He—he was working alongside me in the laboratory last night,” I say, “but when I woke on the floor, he was gone. There was just a pool of . . . blood.”

  “No!” Her expression is that of a grief-torn lover. “No!”

  The four of us split up, each of us visiting one of his favorite rooms first and then exploring the rest of the palazzo, but there is no sign of him, just more slain cousins and servants and guests. And more of Giovanna’s screams echoing down the hallways.

  By the time we reconvene on the loggia, my own panic is setting in. Everyone is dead, all except for Giovanna’s children, who are missing.

  I wonder aloud whether I really checked the laboratory thoroughly—we turn and race down the stairs together and through the tunnels and the great Medici hall.

  Everything is just as I recall: the cage door swung open, broken glass and instruments strewn about, and two pools of blood on the floor. One is mine.

  Emilio stalks from Séraphine’s cage back to the door. “There are two sets of footprints,” he says, examining the ground. “One a man, the other a woman.”

  I turn to him. “What are you implying, Emilio?”

  “He’s trying to ask,” Gabriel growls, “how did the vampire manage to escape?”

  Emilio huffs. “Isn’t it obvious, brother? León set her free. And in return, she set him free.”

  In a flash, my blade is touching Emilio’s throat. He bats it away, slicing his hand without notice. “This is all your fault,” he says, pinning me against the wall. “You have always trusted him too deeply. You and Father have always been blind when it comes to León.”

  “It’s not possible,” I say, but then my attention moves to something even more troublesome. “No. It’s not . . . possible.”

  I shove Emilio, and he slams into the fireplace—hard. My newfound strength is surprising, but I spend no time considering it further. I tear around the room, inspecting the tables and knocking things over as I search frantically for the Medici tome. “It’s gone. It’s gone! Everything. All of our research. All of our family secrets!”

  “This was his plan all along!” Emilio yells, pounding the table so hard the wood cracks.


  Something more horrific dawns on me. “Last night. León drank the Elixir last night.”

  “You see!” Emilio says. “All this time, he was only here for the Elixir. He was waiting for this moment for the last six years!”

  It feels like the entire laboratory is crashing down around us. I could not have been this wrong about León. I trusted him more than anyone. More than my brothers, my sister, my lovers. More than science.

  “I trusted León,” I say, “but I promise you, if he has betrayed me—if he has stolen from us—I will hunt him to the end of the earth until our pages are back in our possession. I vow it.”

  “No, Niccolò!” Giovanna says. “León would never steal from us. He is one of us!”

  “Where would he go first?” Emilio asks her.

  “San Germano,” Gabriel says when she doesn’t answer. “The palazzo.”

  “It’s been shut for years,” I say. “Why would he go there?”

  Gabriel looks at Giovanna, and she bursts into tears. “Did you really think I didn’t know of your rendezvous spot?”

  “We leave immediately,” I say.

  “No, Niccolò, no!” Giovanna bangs her fists upon my chest. “He would never betray us! He loves me! Ti ama! He loves you, Niccolò.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Dead Dogs, Dead Girls

  “No, Niccolò, no!”

  At first the words sounded distant. I reached for Adele as I woke. She wasn’t next to me anymore. She yelled again, and I sat up in a panic.

  She opened the door. He’s here.

  “No, Niccolò!” she cried out again in the dark room. “No. No. No!”

  She was huddled against the door, knees to chest, rocking not so gently back and forth, a little flame whizzing above her head like a halo.

  I fell next to her. “Hey!” I whispered. “Hey.”

  “No. Nicco. No.”

  “Adele. Wake up. It’s just a dream.” I gently shook her shoulder, trying not to scare her more than she already was, but she just kept moaning the same words.

  “Baby, it’s just a dream. He’s not here!”

  Her eyes snapped open.

  She looked to the piles of blankets and back to me. I could tell that she was wondering how she’d gotten next to the door.

  I softly rubbed her shoulder. “What happened?”

  “I—I don’t know.” Her eyes became wide and glossy.

  When she didn’t say anything else, I pulled her onto my lap, not knowing what she needed. Her arms immediately circled my neck.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe. It’s just me.” I held her tight, trying not to think about whatever was happening between her and Nicco. “Breathe.”

  And for a few minutes she did just that, and I whispered soothing words into her ear until her pulse slowed.

  Tears dripped from her eyes onto my shoulder. “He killed her,” she finally said. “He killed Maddalena.”

  “Who’s Maddalena?”

  “Just a girl who loved him.”

  “Baby, he’s a monster.”

  “I know.” She wiped her eyes. “But he wasn’t always.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he used to be. It matters what he is now.”

  I desperately wanted to know what had happened—what she’d seen, why he was showing her, and most of all why she cared. But she didn’t say anything else.

  And I didn’t ask.

  He was on the other side of the door, and I was here with her, and I wasn’t going to wreck it, despite every part of my being wanting to go straight to Callis and take care of this ourselves. I wanted this bloodsucker out of her life.

  But I’d promised her I wouldn’t do anything stupid, so instead I hoisted her up. “I want you to meet someone.”

  “It’s almost midnight.”

  “She doesn’t mind being woken if you have a tennis ball.”

  We walked through the dark streets quickly, heading out of the Quarter and through the Marigny. The walk and the fresh air did us both good, and by the time we got to the little park, she wasn’t squeezing my hand as tightly.

  I was convinced there was nothing Stormy’s tail wagging couldn’t fix—even the ethereal version of Nicco Medici.

  I whistled twice, and she ripped through the park gate.

  “Why are you so smiley?” Adele asked.

  “Her, of course.”

  “Who?”

  “Here, girl.” I dropped to my knees as Stormy jumped up, licking my face.

  “Isaac . . . you’re freaking me out.”

  “Stormy, I hate to break it to you, but you’re no longer the number-one lady in my life. I’ve met someone.” I held her up, and she sniffed Adele’s palm with curiosity.

  Adele pulled back, hugging her arms. “Cold.”

  “You don’t like dogs?” I asked, setting Stormy down, unprepared to hide my horror if she didn’t.

  “I—I like dogs.”

  “I know she looks ragged, but don’t be scared of her.” I bounced the tennis ball on the ground a couple times and threw it high across the park. Stormy tore off after it. “She’s the hero, not me.”

  Adele watched as Stormy brought the ball back, dropped it at my feet, and leaped back, waiting for me to throw it again.

  “We’ve been together since the day the levees broke.” I threw it long across the park, but when I turned to smile at Adele, I realized she looked even more worried now than when we’d left the attic. “What’s wrong?”

  “Um . . .”

  I’d thought bringing her here would cheer her up. Instead she looked frightened. Did I make a wrong move?

  Stormy ran back with the ball.

  “You’re doing that,” Adele said.

  “Doing what?”

  “Bringing that ball back. With the wind. You’re messing with me.”

  “Messing with you? I thought the dog would make you smile. I always find her therapeutic. Maybe it’s just my anthromorphic magic side.”

  I bent down to get the ball back, looking up at her.

  She sucked in a deep breath. “Isaac . . . there is no dog.”

  Stormy jumped up my leg, scratching at my hip. She didn’t want to give up the ball this time.

  I let her keep it. “What do you mean?”

  Adele gaped at me, and if it weren’t for the complete concern on her face, I’d have thought she was losing it.

  “Adele? Are you okay?”

  I turned back to Stormy, but she was gone. The tennis ball bounced lifelessly on the ground.

  “What the eff?” I spun around. “Where’d she—?”

  Then Stormy blinked back—rematerialized from nothingness there on the street, as if she’d never left. She bit down on the ball as it started to roll away.

  “Stormy!” I shook the ball out of her mouth, but this time I could see my fingers through her muzzle. No. There’s no way. She made it. We made it. All of us except Jade.

  I hurled the ball across the park.

  “Isaac?” Adele’s hand touched the small of my back.

  My eyes started to sting. I don’t know why. Just the tender way she touched me, like something was wrong.

  “What are you seeing?” she asked.

  Stormy raced across the dark park as the ball soared above her. My hands tore through my hair and settled on the top of my head.

  “No, don’t go there,” Adele said, stepping in front of me, her hands circling around my torso. “Don’t lock yourself in that dark part of your mind.”

  “She has to be here . . . She has to be . . . because if she’s not that means . . .”

  She’s dead.

  A lump formed in my throat. I could hear her running back to us, panting, her paws crunching against the dead grass. I felt the ball drop against my shoe.

  “Look at me, please?” Adele said, touching my jaw.

  But I couldn’t. I broke away and picked up the ball. Stormy was the hero, not me. If it weren’t for her, they’d both be dead. I chucked the ball across the park
again, sucking back the tears.

  How did that girl at the tearoom know about Jade?

  I turned to Adele. “At the shop, was there a girl with long brown hair and a white vintagey dress?”

  She shook her head. “No. Just me, Callis, and Chatham, and Papa Olsin in the back.”

  “And Onyx?”

  “And Onyx,” she echoed.

  “The girl?” Adele asked. “Did she speak French?”

  Protégez la.

  I nodded, still unable to look at her, still trying not to think about that morning the levees broke—when we nearly drowned. When some of us did.

  Adele’s arms slid up around my neck, and she pressed against me until my own arms circled her, hugging her tight.

  “There’s a reason that you can see them, Isaac. It has to be your Spektral power.”

  “I don’t want this power,” I said, taking her hand and beginning to walk. I left the tennis ball on the ground.

  Adele sped her steps to keep pace with mine as we headed back toward the Quarter. Stormy followed us but stopped at the train tracks like she always did.

  She barked relentlessly as we walked away, but I refused to look back.

  We didn’t say much on the walk to her house, but when we crossed under the oak-tree branches on Esplanade, I realized it was me who was crushing her hand now.

  I was grateful when she finally said something, and it wasn’t about dead dogs or dead girls.

  “San Germano,” she whispered. “They followed León to San Germano. It’s Italian for Saint-Germain.” She looked up at me. “I—I think my family might have been the one to start this whole thing—the feud with the Medici.” Her eyes dropped to the ground as she mumbled about someone named León. “I think le Comte de Saint-Germain might be the reason Nicco’s whole family was murdered and he and his siblings were all turned into vampires. And now they’re hunting us to the end of the earth. That’s why Adeline locked them in the attic, so they couldn’t hurt her or her father.”

  I stopped in the middle of the street and turned to her. “No one is going to hunt you down,” I said with assurance. “I don’t care if your ancestor boiled them in hot oil, you are not going to pay for something he did hundreds of years ago. Do you understand?”