Page 28 of A Dangerous Bargain

Darkness engulfs me from above.

I yell and throw myself to the side before a heaviness thumps to the street, landing exactly where I was.

Lupa straightens and tosses back her cloak hood, her hair wild and windswept. “What is a birthday?”

I brace myself against the wall, heart slamming against my breastbone. “Gesù Cristo, good evening to you, too, you horrible monster!”

“Good evening,” she repeats diligently, impervious to my sarcasm. “Will you tell me what a birthday is?”

Why? Why must I be her favorite person? She won’t give me magic, so she’s got to claim me some other way? “You’re not supposed to leave the workshop without Master Verrocchio’s permission. You’ll get me in trouble.”

Lupa has been leaving the workshop whenever she feels like it—much to Verrocchio’s chagrin. Without her, the paints grow tacky. Marble cleaves mid-sculpture. Artists go to make their bargains with her, except she’s gone. It’d be cute, in an annoying-younger-sibling sort of way, if I didn’t have two younger siblings already and Verrocchio didn’t glare at me every time she returns to the workshop hanging off my arm.

An odd expression flits across Lupa’s face. “You were missing all day.”

“Yes, because I had the day off.”

“But you did not tell me you had the day off!” Lupa stomps her foot. Cracks splinter through the cobblestones. “No one could tell me where you went. What if the angry mob returned because you upset them again? The girl who cornered you outside made you feel bad; I could smell it!”

An eerie glow starts to pool in Lupa’s eyes. Dust starts to cyclone in a gust that didn’t exist a moment ago. My skin prickles with warning. I catch Lupa’s clenched fists in my hands, forcing her to look at me. “I’m all right, I’m here! I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was leaving.”

She sniffs disapprovingly, the glow ebbing from her glare and taking the storm-feeling with it. “I accept your thanks. You are welcome.”

“It’s an apology, not a—you know what? Never mind. You didn’t also ambush the girl you saw me talking to, did you?”

“No. But I can if you want me to.”

I assure her heartily that I don’t. The last thing I need is for Lupa to start menacing my family like a too-protective hound. Only then does she deign to come home with me. Along the way, I explain what a family is and why I was visiting mine.

“A birthday is a celebration of the day you’re born. There are dolci and gifts. It means you’re getting older.” My thumb runs over the book spine beneath my cloak. The Inferno will be the last birthday gift I ever receive.

“You don’t like that gift, though.”

Guilt weaves between my ankles like a stubborn cat. “It’s not that I don’t like it. ’Tis more like… it makes me sad. It reminds me of someone I miss.”

Lupa nods briskly, like the pieces are all falling into place for her. “I would also be sad to have a book and no dolci.”

This time, I couldn’t quite keep my smile back. “It’s not usually an either-or—”

She fists a hand and lays it over her heart. “I will find you the dolci, Virgil, so your birthday is not so sad anymore.”

Oh God, no. Verrocchio will be livid if she disappears again. “Please don’t—”

Except she’s already gone.

Not two minutes after I step inside the workshop alone, the doors burst open.

Lupa stands there, an entire zuccotto cake in her arms. “Everyone, it is Virgil’s birthday, and we will celebrate!”

One by one, the other artists turn to look at her, then me. Their expressions range from surprise to confusion. I can almost see the same thought leaping from head to head: Angels don’t care about humans like this.

I run my tongue along my teeth, hating being the center of attention. My gaze darts to the wood panel destined to become the Medici wedding portrait. Leonardo swore up and down he’d prep the wood for our painting himself, but of course he’s not there. He’s managed to leave out the bucket of glue, though. So much for hoping he’s got a snide joke to diffuse the tension.

Lupa’s smile wobbles as the silence stretches longer.

That goddamn wobble makes my chest clench. I push off my stool. “You heard her. Do you want dolci or not?”

“You want to celebrate with us?” Giorgio’s eyebrows go high.