Page 56 of A Dangerous Bargain

Her too-long fingernails flick to the cats. “The same way I recognized them. If I smell or taste your brother’s blood, I’ll know if there’s magic in it.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, holding back a wave of frustration. “You’re forbidden from leaving the workshop. If Verrocchio sees you’ve left again, he’ll blame me.” Being tossed out of the workshop would take up time I don’t have to spare. I don’t like our odds of breaking into my brother’s fancy house at night, either, even with Lupa’s magic.

Leonardo bolts upright, one finger lifted. The cats startle. “I have an idea!”

A fissure of hope darts through me. That quicksilver mind of his could come up with five ideas before I even came up with one. It once would’ve made me cross, but now… “What is it?”

He rubs the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “It’s a smidge sacrilegious.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Mass,” I whisper-hiss accusingly. “You’ve brought a demon to mass!”

A finely dressed lady gives me a judgmental look down her long, pointy nose. Leonardo motions for me to be quieter. “We won’t let her take the Eucharist; it’ll be fine.”

Fine, he says! I’m not someone who’s fretted much about his immortal soul, but this seems like a step too far.

And a mass not just in any church, but in the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, the place to be and be seen. The cathedral’s red duomo is my north star, the landmark that takes me anywhere I want to go within the city walls. But walking beneath it today makes the huge red dome feel like a lid trapping me inside a boiling kettle.

I’m not doing a good job hiding my unease, because Lupa nudges me and whispers, “Am I doing this right?”

She’s wearing an inconspicuous dress, a gauzy veil over her hair. There’s nothing we can do about her eyes, though. They flash gold green when the burning braziers catch them at the wrong angle. My hand flexes, resisting the urge to throw the hood of her cloak up. She only needs to make it to the pew. Once mass starts, no one will care about a girl they haven’t seen before.

“You’re the very picture of piety.” My smile is a limp dishrag.

She frowns. “Is that a good thing?”

“Right now it is.”

I rise up on my toes, searching for a curly black head, a heart-shaped scar beneath smiling hazel eyes—

I flinch at a horribly familiar red cap instead.

“Oh merda.”

Leonardo whips toward where I’m looking. His eyes widen. He drags us behind a Corinthian column. “What’s Verrocchio doing here?”

The master artist smiles and laughs among the beautifully dressed crowd. He attends mass at Santa Croce with the rest of his apprentices, but come to think of it, I haven’t seen him there in a few weeks. He must be here to glad-hand Florence’s wealthiest into commissioning more art for the Medici wedding. It’s why the workshop’s been so busy. Curse his excellent business instincts!

“We should go,” Leonardo whispers. “We can see if your brother struck a bargain another time.”

“You want to leave?”

Usually, he’s the one who goes charging in, and I’m the one pleading for caution. Past Virgil would both appreciate and applaud this unusual display of restraint from him, but that was before I knew Niccolo was alive. I don’t have time for caution anymore.

There’s a stirring at the church’s doors. I turn, and my stomach swoops to see Niccolo entering the nave dressed in scarlet and gold. Is it my imagination, or does his appearance cause a ripple through the crowd? Is he as important to them as he is to me?

“You two can leave,” I say, shouldering out from behind the column. “I’m staying.”

Leonardo catches my sleeve, mouth tightening. “You won’t even know if he’s made a bargain without Lupa!”

Even in the dim church light, his freckles stand out. They’re growing darker in the sunlight, more bronze than gold. Witnessing the change feels like my own private autumn here in the spring. Will I live long enough to see how brown they are in the fall? My hand fists, quelling the urge to trace them.

“I know. But I need to get closer to him.”

I tug my arm free. I don’t look back as I stride the marble floor toward the stranger shining in the splendor of it all.

Niccolo.