Page 81 of A Dangerous Bargain

A chill sinks into my bones that has nothing to do with the boots stomping through the streets or the distant shouts of “Avete visto due ragazzi ricoperti di vernice? Sono dei ladri!” Florence is a city of a thousand secret doors. Lupa could be anywhere.

A soft mroow? distracts me.

A gray-and-white cat perches on a rubbish pile. Its tail lashes over its feet, head tilted to the side in a way I don’t like at all. Another drops from a second-story windowsill.

Leonardo kneels. When his knees hit the cobblestones, the first cat rushes over and brushes its head against him, circling him entirely before prancing to the next intersection. “The cats!”

“What about them?”

He gestures to the gray-and-white one. “I think they want us to follow them.”

“Cats don’t have thoughts.”

But even as I say it, the second cat joins the first. And then a third pops out around the corner. They watch us with uncanny, glowing eyes: so much like Lupa’s.

I braid my fingers through Leonardo’s. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER FORTY

The cats race toward the river, silent, seething shadows.

Leonardo and I run side by side, our shadows stretched out before us, the sun at our backs. It feels as though it’s begging us to turn around, to go back to where we came from.

But I couldn’t. Not even if I wanted to.

Lupa saved me so many times. She’s why I know where Niccolo is now. She’s why Leonardo’s fingers keep brushing mine every few steps, his touch a constant reminder that I’m still here, I’m not alone, no matter how much time I have left.

I don’t care who says there’s something monstrous about her.

There’s something monstrous in me, too. I feel it shifting under my skin, spiked and hot, ready to roar if I find out that anyone has hurt her.

I skid to a stop, eyes wide.

A flooded-out ruin of a church stands before us—a collapsing, moss-choked pile of stones, the gurgle of the river just beyond it—but we’re not the only ones here.

Dozens and dozens of cats stare, their gold-green eyes flashing in the shadows. “This must be every goddamn cat in the city,” I whisper.

Leonardo reaches down. A cat butts his hand, purring aggressively. “Thanks, Buttermilk. One day Virgil will appreciate your charms.”

The stink of rot fills my mouth. This church must’ve been destroyed in a flood and abandoned. The Arno River is tempestuous and fickle. Its deadly presence cuts through the heart of Florence like a banked fire. Safe, most of the time. Until a storm ignites its destructive powers.

I square my shoulders and take a deep breath. Release it in one long shudder. Then I cross those last few yards and push open the church’s door.

A shaft of silver light spikes in from the collapsed ceiling, illuminating a single chair.

Lupa is tied to it.

I cry out her name and rush over. She lifts her head groggily, eyes half lidded and slow. They sharpen when they see me. “Not you.”

I fumble with her bonds. They’ve tied her hands with iron, not rope. The links have already bitten into her skin and left smears of gold blood on the metal. I’ll have to break the chair back to free her. “We’re getting you out of here, all right?”

She jerks away, hissing. “You shouldn’t be here!”

“I’m not leaving you behind.” I try to bend the chair’s wooden slat and fail. “Leo, I need your help.”

He’s stopped behind me, transfixed by something. At my shout, he jolts, turning with awful slowness, his face white beneath his freckles. “You need to see this.”

There’s a portrait of Lupa on the wall behind her chair.