《The Vessel of Ra》


 The Apothecary

    This had been the best day of Lucy¡¯s life, and since it was her last day alive, that was important. On October 31, the birthday of all Binders, she would turn sixteen. In three weeks, on that day, she would fight Ra. He would win, and Octavia would kill her.


    ¡°There,¡± said Lucy. She gestured with a black-gloved hand toward San Marco. Lucy liked using the Italian name, although Badeker¡¯s travel guide was clear about the Venice landmark being called Saint Mark¡¯s Square¨Cemphatically clear. The shadows and reflections of buildings twisted in the canal, shadow and reflection blurring into luminous puddles. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes stung.


    The gondolier indulged her with his singing. He thought she was a child because she was a little person. People could only tell her hands and head were large if they looked closely. However, Binders felt wrong to people, so they often didn¡¯t look too closely. She watched the gondolier¡¯s strong back as


    he moved his pole through the murky water, maneuvering the boat across the Grand Canal.


    Lucy had decided to change everything.


    The canal flooded into the square, up toward the flickering street lamps. Even though her skirts kissed her ankles, they would still be weighed down by acqua alta, the fall flooding that invaded all of Venice. Many tourists stayed in boats or wore rubber boots, complaining about the wretched flood and the smell of the ocean. Lucy trailed her hand through the water. On the surface it looked clean, but underneath the canals laid rot and decay.


    The gondolier secured the boat and Lucy handed him florins, lopsided coins that filled her palm. ¡°You be safe?¡±


    Lucy couldn¡¯t quite tell if his words were a caution or a question.


    ¡°Si,¡± she said. ¡°I will be safe.¡± Even though she knew there were thieves and revelers out at night, they could not harm her. Ra was watching and he would never allow anyone else to hurt her.


    Overhead, Ra screeched and plucked a pigeon from the air, its feathers floating down like snowflakes. Other birds rippled away from the attack as Ra pinioned the unlucky bird on the top of a street lamp and gouged out its eye with a needle sharp beak. He flung himself and the bird¡¯s corpse back into


    the sky, up to the roof of San Marco, where other pigeons were nonchalant, accepting the danger had passed and fate had been kind to them this day.


    She could not see Ra on the roof, but she felt his appetite as he devoured the bird. All day Ra had drifted in the sky, watching her give money tochildren, indulging in gelato, losing herself in the stone alleys of unknown neighborhoods. Now the day was over, the day in which Lucia Klaereon had


    been someone else, someone with a future.


    She waded from the boat and into the square. An Austrian soldier frowned at her.


    When Lucy had first arrived in Venice, she decided San Marco would be the place. She liked to see people live and live well, compared to the austerity of her life in Hathersage. San Marco was unlike any place she could ever have imagined herself. Among these crowds, she imagined herself jeweled and


    coifed, a normal girl. The idea made her warm.


    Ra swooped over her, his crop distended with the bird he had gorged. Lucy started, but she realized tonight, Ra couldn¡¯t harm her more than she meant to harm herself.


    San Marco¡¯s Basilica glowed. The water in the Grand Canal reflected lilies of light, flowers from the revelry in the square. Now, people celebrated in the water and in the square, although in acqua alta the two were almost the same thing.


    Ra¡¯s eyes flashed at her from a lamp top. Lucy¡¯s skirts flowered in the flood waters, petals in bloom. Her last act, yes, belonged only to Lucia Klaereon, her first independent decision contradicting what her father dictated. That alone was worth celebrating.


    Lucy turned from the revelry, feeling the sticky string of life trying to pull her back to the square, water twisting her skirt and petticoat. Ra goaded her. I know what you plan. You¡¯re too afraid. You can¡¯t do it.


    Now the moment was here, the end of the perfect day. She found although her solution was eloquent, it was also unfair. The happiness in her wilted. Her face contorted, sharp shadows making it all angles.


    ¡°I will,¡± she said to Ra. ¡°You will not have your way.¡± Lucy waded into the water and dived from the edge of a low stair into the canal. Water roared in her ears. What would her corpse look like? Her hair floated around her pale face like ink in water, uncurling, coming free from pins. Her gown and petticoat floated around her hands like rising and falling hills. Panic burned in her chest. She slipped farther away from the shimmering surface, an imperfect crystal that rippled and waved, obscuring her vision of the world above. Ghost gondolas coasted overhead like porpoises. She belonged to the drowned now.


    Water muffled her ears. The first air bubble left her, a prophetic globe, then another, the end of her future written in them as surely as in any gazing ball. Her chest spasmed. She spiraled down into the water, her gown binding her legs into a mermaid¡¯s tail.


    Her life would no longer be an embarrassment to anyone. Ra would never use her against the family. Octavia wouldn¡¯t have to kill her. She would leave this life and hope for better circumstances in the next.


    Drusus, at least, would notice she was gone.


    ***


    When Carlo was six, his father died and his grandfather, Paolo Borgia, moved glass cases and shelves into the living room in their family home, making it into his new apothecary shop. The French soldiers had taken over his old shop in the plaza near San Marco.


    That year, Sofia, Carlo¡¯s mother, stopped walking. She sat in the front room in a cane wheelchair, mending shirts and dresses with precise stitches, waiting on customers, never talking about what happened to Carlo¡¯s father.


    Paolo¡¯s customers visited during the day, and Sofia sold them faultless tinctures for coughs and fevers, as well as potions for love, which none of the Borgias believed had any effect. Paolo handled more specialized deliveries at night once Sofia went to bed.


    At ten, Carlo was officially apprenticed to his grandfather. There was much to do: gather needed ingredients from the swamps around Venice; plant, harvest and dry herbs; grind, powder, pulverize. Crush, mix. Carlo made a variety of elixirs, careful not to ask customers what they did with them.


    When Carlo turned fourteen, he was put in charge of the night deliveries. Paolo was too old to walk the dark alleys. On street corners, in kitchens, in barracks, Borgia concoctions were exchanged for money and food, for favors, for protection, for looking the other way. First from the French, then the Austrians, then the French once more, and finally the Austrians again. So it was the Borgia family had some small prestige among both Venice¡¯s occupying forces and impoverished gentry. So it was Carlo Borgia was one of the few Venetians no one harassed when he walked the streets at night. He was a familiar figure, gaunt and tall, his unkempt brown hair barely tucked under a workman¡¯s cap, a cloak wrapped around his skinny frame. Everyone treated him with courtesy and respect. No one was afraid of what he would do to them then. It was in the days after when the whispers began, the dangerous whispers. No one wanted to have anything to do with such whispers.


    Carlo was seventeen, returning from a delivery as it neared dawn when he rescued the English girl.


    Pulling his coat collar up, he sidestepped merrymakers. Only the bravest tourists came to Venice. The wealthy English came here with the idea they would see an untamed city, the bits and pieces left of the Roman Empire. The English artists pretended to be broody and affected by things they knew nothing about. Carlo desired to push them in the canals after taking their money, buying bread with their affected coin. There were many children in Venice who would appreciate the bread. But since Carlo worked at staying unnoticed, the tourists stayed dry.


    A woman laughed, echoing and lewd. Carlo glanced in her direction, watching her and her companions hail a gondola to the side of the Grand Canal. She was painted white, artificial color splotching her cheeks, and wore a tall, powdered wig with the moon decorating its high apex, stars sprinkling


    throughout and down to her forehead. Glitter dusted her neck and almost bare breasts. She was grotesque, hardly a human being at all, as though she had fallen from the sky.


    A gondola glided toward the small party, the thin boat and eager driver ready. Carlo¡¯s eye left the revelers and spotted a little girl beyond them. Slightly down the pier, the girl stood in a black dress with large, lacy sleeves. She stared at a bird, a hawk or falcon perched on a lamp above her. It flew at her and


    she leaped into the water, her feet breaking the surface of the canal, her body sinking, finally swallowed entirely by the water.


    Stillness froze over the scene. No one reacted for a shocked second, and Carlo wasn¡¯t certain if he¡¯d really seen the girl at all. Momentum pulled him forward as the falcon turned its beady eyes on him. Save her. Not a request; a command he heard inside his head. Since Carlo was inclined to save her, he peeled off his cloak and hat on the way to the water¡¯s edge, cast off his shoes and dove into the canal after her. He would consider the talking bird after he had seen to the task at hand.


    Stolen story; please report.Carlo¡¯s fingers needled through the water as he kicked down toward the girl, surrounded by the cloud of her dress and petticoat. Carlo caught her around the waist and she draped over his shoulder like a shawl. He fought for the surface, his chest tightening, her dress floating across his vision, before they


    burst into the night like a buoy. The noise from the surface world smacked into his ears as he sliced his arms and legs through the water, back toward the canal¡¯s edge. Was he too late?


    Revelers stood near the edge of the pier. They weren¡¯t alone. Many Venetians had come, along with some Austrian soldiers.


    ¡°Look!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s got her!"


    ¡°Break it up!¡± said an Austrian in uniform. ¡°There¡¯s nothing for you to see here!¡±


    When Carlo reached the canal bank, he carried the girl away from the submerged cobblestones in front of the crowd, which had gathered to see the girl drown. His chest heaved. On his hands and knees, he gulped in air.


    The Austrian soldier handed Carlo his cloak from where he had dropped it with his shoes. Carlo snatched it, his hands shaking from chill and adrenaline.


    ¡°No need to be like that,¡± the soldier said.


    Carlo ignored him. He wiped his hands on the cloak and rifled through the inside pockets, finding a small bottle containing a clear liquid. He leaned close to the girl¡¯s chest and heard nothing. Carlo frowned. Yes, he¡¯d better do it. He tipped the bottle to her lips.


    A voice rang out from the crowd. ¡°Don¡¯t let him! He¡¯s the poisoner¡¯s son!¡±


    No, he was the poisoner¡¯s grandson, but Carlo did not correct. It was more important for him to make sure he was getting the right dose down the girl, not too much nor too little. She was so small. He poured a tiny dribble down her throat and massaged her neck, forcing her to swallow.


    ¡°Someone should get more soldiers.¡±


    ¡°No, he¡¯s an apothecary. He¡¯s going to help her!¡±


    ¡°Go for a doctor!¡±


    The girl inhaled and coughed. Water burbled from her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered as she tried to sit up. Then she fell back down. Her heart was beating for now.


    The falcon landed on Carlo¡¯s shoulder, its claws sharp, digging and shredding his shirt and skin. Take her away.


    The obvious place to take the girl would be a doctor¡¯s home, or Austrian headquarters so the military could identify her. Carlo wrapped the girl in his cloak, bottles inside clinking, herb packets rustling, the girl shivering. He planned to take her back to the apothecary.


    The soldier stepped in front of him. ¡°Let me take her.¡±


    ¡°You know where I live. If you want her, you can come for her.¡±


    The Austrian stepped to the side and bowed, clicking his heels together. The crowd let Carlo pass. Carlo moved forward, the girl in his arms, the bird on his shoulder. Revelers, workers, and soldiers crossed to the other side of the street. His footsteps led him home. Wide streets narrowed, narrow streets thinned


    to alleys, and the alleys ended in courtyards ringed by houses. Carlo shifted the girl¡¯s weight to one hip and his free hand fumbled with a doorknob. The bird lifted off his shoulder and landed on a balcony near a lantern, the flame reflecting in its black eyes.


    ¡°What are you?¡± Carlo asked.


    The bird did not reply and Carlo almost dropped the girl as his grandfather opened the door.


    ¡°You brought home another stray,¡± Paolo pronounced. ¡°Let me take her.¡± He scooped the small body from his grandson and took her inside.


    Carlo stood by the dying embers in the fireplace. Water dripped onto his shoes. Peppo, the family¡¯s small greyhound, wandered from his basket to glance at the new arrival.


    ¡°Clear the table and we¡¯ll put her there,¡± said Paolo. ¡°Where did you find her?¡±


    ¡°She jumped in the canal,¡± said Carlo. ¡°She¡¯s in shock. Look at her skin.¡± No one else had this skin color, bleached white with a blue tint.


    Paolo considered. ¡°She might use arsenic.¡±


    ¡°You think she tried to poison herself?¡±


    ¡°Some women use arsenic to lighten their complexion. This skin is paler than even theirs.¡± Paolo¡¯s voice drifted off as he listened to the girl¡¯s chest. ¡°Beating, yes. Lucky.¡±


    ¡°I gave her something.¡±


    Carlo pulled a basket off the wooden table, leaving his mother¡¯s tablecloth covering the top. ¡°Mandrake. She wasn¡¯t breathing, so I tried it.¡±


    Paolo placed her on the table like she was bone china. ¡°Better to try something than nothing.¡± He lifted her eyelids. ¡°Unconscious.¡± He pulled a suspender strap over his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll wake your mama. We¡¯ll need her help. You change your clothes and salvage what you can from inside the cloak.¡±


    Peppo followed him into his room. Carlo reached down and scratched the dog¡¯s head. Peppo watched from the bed as Carlo peeled off his wet clothes. While he dried his hair with a towel, he heard his mother maneuvering into her chair. He hoped his grandfather knew what he was doing, waking up Mama.


    The rapping on his window made him start. Peppo barked. The falcon sat on Carlo¡¯s sill. Carlo let the drapes fall over the glass. Peppo stood, paws on the window ledge, and growled. Carlo heard his grandfather wheel his mother into the living room.


    ¡°Santa Maria,¡± she breathed. ¡°Who is this?¡±


    ¡°A girl Carlo rescued from drowning,¡± his grandfather said.


    In the bedroom, Carlo finished buttoning his shirt. ¡°Peppo, it might be better for all if you eat the bird now.¡± He glanced through the curtains, stroking the greyhound. The bird watched the window from a railing across the square.


    Carlo moved into the living room, rolled up his sleeves, and opened his cloak, removing bottles and packets. These potions and tinctures would be hard to recreate.


    Sofia, in her nightgown, hair braided over one shoulder, squinted at the girl. The streak of white, which ran through the middle of her hair, glowed in the firelight. ¡°Why isn¡¯t she with the Austrians?¡±


    Carlo shrugged. ¡°Bringing her here seemed like a good idea at the time. I thought we could help her.¡±


    ¡°Poor thing. I think she¡¯s English, yes?¡± Sofia smoothed hair away from the girl¡¯s brow.


    ¡°How can you tell?¡± Carlo asked.


    ¡°I know what she is,¡± said Paolo. ¡°She¡¯s an arsenic user. Arsenic pales the skin.¡±


    ¡°Her people will be looking for her,¡± Sofia said. ¡°Outside with you both while I change her.¡±


    ¡°Can you change her by yourself?¡± Carlo asked.


    ¡°You think I¡¯m going to let you help?¡± Sofia pointed toward the door.


    Paolo and Carlo stepped outside. The sky was brightening to pink and gray. Neighbors came out to sweep the night away into the streets, giving polite nods and waves to each other. They could hear the clatter of Austrian boots as a patrol marched by. Paolo tamped tobacco into a pipe he had grabbed off the


    table on his way out the door.


    The falcon flapped above them and landed on the arch leading into the courtyard.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± said Paolo.


    ¡°This falcon is hers,¡± said Carlo. ¡°It told me to save her.¡± That sounded crazy, but it was the truth. ¡°It made me bring her here.¡±


    ¡°Now I understand,¡± said Paolo. His face lightened with the smile of a man who has just found a pipe that had been missing for a month.


    ¡°Understand what?¡±


    ¡°Why she lived. You¡¯re a smart boy, using mandrake. Giving her heart a start. You know, though, you can only be that lucky once in a million times. This one won¡¯t let her die by accident.¡± Paolo gestured toward the falcon with his pipe. ¡°She¡¯s a Binder.¡±


    ¡°A what?¡±


    Paolo spoke around his pipe. ¡°There are some things your mother does not want me to tell you about because of your father.¡±


    This was a blockade Carlo was well acquainted with and wearied by. ¡°How can this girl have anything to do with Papa?¡±


    Paolo dodged the topic. ¡°Until you are a man and you can make your own decisions, I wait to tell you that information.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m seventeen,¡± said Carlo.


    ¡°And yet we wait. This fellow¡±¡ªPaolo indicated the falcon¡ª¡°he¡¯s anxious. Let me talk to him.¡± Paolo removed the pipe from his mouth and fiddled with the bowl. ¡°Your mistress,¡± he said. ¡°She will live. I¡¯ll make sure you get first crack at her.¡±


    The bird glided to the ground.


    ¡°This is our shop,¡± said Paolo. ¡°Your mistress is inside. Would you like to come in?¡±


    Carlo studied the bird and his grandfather, one silver-haired, one golden winged.¡°You think it understands you?¡±


    ¡°It understands me.¡± Paolo addressed the bird again. ¡°You have my word, no harm will come to your mistress here. You may stand guard in the manner you see fit.¡±


    It preened its feathers.


    Donna Anna, their neighbor, climbed down the stairs one at a time, resting, lugging a full water bucket. Carlo started forward to help the old lady, but Paolo handed him the pipe. ¡°Go see if Mama says we¡¯re allowed to move the girl to a bed.¡±


    Carlo knocked on the front door. ¡°Mama?¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Sofia said.


    The girl was still breathing, dressed in his mother¡¯s spare nightgown.


    ¡°We¡¯ll put her in my bedroom,¡± said Sofia. ¡°I will sleep here after we drag the sofa from my room.¡±


    Carlo nodded. ¡°Grandfather says she may be a Binder. Do you have any ideawhat he means?¡±


    Sofia sat back in her chair. ¡°There is an animal with her?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± What did her falcon have to do with anything? ¡°What is a Binder?¡±


    ¡°Put her to bed.¡± Sofia rolled toward the front door.


    Paolo came in, hair mussed and water splashed across his midsection.


    Sofia clasped her hands in her lap. ¡°You promised me.¡±


    Paolo glanced at Carlo. ¡°I haven¡¯t broken any promises.¡±


    ¡°Binders?¡± she said.


    ¡°It¡¯s not my fault.¡± Paolo shoved his hands into his pockets. ¡°It¡¯s not my fault if the bird involved Carlo.¡±


    ¡°You told the falcon it could kill the girl first,¡± Carlo said. ¡°That¡¯s what you said.¡±


    ¡°That is not what I said.¡±


    ¡°Carlo, please put her in my bed.¡±


    ¡°Nonno¡ªGrandpa¡ªwhat¡¯s going on?¡±


    Paolo waved his hands and Sofia wheeled herself to the fireplace, jabbing at it with the poker. Her speech was stiff. ¡°I have some bread and cheese for breakfast. Papa, if you get me the kettle, I will make some tea.¡±


    ¡°I need to know about these Binders,¡± said Carlo. ¡°I saved her. I should know. Grandpa¡¯s taught me about the poisons. What can be worse than poison?¡±


    Sofia held the poker in mid-air. ¡°You taught him about the poisons?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Paolo brought the kettle forward. ¡°What if something happens to me? Someone has to know. How would you live?¡±


    Carlo picked up the girl. ¡°He taught me about the apothecary. All the apothecary. What do you think I¡¯ve been doing out at night?¡±


    ¡°Well.¡± Sofia wheeled herself back from the kitchen fire. ¡°My wishes count for nothing, I see. It is because I married into the family, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be like that,¡± said Carlo.


    ¡°Of course it is,¡± said Paolo at the same time.


    Sofia jabbed the poker into the crumbling wood. ¡°Carlo, go. Then come back, take the tablecloth outside, and hang it to dry.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you said that to her,¡± Carlo hissed to Paolo. He carried the girl to his mother¡¯s bed and tucked her under the covers. ¡°It wants to kill you,¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯s what Nonno thinks. Maybe that¡¯s why you jumped?¡±


    She slept on. Carlo stayed and listened, one eye on the girl.


    In the living room, Sofia slammed mugs on the table. ¡°You promised me after Arturo¡­you promised you would not involve Carlo in any magic.¡±


    Paolo shrugged. ¡°I didn¡¯t promise you anything about the family profession. I did promise you about the magic. I kept my promise. What can I do if a demon shows up on our doorstep?¡±


    Carlo¡¯s heart skipped.


    ¡°You promise me you didn¡¯t call it?¡±


    ¡°I promise you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡±


    ¡°Well then. Next time I will call a demon up and you¡¯ll be proved right. You¡¯d like that?¡±


    ¡°Of course not!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve mangled this bread.¡±


    ¡°The Binder can¡¯t stay,¡± said Sofia.


    ¡°I don¡¯t intend for her to stay,¡± said Paolo. ¡°But it is wisest to know we usually have little say in matters where demons are concerned.¡±


    ¡°You promised me.¡±


    ¡°All right. You have my word. I can¡¯t be responsible, however, for the ideas of others. What Carlo might find out.¡±


    Carlo studied the girl. She was small and pale, almost a doll, her skin porcelain tinted. She didn¡¯t look real, like she might be made of wax. She was unusual and she was tied to demons.


    What might he find out?

 Chapter 2: The Newlyweds

    In October the water overflows Venice¡¯s canals. It rims Saint Mark¡¯s Square and puddles in its depressions, the ocean invading the most sacred pockets of the city. The Venetians built their city on poles, layering sand and stone upon each other until the city stopped sinking and fell down only on rare occasions. From October through early spring, the water taunted the occupying Austrians and other foreigners. What were they doing trying to stay dry on top of a lagoon? The Venetians, on the other hand, knew the secret was not staying dry. Water and land danced around each other, neither the master nor the mistress of the city.


    Octavia bathed in the moonlight over the floating waters, standing on the balcony outside her suite in deshabille. No one would see her impropriety at night. Black hair corkscrewed over her shoulders in loose ringlets. She was a white ghost, luminous in moon rays and street lamp reflections, blue veins swirling underneath her translucent skin, marking her as a Binder. For sixteen years, her life was preparing for the Trial with her demon, Khun. She had survived. This very moment was about her recent marriage to a stranger.


    Octavia hugged herself. Her father had orchestrated her marriage to Drusus Claudian perfectly. Drusus was much more than she expected as the third son of a prominent branch of the Claudian family. He was a magician in his own right, a powerful weather mage specializing in lightning. With him, Drusus brought prestige and wealth. If he found it socially awkward being married to a Binder, Octavia couldn¡¯t tell. If anything, it seemed he defended his new wife too zealously. He allowed nothing to be said against her from those who were not magicians, even though Octavia reminded him they couldn¡¯t help themselves. Even magicians picked up the Klaereon tie to the infernal and were uncomfortable.


    She laughed. Drusus was a good lover. He treated her like a china vase, so respectful, so considerate. Octavia was no vase, but all the books she¡¯d read about being a good wife convinced her she should keep her darker desires to herself. There were other ways to see to those, which need not concern Drusus.


    Octavia hadn¡¯t told him about Lucy¡¯s Trial yet. Drusus seemed fond of Lucy, and Octavia was nervous about the upcoming conversation.


    ¡°Mrs. Claudian.¡± Drusus enveloped her, his velvet-covered arms draping over her shoulders, embracing her in the secure cloak of love. He smelled musky and sweaty, and she nuzzled into him completely. ¡°You are beautiful.¡±


    Octavia smiled. She had been complimented by men before. Beauty like spun sugar, like Venetian glass, she had heard the other day. Ethereal; best seen from a distance.


    Drusus was beautiful, too. Handsome, with olive skin, a strong nose, dark hair and eyes, and a frame which bespoke a Byronic hero. They would make beautiful children. Her father would be so proud. She was perfect, Caius Klaereon reminded her. The perfectly formed daughter to inherit Solomon¡¯s Scroll from him when the time was right.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she murmured.


    ¡°Come back to bed.¡± His lips brushed her neck.


    ¡°Not yet. It¡¯s a beautiful city, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Better than Firenze?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°But beautiful.¡±


    ¡°Come back to bed.¡± His kisses became more urgent, little heat spots on her neck. She closed her eyes, sinking into his magic.


    ¡°We could make love out here,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°We¡¯ll leave the patio doors open.¡± He nibbled her ear and joy danced inside her. Drunk with the newness of him, she turned and held him tight. Drusus scooped her into his arms and they disappeared into their room, into the quiet shadows that watched Octavia with other eyes.


    ***


    The sky was an indifferent blue, pale with wispy clouds. Behind Octavia in a pavilion set up to protect her skin from the sun, Calpurnia Julii, Octavia¡¯s mother, continued painstaking embroidery on a tapestry depicting the Trial of Erasmus. Calpurnia had not talked to her eldest daughter since Lucy had been moved from the nursery to a separate room, apart from Octavia.


    Octavia pulled grass from the manicured lawn, dirt coating her hands and digging under her fingernails. She didn¡¯t care she would be in trouble for getting dirty. All she ever wore was black. Who would even see the dirt? Calpurnia would study her hands and be cross, but Octavia didn¡¯t care.


    Khun padded up with a stick. He was a smart looking Westie, white, but dingy from digging in the garden. He dropped the stick playfully in front of her, bowing and barking.


    Throw the stick, he thought at her. Throw it!


    Octavia picked it up and lobbed it away. Khun shot forward, crouched and nibbled the wood, barking his delight. Then he pranced back toward her, tail counting his happiness in strokes like the metronome during Octavia¡¯s harp lessons.


    Lucy, eight years old, played away from the pavilion, chattering to Ra in a childish singsong, building a faerie house from twigs, rocks, and leaves. Because of what had happened, Lucy was skittish around Octavia, and Octavia stayed away from her. Ra, perched in a tree, condescended a beady eye toward Octavia.


    You can¡¯t do anything right, Ra said. I can only be yours if you kill her. Don¡¯t you want my power?


    Octavia patted Khun, who yapped again and wiggled his tail, ready for the stick. Ra looked away, no doubt eyeing some delicious mouse. Lucy didn¡¯t seem to notice Ra talking to Octavia at all. Binders could only hear their own demons. Why could Ra talk to Octavia?


    Lucy wasn¡¯t growing right. Her head was a little larger than the rest of her body, her back a little crooked. If someone studied her long enough, they would see something wasn¡¯t right in her proportion. Father called her malformed. Uncle Bartholomew, who was shorter than Octavia even though he was a grown man, treated Lucy with special care. She wasn¡¯t so bad, compared to Uncle Bartholomew. Ra said she was shaped like Ptah or Bes.


    If something happened to Lucy, Ra promised Octavia he would take Khun¡¯s place. Although she had begun the preparatory studies for her Trial, Octavia didn¡¯t think Ra could do so. Binders and demons couldn¡¯t trade partners. Ra insisted he could, and by becoming more powerful, Octavia would please her father. Besides, wouldn¡¯t it be best to exterminate Lucy, who was certain to shame the family?


    Octavia had tried not to listen, but one night Ra was so insistent, she acted upon what he said.


    Octavia tossed the stick toward the house and Khun darted after it. He had been a faithful demon from the day Octavia was born and he¡¯d shown up to claim her. She didn¡¯t mind Khun following her, but she didn¡¯t want anyone else watching her. She felt like even the sun was watching her. What she had done wasn¡¯t all that bad. And even if it had been bad, it hadn¡¯t been her fault. It had been Ra¡¯s.


    Mistraldol, the Klaereon ancestral home, was built into the Hathersage peaks. The physical house was built on the rocky hill, and the metaphysical house was built into it and under. Father explained the pockets where Solomon¡¯s Scroll was kept connected to the sacred temple of Erasmus and were guarded by her father¡¯s demon, Neith. He said it had a physical existence and a spiritual one. Octavia, beginning to grasp the idea of multiple dimensions in magic, decided this meant the scroll was in two places at once.


    Octavia rounded the house¡¯s base, reaching the stairs that circled the peak, and climbed to the garden. When she reached the garden, she crouched, patting Khun with congratulations as he once again offered her the chewed stick. She scooped him into her arms and kissed his head. He barked, tail thumping her with glee.


    Octavia planned to retreat to her room on the fourth floor, the one next to the classroom where she spent time every day pouring over Binder texts, hieroglyphs, and the histories of the magical families, under Madame Dantes¡¯ watchful eye. Sometimes Ra would sit in the window and watch her study.


    Octavia circled the house, opened the front door, and found her father waiting for her in the entrance hall. Bright red and blue stained glass colored him, making him look like a demon himself.


    Caius Klaereon had a hawk-like nose and keen eyes. He seemed to sift through some thoughts as he studied his daughter, found the one he wanted, and wrapped an arm around Octavia¡¯s shoulders. ¡°I was looking for you.¡±


    Octavia placed Khun on the floor and they walked to Caius¡¯ study. The dog padded beside them. ¡°Did you ask your mother if you could come inside?¡± Caius asked.


    ¡°No,¡± said Octavia. ¡°Should I have?¡±


    ¡°No. No harm done. We need to have a private conversation.¡±


    Octavia didn¡¯t know exactly which harm he was referring to. Today¡¯s harm, or what happened with Lucy.


    In the study, Khun settled back on his haunches, his small face inquisitive, head cocked to one side. Octavia glanced at the full bookshelves, the large desk, the quill waiting in its inkwell.


    Caius settled in a leather chair, which sighed as he became comfortable. ¡°We need to talk about your future, Octavia. You are eleven now. Your Trial is only five years away. We also need to talk about what happened between you and Lucy.¡±


    Octavia never sat in her father¡¯s presence. Her cheeks grew gray-blue as she flushed, and tears were hot in the corners of her eyes. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to do it.¡±


    ¡°These things are never our fault.¡±


    ¡°It was Ra. He told me if I were to get rid of Lucy¡ª¡±


    Caius raised a hand. ¡°I¡¯m not going to scold you. You know how powerful Ra is, and how powerful Lucy could become. I think what you attempted was well considered. I have decided how to help you proceed in this.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡± Khun bumped Octavia¡¯s leg. She reached down and scratched his ears.


    ¡°Uncle Bartholomew and Lucy are alike. You do remember Uncle Bartholomew?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± He had only been dead for a year, after all, and it wasn¡¯t like she was a baby who forgot things.


    ¡°You need to know the truth about Uncle Bartholomew. Even though his demon was more powerful than Neith, he wasn¡¯t right before his Trial or after. When a Binder isn¡¯t right, we have to be responsible for the family¡¯s mistakes. We dishonor Erasmus¡¯ contract if we aren¡¯t. I had to be responsible for Uncle Bartholomew.¡± Caius stared at Octavia. ¡°You take my meaning. Accidents happen. Not usually at your age, but you do seem an exceptional child.¡±


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    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to do anything to Lucy. It was Ra¡¯s idea.¡±


    ¡°No, Octavia, it wasn¡¯t. It was your idea. Ra is more powerful than Khun, so Lucy is most likely meant to have the Solomon Scroll after me, but she is malformed and cannot represent our family. You are perfect. I want you to be a more important Binder than your sister. I want you to be my heir.¡±


    Octavia put her hands over her ears. Caius grabbed Octavia¡¯s wrists and lowered her hands. ¡°Your mother does not think like we do. She will make sure Lucy is safe, so what you tried before you cannot try again. Try not to think too harshly of your mother. She is not a Klaereon, so she doesn¡¯t understand how important our unblemished honor is. Lucy will not receive the same training as you will. Lucy will lose her Trial to Ra and you will do what is necessary regarding Lucy. Ra is powerful, but he is at his most vulnerable when he first possesses Lucy. You and Khun will be there to kill her.¡±


    The words stumbled from Octavia. ¡°You want me to kill Lucy?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no other way. She will lose to Ra, and you will destroy her and send Ra back to the Abyss. All to keep Ra from wreaking his havoc. Lucy will not be the first Binder possessed by her demon. Then, of course, you will have Solomon¡¯s Scroll after my death.


    ¡°Now, as to your own Trial, I want it to be a spectacular victory. I want you to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt the Solomon Scroll belongs to you, that you are more powerful than your sister and can defeat Khun.¡±


    Octavia felt as though she had been slapped. ¡°I don¡¯t want to kill Lucy,¡± she said, her voice soft. ¡°I could never kill her.¡±


    ¡°Dear heart, of course you can. You already almost did.¡±


    Khun whined and buried his nose in his paws.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt her,¡± Octavia said. ¡°I want to make Ra go away.¡± She wanted what Father was saying to go away, too.


    Caius stood and patted Octavia¡¯s head. ¡°Ra is no threat to you once Lucy is gone. You¡¯ll see I¡¯m right.¡±


    Octavia climbed the stairs to her room in a daze. She flung herself on her bed. Khun wrapped himself into a comforting ball and slept on the pillow beside her head while she swallowed tears and stared at the wall.


    ***


    Octavia reached across to Drusus, but his side of the bed was empty. Her eyes fluttered open and she wiped them dry with her hands. Lucy had been on her mind. Today was the day Octavia had to tell Drusus. She had delayed the story as long as she could because he would not understand. He would hate her. Well, he couldn¡¯t hate her any more than she hated herself, but there was no other way. Octavia had played it over and over. Lucy was weak, Ra was strong, and the only result was Ra would wreak havoc. That could not be allowed.


    She shifted, the bed creaking as she turned toward the window. The morning rays crossed her white gown and rumpled sheets. She closed her eyes. Octavia had meant to tell Drusus after their first night together as they were planning the Grand Tour. As each city passed behind them, as they moved through Paris, Rome, Firenze, and Venice, she wanted to tell him.


    Lucy would never tell Drusus. She was a little mouse, tongue-tied around the Hathersage villagers, struck dumb by such a perfect figure as Drusus Claudian presented. Lucy answered what questions he put to her no more than was necessary. Drusus was a kind man who tried to draw her out, but Lucy smiled shyly and looked at her feet. Sometimes Octavia wondered if Father was right, if Lucy was a little simple.


    For a short time, Octavia harbored a fantasy their Grand Tour might be typical, a new husband and wife learning about each other as best they could, given demonic curses, alliances between magical families, and the crushing discomfort of sharing a bed with a stranger. Many a marriage had started with disadvantages as serious as these and the couples had become united, happy partners. They were off to a good start. Drusus was genial, she was compliant, and they were passionate together. Today, Octavia would throw their relationship away.


    Father ordered Octavia to wait for a month after the wedding for the Grand Tour. Start in September, detour to Alexandria so Lucy could visit the angel at Erasmus¡¯ temple. Return by October¡¯s end and come home for Lucy¡¯s Trial. Accompanying family was not uncommon on the Grand Tour, and Lucy did have to journey to Alexandria to prepare.


    Octavia had to tell Drusus about their detour. She had to tell him what a Binder Trial was and then prepare him for Lucy¡¯s loss. She had to explain her duty, how each Binder generation solved its own problems.


    Octavia lifted the nightgown over her shoulders, went to the washstand, and scrubbed off sleep, romance, and Venice. Eyes from the shadows watched her as she scrubbed over her arms and across her neck. Turning away from the shadows and the window, she shielded herself. These feelings wouldn¡¯t do. She was married now. She threw soap at the corner, and there was a rustling in return. ¡°I am the mistress.¡± She repeated the mantra. ¡°I am the mistress. I am in control. You will stop talking to me. You will go away.¡±


    She dressed herself as much as she could, as far as her undershift, and as she was about to ring the bell for help, the door to their outer room opened. She scrambled into her robe and peered into the sitting area.


    Drusus set a tray on the table for her, laden with fruit, bread, and cheese. These Venetians had no idea of breakfast.


    She shook her head. ¡°There are servants here.¡±


    Drusus removed his jacket. ¡°I am your servant. Let me help you dress. Unless¡­?¡±


    He crossed the room in his shirtsleeves and vest. He pulled her in and kissed her, smooth but firm, tasting like oranges.


    ¡°No,¡± Octavia said. ¡°I¡¯ve just washed. What will people think if we spend all day in our room?¡±


    ¡°Do you care?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± She managed a smile. ¡°But Lucy. What will she think?¡±


    He tilted his head, an intimate bow. ¡°I concede it would be a miserable day for your sister to spend by herself. We would be most ungracious if we didn¡¯t join her. Let me help you dress.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know the slightest thing about my clothes,¡± said Octavia. There was a girl who helped at the Danieli Hotel with the ladies, and even though the girl was afraid, Octavia still needed her hair done. She sat down and plucked a grape. ¡°Drusus, we must talk.¡±


    Drusus¡¯ brow wrinkled. ¡°So formal.¡±


    ¡°This is important.¡± Octavia took a deep breath. It had to be done. ¡°I have to tell you about Lucy.¡±


    ¡°What about Lucy?¡±


    Octavia played with a roll, grinding it between her fingers. ¡°You know about our magic? When we are born, if a demon shows up during the first day, we are Binders and we enter into a contract to battle the demon.¡±


    Drusus sat across from her. ¡°I understand you manipulate demons and infernal magic, like I command weather magic. Your power source is questionable, but yours is not the only magical family with a dark history.¡±


    ¡°We are not normal demonologists, Drusus. Our ancestor Erasmus Klaereon, for reasons which are not clear to me, entered into a contract with demons imprisoned in the Abyss by King Solomon.¡±


    ¡°Fallen angels? Like Lucifer and his followers?¡±


    ¡°No. These demons were banished by Solomon. Ours is a lifelong partnership with those demons. When we are children, an aspect of those demons is present with us, like pets or familiars. They protect us until we battle them at age sixteen and they reveal their true natures to us. Lucy is almost sixteen.¡±


    ¡°At the end of the month.¡±


    Octavia nodded. ¡°On October 31. We have the same birthday as our father and his brother. All Klaereons who are Binders are born on that day.¡± Octavia threw the roll onto the tray. ¡°Drusus, you have noticed Lucy is¡­ not like the rest of us. She¡¯s simple and uncomplicated.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s modest, Octavia. She¡¯s brave, though, and if she¡¯s got half your character, she¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    Half Octavia¡¯s character? Drusus overestimated Octavia. She rubbed her eyes. ¡°You mean well, I know, but you have to understand. Lucy is not a talented Binder. She has never been able to master the ritual magic needed to Bind Ra. She has no friends who will stand up with her, no Anchor who will root her to herself when Ra tries to take her over.¡±


    ¡°Stop.¡± Drusus raised his hands. ¡°I¡¯m confused. Ra will try to take her over?¡±


    ¡°When a Binder fights their demon, there are a few possible outcomes. Ideally, the Binder wins, and the demon is Bound and returned to the Abyss, only to come when we summon it for magic. The second option is if the Binder defeats the demon, but the demon is brutal or cruel, we can Banish it, severing our tie and never allowing it to return. Third and worst of all, the demon can conquer us, and we are Bound. Then we are the demon¡¯s puppet. This is Lucy¡¯s fate. She is ill-prepared for the Trial.¡±


    Drusus shook his head. He placed his hand on Octavia¡¯s arm. ¡°This is serious. I wish you¡¯d told me sooner. There¡¯s very little time to help Lucy. What do we need to do?¡±


    Octavia blinked. How to make him understand? ¡°Drusus, there¡¯s nothing we can do. Lucy has to do everything, and she¡¯s going to fail. Even if there is an Anchor present at her Trial, the confrontation is between her and Ra. She is so weak a Binder, Ra will win. Then she is¡­ a problem.¡±


    ¡°Octavia, we will make sure Lucy doesn¡¯t lose.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand how it works. We can¡¯t do anything except clean up her mistakes.¡±


    Drusus¡¯ jaw set. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Each Binder generation is responsible for any mistakes. When Ra possesses Lucy, I have to¡­ that is, I must¡­ Drusus, it won¡¯t even be Lucy anymore. It will be Ra.¡±


    ¡°Are you saying you have to kill your sister?¡±


    ¡°My sister will already be dead.¡± Octavia stood, hands resting on the table, staring at Drusus. ¡°Do you understand?¡±


    Drusus ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. Tousled hair made him look impossibly handsome. ¡°You¡¯re going to kill your sister. You¡¯ve already decided she will lose and you¡¯re going to kill her.¡±


    ¡°She will lose,¡± said Octavia. ¡°This is inevitable. This is my responsibility. Do you think I enjoy the prospect of killing Lucy? What do you take me for?¡±


    ¡°What if Lucy wins and she banishes Ra?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a dream. A fool¡¯s dream.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know anything about it!¡±


    ¡°Let me understand you clearly.¡± Drusus¡¯ speech was precise. His eyes flashed with electricity. She had not seen him upset before, but had heard this could happen with weather wizards. ¡°You can stand there and tell me even though you know your sister will lose this Trial, rather than find a way around this problem and help her, what you have decided is to wait until the moment of crisis has passed and then kill her. Do I understand you?¡±


    Octavia staggered away from the table. His words had slapped her across the face. ¡°I¡ªthere¡¯s nothing I can do. Nothing!¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t I give you some few moments to reconsider your statement, Mrs. Claudian? When I return after I have spoken to your sister, we will make an attempt to reshape your opinions on the matter.¡± He spun away. She watched him open the door. As it slammed, the frame vibrated.


    She had never considered she might be able to help Lucy avoid her fate. Her father had made it clear to Octavia that Lucy¡¯s victory was impossible, but to hear Drusus speak with such conviction made her doubt. She paused. No, her father was right. There was no choice. Ra was much more powerful than Lucy. Drusus did not understand no one was able to interfere with the ritual. This was something a Binder had to see to themselves, once in the circle of power, all alone.


    Octavia stepped out onto the balcony, clutching her robe. Although it was a clear morning, a frigid wind whistled down the canal between their pension and its neighboring building. Her robe flickered between the gaps of the balcony¡¯s railing as she listened to the hollow slosh of the water threading through the narrow gap between the Danieli and the Gothic home next door. If the Venetian on the landing downstairs looked up, he would see a woman improperly dressed. If the Venetian were closer, he would see albino-white skin laced with blue veins, coal black hair, and unnaturally pale blue eyes. If the Venetian peered even closer, he would cross himself and run away.


    Octavia understood these facts. Drusus understood nothing.


    ¡°Octavia!¡± Drusus¡¯ voice shafted through the window.


    She blinked and hoped he wouldn¡¯t notice her tear tracks. In the main room, her husband fought his way into his jacket and pulled on his gloves. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Lucy did not return yesterday.¡±


    Octavia shook her head. ¡°She¡¯ll be fine, Drusus. Ra won¡¯t let anything happen to her. We are very safe with our demons. They are like our guardians.¡±


    Drusus stared at her. ¡°Mrs. Claudian, do you suppose she might run away, knowing what you and your family think about her chances to survive this Trial? Does she know what you think?¡±


    Octavia¡¯s eyes widened. She hadn¡¯t thought Lucy would take matters into her own hands. ¡°I¡¯ll finish dressing and see if there are any clues in her room.¡±


    Drusus¡¯ nod was curt. ¡°I will talk to the Austrian garrison.¡±


    A few moments after Drusus left, a maid from the Danieli arrived to help Octavia prepare for the day. As the maid tried to avoid touching Octavia while dressing her, Octavia asked her if she knew where Lucy might be.


    The maid shrugged. She finished lacing the dress and hurried out. The help from the Danieli did not know English. Octavia hid her less than perfect hair under a bonnet and lowered a veil across her face.


    She went into the hallway, toward Lucy¡¯s room. It was possible Drusus hadn¡¯t seen Lucy, and Lucy had been in the dining room the whole time. She could be sitting on the window seat in her bedroom, watching Ra as he hunted. Lucy¡¯s notebook was full of sketches of Ra, his talons filled with limp mice or sliced birds. The notebook was horrible, but Octavia had to admit Lucy had talent.


    In the room, there was no sign of Lucy. Octavia chewed on her lower lip and approached two men conversing in Venetian, one lounging near the concierge¡¯s desk, the other in a formal black suit, his hands clasped on the counter. The language washed over Octavia like a formal dance. ¡°Excuse me. I am looking for my sister, Signorina Klaereon. She is a small girl.¡±


    ¡°Signorina Lucia, yes?¡± The concierge¡¯s bright eyes studied Octavia over his thin mustache. His clasped hands tightened. ¡°She left her key. She went out for the day yesterday.¡±


    Panic fluttered in Octavia¡¯s chest. ¡°She didn¡¯t come back?¡±


    ¡°She did not.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Octavia went back into Lucy¡¯s room, closed the door, and leaned against it, her pale hands touching the handle¡¯s ornate ridges. Lucy, out by herself, overnight. Octavia let her chest rise and fall, calming herself. Honestly, what hardship could befall her sister? Ra followed her and he wouldn¡¯t allow her to come to any misfortune. Maybe Lucy needed one night alone. The Trial did strange things to you, Octavia knew. No harm done if Lucy came home. Octavia could give Lucy one day, no questions asked. One mystery to take with her before the end of her short, sad life.

 Chapter 3: The Missing Binder

    Lucy opened her eyes and clawed the blanket off her face, trying to breathe. Sunlight speckled in from a dirty window, rays highlighting the frescoes, yellow flowers against the hallway¡¯s green walls.


    Octavia!


    The room came more into focus. No, Octavia was not here. She couldn¡¯t breathe because she had been drowning. Where was she now?


    A dog bounded from the floor and jumped on her. Her heart thumped. Its paws pressed down on her ribs.


    ¡°Peppo!¡±


    Beyond the small dog, a young man in shirtsleeves and suspenders, rough and gangly, stared at her from the doorway. His shirt¡¯s open neck made her look away. The dog jumped to the floor and ran over to the boy. Lucy thought of Khun wandering to Octavia when she was small and his aspect was a puppy.


    She inched up to sitting, her body stiff and bruised, and pulled the blanket to her neck. It would not be appropriate for the boy to see her in this nightgown. Of all the things she could have expected if she had failed, Lucy had never considered the idea she might fall into the clutches of a Venetian.


    ¡°Do not be afraid,¡± the boy said. At least he could speak English, even if he didn¡¯t have enough breeding to know he shouldn¡¯t stare at her.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± she whispered. She meant to speak up, but her voice wouldn¡¯t cooperate with her.


    ¡°Carlo Borgia. This is my family¡¯s home. You are safe.¡±


    There had to be more to this than there appeared. No person would want to bring a Binder home, and yet here she was.


    ¡°Your bird,¡± Carlo Borgia continued, ¡°he is here, too. My grandfather is an apothecary and believes you are well, although you have damaged your throat, and no doubt your ribs and lungs are in pain. We can bring a doctor here, if you like, or contact your people. You are English? Maybe you are traveling with your family?¡±


    Borgia. Borgia. One of the old European magical families? She tried to hide further under the blankets.


    ¡°Your clothes were very ruined,¡± said Carlo Borgia. ¡°I can get you some other clothes, but in this neighborhood, they will be child¡¯s clothes. And you are not a child?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Lucy blushed.


    Carlo reddened in return. His eyes moved away from her and toward the ceiling. ¡°It was the clothes you were wearing. Not children¡¯s style. So, where is your family staying?¡±


    Lucy tried to sit up more and little brown dots danced before her eyes. She lay down and covered her eyes with a forearm. ¡°I am traveling by myself.¡± Her voice grew stronger.


    ¡°Please excuse me to be doubting an English lady, but you are not by yourself.¡±


    ¡°Where is Ra?¡± Her crackling voice hurt her ears.


    ¡°Ra?¡±


    ¡°The bird,¡± she said. She uncovered her eyes.


    ¡°He is outside.¡±


    Lucy fought her way to sitting again. ¡°We will be on our way, then, if I can have some clothes.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Carlo. ¡°I don¡¯t think you should go just yet. You almost died.¡±


    Lucy smiled at him. He wasn¡¯t handsome like Drusus. He felt comfortable, though, which puzzled her. Usually talking to other people made her voice squeak. She had little practice. ¡°If I learned anything last night, I found I¡¯m not allowed to die.¡±


    The silence became awkward. Carlo tried again. ¡°Do you want something for pain? Are you thirsty? My mother wants you to have some soup. You want some soup? Grandpa has put things in it that are good for your throat. Or I could make you some tea?¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you afraid of me?¡± Lucy asked.


    ¡°Che cosa?¡±


    Lucy had startled him into his own language. ¡°You know what I am?¡± Her throat ached.


    Carlo scratched his head. ¡°Ah,¡± he said. ¡°Everyone else seems to, but they¡¯re keeping it from me. You should stay. Maybe you want to try to kill yourself again?¡±


    ¡°No. I don¡¯t want to kill myself again.¡±


    ¡°Si. You jumped into the canal. Yes, I think so. Last night was a surprise. Your bird wants to kill you. Maybe you don¡¯t want the bird to kill you. Maybe you don¡¯t want to fight the bird, so you want to kill yourself, because you don¡¯t want to be killed by a demon?¡± Carlo leaned against the doorway.


    ¡°How do you know about demons? You said you knew nothing.¡±


    Carlo blushed. ¡°My grandpa and my mama, they spoke. I eavesdropped. Why did you jump?¡±


    ¡°I will lose,¡± said Lucy. ¡°I would rather die than lose.¡±


    ¡°Let me help you.¡± Carlo stood up straighter. ¡°I am a magician.¡±


    Lucy bit her lip. This lanky boy did not look like a magician.


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    Carlo scratched his neck. ¡°Maybe I should say I think I am descended from magicians. Right now, I am an apothecary in training, but I did rescue you. I am responsible for you.¡±


    ¡°You rescued me?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Sorry. I mean, not sorry. You rest and things will be better. My grandfather and I, we might be of some use to you.¡±


    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.