"That's not what I'm doing."

  "It is."

  That was not how Carlo wanted Lucy to see him.

  "Paolo Borgia must not be allowed to harm any of us again," Lucy continued.

  "Do you think he has been patiently waiting for you to come by and to kill him? Do you think he has not prepared some contingency to save himself?"

  "I do not underestimate him." Lucy lowered the hood of her cloak. "This is fruitless. For now, I am returning home. You should move on as well."

  "I'll stay here a little longer, keep looking for my mother."

  "Why? It is obvious she wanted you dead. If stabbing you didn't convince you of that, I don't know what would."

  "Nothing is obvious. Matters are much more complicated than I believed they were." He didn't know much about his past, about his mother and his grandfather's agreements. What he didn't know troubled him.

  Lucy shrugged. "Your mother is dead. You would have found her by now if she were alive."

  Carlo wanted to shake her. "Thank you for that. It is exactly what I wanted to hear."

  Lucy's shoulders heaved. "What do you want from me, Carlo? Sympathy? Confirmation? I have no ability or desire to give you either."

  Carlo blew out his breath. "I know you don't."

  "It is time for me to be frank. I know you are attracted to me, which is beyond foolish. It is time for you to stop using my family as a support and go back to your own life."

  Shock twinged in his stomach. "My apology. I thought I was being of some use to you."

  "Oh, you have been, and you have been amply recompensed. I don't need you to continue as my watchdog."

  Anger flashed. "Really? So, it comes to this? I am a weight you must carry?" Carlo furrowed his brow.

  "I know what you are thinking. I assure you Ra is my prisoner," said Lucy. "These thoughts are my own. I would feel pity for you, if I could. What a horrid mess you are. Your allegiance to your grandfather is entirely misplaced, especially since you know what kind of man he is."

  Carlo's face heated. "You feel sorry for me? I feel sorry for you."

  Lucy's voice was even. "Why? I don't have a cloud of emotions to ensnare me."

  "Maybe my cloud of emotions is more important than you suppose. You're obsessed. Is my grandfather going to become a single-minded pursuit? Isn't that an emotion?"

  "I'm not obsessed. I'm leaving, Carlo. I'm going home."

  "Fine." Carlo would not give her the satisfaction of seeing more of his anger, his disappointment, his sadness, any of it. "If you see compassion as a weakness, I want nothing to do with you."

  Lucy stood on tiptoe and kissed Carlo on the cheek. "Goodbye, Carlo."

  Carlo's hand went to the remnants of her kiss. She blended into the crowd of revelers, and he was alone. Lucy Klaereon had walked into his life and destroyed him, which was only fair since his grandfather had destroyed her. He sauntered back toward the ruined buildings where his family used to hold court. Neither Venice nor England had anything for him, so he would make a fresh start.

  Hathersage, April, 1842

  As Carlo moved toward the east wing, Mistraldol became more familiar to him. Shadows lingered like draperies covering windows, in the high corners of the ceilings, and behind the pictures, like spiders, like mice, banished to places in the house where feather dusters couldn't reach, where children did not play. Carlo chewed the inside of his lip. The Abyss was present in this part of the house, determined to outlast a new mistress who wished to beat it back as much as possible. The gloom deepened. Carlo had no doubt the shadows were also attracted to Ra. In her part of the house, Lucy created an atmosphere the shadows could thrive in.

  On the way, he peeked inside the library in case Lucy was there. They had spent happier times reading together, companions in the search for understanding their new circumstances. It was better organized than when he had left Mistraldol, not like the random chaos and dirt of the Borgia library. Carlo plucked one of the biology texts off a shelf. Dog-eared, several spots underlined. As Octavia implied, Lucy had been studying.

  "Lucy?" No answer. Ribbons of shadow left the room, went through another door, and moved down the hall, the darkest corridor he'd seen in the house yet, shadows as thick as fur. He could see through it now, which wasn't something he was comforted by. At the end of the hall behind another door was most likely where she was. Their reunion had taken four years and she was going to marry another man. Carlo breathed deeply and knocked.

  He waited, then knocked again. He twisted the doorknob. "Lucy?" Opening the door partially, he looked inside.

  The room on the other side made him feel he hadn't left Berlin. There were no corpses in the room, but around the room were what Herr Professor Nabrotzsky called specimens. Flames glowed under crucibles, organics floated in bottles, pans of dissected animals soaked in strong chemical preservatives. His nose itched.

  In the middle of all this, Lucy stood, concentrating on her hand. Carlo watched as her fingers merged together and the entire hand flattened into a paddle. Then the arm behind the paddle extended out from Lucy's shoulders, tendons, veins, muscle and bone making a morbid vine as Lucy moved her arm toward one of the tables. He remembered wincing in shock when she first did it back when they fought Ra.

  Lucy glanced toward him as she registered Carlo's voice. "Oh," she said, her voice small. "I am surprised to see you."

  If Carlo didn't know better, he might have thought she was embarrassed.

  "My shifting must make you uncomfortable," she continued, "so let me return to normal."

  Lucy reeled her arm back inside herself. Reclaiming it seemed to take less concentration than forming it. She perspired as she remade her arm, humanizing herself. As a final touch, she compared the length of her arms and shortened the newly formed one just a bit.

  Carlo found himself paralyzed in the doorway. He finally made his voice cooperate. "That seems to be coming along."

  "Yes."

  Lucy and Octavia had always been a study of opposites. Lucy's hair was pulled back severely, probably pinned up by herself. Unlike Octavia, she still wore black, the color of Binders. Her head was slightly too large and she was tiny, not quite five feet tall.

  Carlo woke to more details of the room. Someone taller had made this lab, but Lucy had changed it to claim it as her own. At every lab table were steps which placed Lucy at the level of the working surface. There was nothing stored on the upper shelves. Closer to him in front of the lab area among furniture sized for most residents of Mistraldol was some scaled for Lucy. Lucy walked toward him and sat in one of these small chairs now, on the edge of an unlit fireplace, which underscored the chill in the room.

  "I am pleased to see you," said Lucy.

  He had to take her word for it because there was nothing of the sentiment in her voice. "Octavia wrote me," Carlo said. "I understand congratulations are in order?" Carlo took one of the larger seats.

  "I have arranged to be married. It suits my purposes to marry."

  Carlo wanted to ask if she were in love with Atreus Galt. Stupid instincts. "It suits your purposes?"

  Lucy's arms encompassed the room. "There are many practical reasons. I doubt Atreus will object to my work. The Klaereons are legitimized in Hathersage by a connection to the Galts. It cannot but help Octavia and her family to have the oddest member of the family in a publicly sanctioned role for women."

  "Well. It sounds as though you have thought this through."

  "I have. Did you find your mother?"

  "No."

  Lucy was steering the conversation. Carlo had to concentrate. He had to ask about Drusus, even if the conversation veered into unpleasant territory.

  "I am sorry. That must be difficult for you." Lucy continued. "You will be pleased to know your grandfather is still alive, as I could not locate him. I am not as single-minded as you might have thought. I decided to move on with the next part of my plan."

  Not her life. Her plan? "That's…an odd way of putting it."

  "Move on," she said, ignoring his comment. "The same as you. What are you doing?"

  "I'm studying. Not all that unlike what you are doing, but without your unique abilities."

  "With some other useful ones, though. My future sister-in-law Helen Galt has an interest in your sort of magic. Perhaps you would be willing to talk to her?"

  "Certainly. Are you sure? About Galt? Drusus and Octavia have doubts."

  "Of course I'm sure."

  "I hear he is ill-tempered."

  "I can control him."

  The chair was too hard. The room was quiet and dead. He wanted to ask if she were lonely. He wanted to discard his own loneliness, leave it in this gloomy room. "On that point, then, I believe we have exhausted our conversation."

  "You don't care for me," said Lucy.

  Carlo fiddled with his mustache, then lowered his clenched fist. "Your memory is poor. You were the one who discarded me."

  "For your own good. I did not mean for you to take my criticism personally."

  Carlo raised his hands. "Those of us who have emotions take things personally." Change the subject. "Drusus has come to me."

  "Ah. I wondered why you had come."

  "He said he hurt you. That's what he remembers. Did he?"

  "Yes."

  "Why didn't you tell Octavia?"

  Lucy sat back in her chair and chewed on her cheek. "Carlo, do you think Octavia would have let Drusus go?"

  "Of course not."

  "Drusus is a danger to all of us. I have sacrificed a great deal to keep Octavia safe. Do you think I would let anyone hurt her?"

  "You made Drusus and Khun what they are. You have a responsibility to him…them."

  "My responsibility to Octavia comes first. If I had known how things would have turned out with Drusus, I would never have saved him."

  "I see." Carlo sat in awkward silence. He weighed his next words carefully. "Did it occur to you Octavia needs to make her own decision about Drusus?"

  "Yes, but it would be a decision clouded by emotion."

  "She is his wife, Lucy. By making a decision for her, you are acting like Ra and like your father, and you are hurting her in a different way."

  Lucy grew very still. Apparently, Carlo had struck a nerve.

  "How did you make Drusus afraid of you, Lucy?"

  Lucy swallowed. "You're worried Ra is in control of me, and that he exerted influence over Khun, am I right?"

  "I am merely examining possibilities."

  "I…" Lucy stood. "Carlo, you always helped me be aware of the right thing to do. You are my conscience, if you will. Ra is not in control of me, but I can influence Khun because I have Ra in me. Believe me when I say I was only trying to do the right thing to keep Octavia safe."

  "You have to tell Octavia."

  "I do not."

  "You do. It will be harder to pursue a wise course of action about Drusus if you do not, to mitigate the danger you talked about. The three of us will decide how to move forward."

  "You're staying?" Lucy blinked rapidly, no doubt charting possible outcomes of his reappearance in her mind.

  Carlo nodded. "I told Drusus I would help him, and you, so here I am."

  "There is no need to help me, Carlo. I have arranged a marriage." Lucy took a deep breath. "Tomorrow night, I have a betrothal party, an official celebration of my engagement to Atreus."

  "That's another reason I am here. Octavia asked me to escort her." There was no point in saying what he was feeling otherwise. That door was closed. "This is not easy for her."

  "All will be well," said Lucy. "You'll see."

  He would have to see, because there was only one path forward. "We should go to Octavia."

  Lucy nodded. "Are you still…do you feel as you felt?"

  "About?

  "Me. As you did before. I understand if not, because everyone is afraid of me."

  "I am not afraid of you, Lucy." Should he tell her? It would be wiser to leave things as they were. "Shall we do the best we can as friends?"

  "I would like that."

  Carlo extended his arm to her, and she slid her hand into it. As they walked through the house, Carlo could hear the shadows whispering, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.

  Luncheon was largely ignored. Octavia listened to Lucy tell the story Carlo had heard in more detail from Drusus. Halfway through the explanation, Octavia asked McAllistair to stop serving lunch and allow no one else in the dining room. The large doors were closed. Carlo could see Octavia warring with anger and frustration as she tried to keep her voice even. "I understand why you sent Drusus away," said Octavia. "I am furious at you for doing so."

  Lucy was quiet. Carlo felt the need to mediate. "Octavia, anger aside, what we need to concentrate on are our next steps."

  "My next step is to find my husband. I must go to him."

  "I am serious about Drusus being dangerous," said Lucy. "Even if I should have told you about what happened, and I should have"—Lucy looked at Carlo as she spoke—"I still believe you are in danger if you go to him."

  "You have no right to tell me what to do. You turned Drusus into a monster."

  "You would rather I had let him die?"

  "You know what we have been through!" Octavia stood. "And now this. Yes, maybe you should have let matters take their natural course."

  "Why?" said Lucy. "So you could hate yourself for causing the deaths of both the men you loved?"

  Carlo shielded his eyes with his hands. Lucy had a knack for saying exactly the wrong thing.

  Shadows gathered around Octavia's hands, and then, as if she'd thought better of it, they diminished. She staggered back into one of the chairs. She started to speak, but closed her mouth again. Her chin trembled.

  Carlo knew the signs of when someone needed to be alone. "We'll go," said Carlo. "Unless you want me to stay?"

  Octavia shook her head. One tear escaped.

  Carlo opened the door for Lucy, and they slipped out of the room.

  "You see why I didn't want to tell her," said Lucy, as they walked back toward the library. "I knew it would hurt her."

  "You must be honest, Lucy, and you must try to be compassionate."

  "You mean let people make foolish mistakes, even if it is dangerous or wrong?"

  "Yes," said Carlo. "Octavia may be in danger from Drusus, but she gets to choose. Your sister is not without resources. She may be able to help her husband. Certainly, she will want to stand by him, as you do with people you love. You had no right to make that decision for her."

  Lucy pulled into herself. "The matter is out of my hands now," she said after a time. "If I have done damage, it has been done already."

  "Make amends by helping Octavia and Drusus. Turn that rational brain of yours toward guessing what people's feelings must be."

  "I don't know how," said Lucy. "If I knew how, do you think I would continue as I am?"

  They stood outside the door of the library.

  "You aren't as broken as you think you are," Carlo said.

  "Please, go back to Octavia. She has more need of you than I do." She slipped into the library. Carlo studied the closed door and then turned back down the hall. He knocked on the door of the dining room.

  Octavia opened it a sliver. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face weary. "I cannot do this any longer, Carlo," she said, once they were both inside.

  Carlo stroked his beard, thoughtful. "You mean Drusus?"

  "No." Octavia rubbed her eyes. "Lucy? How can I trust her?"

  "I don't know how to answer that. Let us get through this betrothal party," said Carlo. It would clearly be an ordeal for both of them. "And then, we'll move forward."

  Carlo retreated to the inn. He walked down the peak, digesting what he had heard. He thought he had left Lucy behind, but she needed him, and he was good at taking care of her. He wanted so much more with her, but he had to face facts. He was in love with someone who didn't exist any longer, or maybe had never existed. Maybe he was just a lonely man. After all, his family had disappeared almost overnight, and Lucy was the last connection to his past. He would have appreciated growing up in Venice more if he'd known what he had to lose, but like so many people, he had no idea. Lucy cared for him as much as she could, he knew that, but she could never love him, and this afternoon had only served to remind him.

  There could be no love in her marriage with Galt. That did not make him feel any better. He had to get through the betrothal party as a true friend would, keep his disappointment from being written on his face. Then tomorrow, he and Octavia would make plans and figure out how to help Drusus.

  The George was quiet in middle afternoon. Behind the bar, George's father Martin was inspecting the barrels of foul English swill, or ale as they called it. Carlo studied the depths of the tankard. He was drinking a black and tan because dark beer was what he deserved.

  Carlo motioned George over. George, drying a mug, had the enthusiasm of a young puppy. There was very little difference in his age and George's. Carlo was twenty-two and he thought George was nineteen or twenty, a successful, responsible business man, like Carlo would have eventually been with the apothecary. Carlo wondered about an innkeeper's life. What had George seen? Was George's cordiality a mask, much like Carlo's humor hid his own insecurities?

  George rubbed the mug with a cloth. "Yes, sir?"

  "I'm leaving sometime next week." He and Octavia both, probably. "When does the morning coach come?"

  "You're asking about the London coach? That'd be bright and early, around six."

  "Thank you."

  George glanced over his shoulder at his father and then back at Carlo. "Our town not to your liking, sir?"

  "No. It's perfectly charming." There was nothing wrong with the town. It was pastoral and although Carlo was a city boy, he enjoyed the town's landlocked nature. It was so novel for him, rocks, hills, and grass. Also, it smelled better than both Venice and Berlin. However, the factory haze encroached, and if he owned the town, he would do something about that. He wondered if the residents of the town noticed it anymore.

  "Then something else?"

 

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