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  The night wind was brisk and Cass's hair whipped around her face, stinging her eyes and cheeks. As she made her way across the wet grass, blood pounded through her veins like ocean waves beating against the shore. Cass normally liked the graveyard—it was both peaceful and a little exciting. Ironically, it made her feel alive. Funny, she thought, that it took an army of corpses to make her feel like one of the living. Agnese had once found out that Cass enjoyed writing there and declared the place improper for a lady, even during daylight hours. And somehow that made the graveyard all the more appealing.

  Usually.

  But tonight, Cass's head was full of ghosts. She lingered outside the fence for a moment, casting a long glance back toward the sanctuary of the villa. No, she had to see this through. It was just the funeral, the idea of Livi's wrapped body so nearby. That had to be why the whole night seemed tinged with foreboding.

  The metal gate tilted on one hinge and groaned as the breeze pushed it back and forth, occasionally slamming it against the wrought-iron fence that encircled the cemetery. No doubt this was the clanking noise she had heard from her bedroom. Cass passed through the gate and headed off to her left, where Liviana's family crypt had stood for more than a century. She picked her way across the uneven ground, moving swiftly through the tufts of tall grass, some bleached a ghostly white by the salty air.

  Something snapped. A foot, crushing a dead branch. Cass spun around, her eyes picking up movement among the uneven rows of gravestones. A flapping cloak melted into the low shrubbery.

  Or had she imagined it? Cass couldn't be certain. There was no reason for anyone else to be in the graveyard at this hour. Slowly, she scanned the area all around her. Headstones seemed to be tilted at strange angles. A carved angel sculpture on the top of a nearby crypt looked more like a bird of prey than a heavenly being. Bats passed over her head, fluid forms against the static blackness, coasting silently on leathery wings.

  Cass shivered—she hated bats. The creatures overhead melted once again into the darkness, but she couldn't shake the idea that they were toying with her. Stalking her, like vampires would . . .

  As soon as the thought came to her, Cass dismissed it. Madalena liked to tell tales about vampires gliding over the Grand Canal late at night, but Cass had always laughed off her friend's stories. Now, however, they didn't seem so funny. The light from the lantern wavered, and Cass realized her fingers were shaking. She took a deep breath to steady her hands and her heart. The exit gate seemed miles away. Cass backtracked a few steps and nearly stumbled upon a patch of dead grass, glowing white against the darkness of the night. She stopped. Turned back. She was being ridiculous. She had never been scared of the graveyard before.

  Insects hummed in the shrubbery, and leaves brushed against one another, filling the air with a constant whispering sound. Cass ran her fingers across the walls of each tomb as she made her way to Liviana's crypt. The rough stone against her skin was comforting.

  And then she froze. From yards away, Cass could make out the huge gray stone angel perched at the top of the monument, wings wide. But that wasn't what made her stop. Her eyes were riveted to the front of the crypt, to the thin rectangle of blackness that made it look as though the door was open.

  Impossible. The tombs were always locked up tight. It was the moonlight playing tricks on her. It had to be. Cass navigated her way around a pair of underground graves. She focused her eyes on the door to Livi's tomb, expecting what she saw to be just an illusion, expecting any minute to see that the large iron door was shut and locked as it should be.

  But no. There was definitely a tiny slice of darkness there. And on the ground lay a broken padlock, partly obscured in a tuft of grass. Cass paused a few feet from the tomb, torn between the desire to shut the door and flee, and sneaking inside to make sure everything was okay.

  She had never been inside a crypt.

  A sharp scrabbling noise made the decision for her. She backed away, nearly dropping her lantern. Suddenly she was certain that if she dared go near, even just to close the door, a ghost would pull her inside and trap her there.

  The scratching sounds continued, like fingernails on stone. Cass realized her own nails were digging deep crescent moon impressions into her palm. More scratching. Grating. Frantic. Like someone or something trying to escape.

  What if Liviana really had been buried alive? Siena's sister, Feliciana, had once told Cass a story about a woman who was buried alive in Padua. The greedy graveyard caretaker had broken into her crypt to steal her diamond rings from her cold, dead fingers. But the rings were stuck, and when the caretaker sliced through the first finger with a rusty old machete, the woman had awakened with a shriek as if never dead.

  Maybe Livi wasn't dead. Maybe the doctors had made a mistake. What if the poor girl was in there, terrified, clawing at the stone lid above her head? Those lids weighed as much as she did. There was no way she would be able to escape without help.

  Holding her lantern out in front of her, and trying to control the frantic drumming of her heart, Cass shoved the crypt door open all the way to let in as much light as possible. The contessa's coffin lay at floor level, below the shelves that supported the coffins of her grandparents and ancestors. Carvings of angels and doves decorated the outside of the stone box that held Livi's body. Someone or something had disturbed the lid, just slightly. Shaking, Cass maneuvered her lantern so she could see more clearly . . . just as a huge brown rat skittered past her.

  Cass squealed and jumped back. The rat disappeared into a dark corner, its naked tail leaving a serpentine trail in the dust. She leaned against the wall of the tomb, taking deep breaths, grateful that no one was around to witness her stupidity.

  Ghosts. Buried alive. What a bunch of nonsense. Luca had always teased Cass about reading too many scary stories. Maybe he was right.

  She turned to leave, then stopped. The least she could do was try to slide the coffin's stone cover back in place so her friend could rest without being invaded by vermin.

  Cass placed her lantern on the floor and took hold of the stone lid in both hands. But as she started to pull, morbid curiosity got the best of her and she slid the heavy cover down just enough so she could peek at Liviana. Right then, the moon shucked off its veil of clouds and the light in the crypt brightened momentarily. Cass leaned in for one last look at her friend's golden hair and pale skin.

  Her breath turned to ice inside her chest. The hair flowing across the satin pillow wasn't blonde—it was raven black. And the corpse— it wasn't Liviana.

  Cass squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them for a second look. The girl looked a few years older than Livi and wore red makeup on her cheeks and lips. Clouded-over eyes lined in black stared vacantly up out of a face swollen from death. A circle of purple-black bruises ringed the girl's slender neck. Cass reached out with one finger to touch a heart-shaped birthmark on the girl's left temple. Her skin was firm and cold.

  Cass knew she should turn around and run, but she couldn't look away from the bloated corpse. Her eyes trailed downward. The girl's satin underdress, fit to scoop low over her breasts and peek out over her stays, had been slashed to ribbons.

  And there was an X carved over her heart.

  Cass's stomach twisted violently and bile flooded her throat. She stumbled back from the casket and out of the crypt, whimpering. She ran, stumbling on the uneven ground, grass whipping her legs and branches snatching at her cloak like tiny hands trying to pull her backward. She wasn't alone. She could almost feel breath on the back of her neck, the heat of a murderer tracking her through the graveyard.

  She ran so fast, she could barely breathe. Her heart and lungs felt like they had lodged in her throat. The narrow spikes of the wrought-iron gate appeared in front of her. Safety was just a few seconds away.

  Then a shadowy figure unfolded from behind a tall obelisk and Cass tripped. Her toes slammed against a half-buried headstone and she started to fall. Hands reached out for her. The moon ill
uminated a pair of glowering eyes and a face streaked with blood.

  Tumbling straight into the figure's arms, Cass screamed.

  3

  No need to split my eardrums. I'm not going to hurt you."

  Something familiar about the boy's lilting tone made Cass stop screaming and flailing in his grip. She looked up just slightly, into his face. Even by the dim light of the moon, she recognized his dazzling blue eyes. "You," she breathed.

  "Mourning girl?" The boy laughed, and steadied her on her feet. "So nice to run into you again."

  She wrenched away from his grasp, pulling her cloak tight around her body. "What are you doing here?"

  The boy shrugged his broad shoulders. "I was just standing here enjoying the view when you almost ran me over."

  "The view?" Her voice rang out shrilly. "In a graveyard? At this hour?" Her fear began to give way to irritation. He was clearly lying to her.

  The boy gestured around him. In the dark, a group of flowering weeds looked like a giant hairy spider crouched against the side of a crypt. "These flowers actually grow best in cemeteries. Did you know that? Something about the mix of soil and shade. Death and life, intertwined. One feeding off the other. It's kind of magical, don't you think?" He seemed distracted for a moment, like he really was fascinated by their surroundings. Just as Cass was about to respond, he turned to her again. "Plus the company here is much more agreeable than at la taverna. And much less likely to talk my ear off."

  Cass felt dizzy. She took one more step back. "What's on your face?" she demanded, pointing at his right cheekbone.

  "What?" He licked a finger and wiped haphazardly at the area Cass had indicated. His hand came away smudged with red. "Oh. Paint, probably. It gets all over everything." His lips twitched as if he were trying not to smile. "It's a wonder you aren't the one being mourned, as accident prone as you seem to be."

  "I hardly think you jumping on me earlier qualifies me as accident prone." She was surprised by how quickly the response came to her.

  "Oh, if I had jumped on you, you'd know it," he said with a wink. He reached toward Cass to dislodge a twig from her hair. "I'm Falco, by the way."

  Cass narrowed her eyes. Now, since he was obviously laughing at her, she found his mischievous grin annoying. Still, it didn't seem to be the deranged smile of a murderer. But her heart wouldn't stop pounding, and when she thought about the mutilated body just steps away from them, inside Liviana's crypt, her stomach surged. Cass glanced around. She couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't alone.

  "What are you doing here, Signorina . . . ?" He trailed off, waiting for her to provide her name.

  "Caravello. Cassandra," she said distractedly, her mind consumed by shadows, by faceless corpses and killers hiding in the dark.

  "Cassandra," he repeated, as though her name pleased him. "So. Did I interrupt something? A sordid little tryst, perhaps?"

  "You must be joking." Cass was in no mood for humor. Besides, the closest she'd ever been to a tryst was when he'd fallen on top of her in the street earlier that day.

  "Always. Sadly, you don't seem like the type of girl who would be up for a midnight . . . encounter." Falco's eyes drifted downward. "Too bad."

  Cass realized her cloak had fallen open, exposing the white nightgown she wore underneath. She pulled the velvet fabric tight around her body. Then the shrubbery rippled once more with unfamiliar movement. Cass's heart froze.

  "We should get out of here," she said. "It's not safe." "Not safe?" Falco raised an eyebrow. "Why? Because it's dark and you might accidentally trip over your own two feet? I feel quite safe. In fact, I was just settling in to do some reading." Cass furrowed her brow. "Reading?"

  Falco wagged her journal in front of her. "This is yours, I presume." A slow smile spread across his face. "Let's find out exactly what you've been doing, shall we?"

  "Give it back!" Cass reached for the journal, but Falco easily dodged her. He opened the leather-bound book to a random page and cleared his throat. Clutching a hand to his chest, he pretended to read aloud in a high-pitched voice. "Oh, how I love the way his fingers explore my soft flesh. The way his eyes see into my very soul."

  This time, Cass managed to snatch the book out of his hands. "That is not what it says."

  "I guess that means you won't be keeping me warm tonight?" Falco quirked an eyebrow. Before she could muster up a response, he laughed. "Then again, the accommodations probably wouldn't meet your standards. You've probably never slept on anything but the finest satins, have you?"

  Cass hoped the darkness camouflaged her scarlet cheeks. Who was this boy to talk to her the way he did? "Is that why you're here? Looking for a date?" Cass gestured toward a row of pointed headstones. "I do believe you're in luck. I see some ladies who won't be able to refuse you." The words flew out of her mouth before she could rethink them.

  "Funny. And correct. Sort of. I was actually just looking for a place to get a little rest." For a second, the smile dropped from his face, and an expression passed across it that Cass couldn't identify.

  "Sleep in a graveyard?" Cass frowned. "You can't be serious." Again Cass felt certain he was lying to her. Could he have had something to do with the body stashed in the contessa's family tomb? Cass didn't think so. He was a bit too relaxed for having just killed a woman. Behind him, in the darkness, Cass again thought she saw movement. Her breath caught in her throat, but it was just one of the stray cats, darting out in front of a crypt.

  If Falco noticed her look of alarm, he didn't comment on it. "Why not? Normally it's quiet," he said, grinning at Cass. "No wild women running about. My roommate and I were drinking at Il Mar e la Spada and got into a fight as usual. Tonight I decided to avoid the inevitable thrashing." He coughed. "His, not mine."

  Il Mar e la Spada. San Domenico's finest—and only—taverna. Cass had never been inside the decrepit old place.

  "Come on," Falco said. "I'll see you safely home to your fancy sheets. I'd say you need your beauty sleep, but it looks like you've been getting plenty." He took Cass's hand in one of his own, his warm touch like a bolt of lightning, causing her to jump.

  Cass wrenched her hand out of his. "I'm not going home. I'm going to the town guard."

  Falco's blue eyes went cold at the mention of soldiers. "Why would you waste your time talking to those degenerates? They're worse than the criminals themselves."

  "I've discovered a dead body." Hearing the words brought back the true gravity of the situation, and panic shot through her all over again. She hugged her arms across her body to keep from trembling.

  Falco laughed tersely. He made a sweeping motion with his hand. "Of course you have, my dear. We are literally surrounded by the dead."

  Cass tossed her hair back from her face. "Don't treat me like I'm stupid," she said coldly. "When you knocked me down today, I had come from a funeral. My friend's funeral. I just went to her tomb and her body is gone, replaced by another, a girl I've never seen before." Again, the confidence in her tone surprised her. It was the kind of thing she might have thought in her head or written in her journal, but would never have spoken aloud.

  "That makes no sense," Falco said gently.

  Cass bristled at his tone of voice. "Exactly. That's why I'm going to the guard."

  "Perhaps you imagined her to be someone else? Grief does strange things . . ." For a second, Falco's eyes softened, as though he were looking at something far away. Then he shook his head. "Or maybe she just looks different to you now. My master often paints the dead as they're being prepared for burial. You know, the body changes as it cools."

  Was he accusing her of hallucinating? Of being crazy? Her mouth tightened into a thin line. "Does it go from blonde to brunette?" she asked. Her voice still had an unfamiliar, sharp edge to it.

  "Maybe the light played a trick on you. Maybe you were in the wrong crypt?" he persisted.

  Cass hesitated. Could it be? Could the light have made Liviana's hair look dark? No. Why would Livi have an X carv
ed over her heart? But could Cass have wandered into the wrong crypt? Many of the tombs were decorated with stone angels.

  "I'll show you," she said, unsure of whether she was hoping to prove him wrong or to be proven wrong by him. The graveyard had been her haven ever since moving to San Domenico. She couldn't imagine having to relinquish it to a corpse-mutilating monster.

  Falco consented silently, and gestured for her to lead the way. Cass led Falco back to Liviana's family crypt, where the door still stood partially ajar. She pointed at the raised letters that formed a semicircle over the door. "Greco—her family name. This is the right crypt."

  "You stand watch," he said. "I'll make sure no walking dead girls have invaded your little friend's tomb." Falco moved through the open doorway, humming to himself. His cheerful mood had returned. "Look, someone even left me a lantern. I might have to avail myself of these lodgings the next time I need a place to stay. Oh, and even a trinket. I think propriety dictates that it is I who should be buying gifts for you at this stage in our—"

  Then his voice cut off.

  A second later, Falco practically exploded out of the tomb, blue eyes burning in the moonlight. "Tell me what you saw tonight," he demanded. "Tell me everything."

  Cass's heart once again began to batter itself against her rib cage as she looked at Falco's pale face. He was breathing hard. Something was very, very wrong.

  "Nothing really," she insisted, and all the fear came rushing back. "I thought I saw a cloak flapping in the bushes. But the moon was dim and it may have been a raven, or nothing." Cass swallowed past the sawdust that seemed to be coating her throat. "Do—do you know her?"

  Falco shook his head. "She looks like a courtesan. Young. New to the trade, probably."

  A courtesan. Of course. As a child growing up on the Rialto, Cass had been fascinated by the city's glamorous women who gave favors to men in exchange for clothes and jewels and other payment. She had often seen them hanging out of windows along the main canals, waving coyly and flashing just the slightest hint of nipple to attract wealthy patrons, but she had never actually known one. They had always seemed both perfectly normal and strangely exotic, like vividly colored birds.