Page 100 of A Dangerous Bargain

If the devil can’t be hurt here, then there must be a there we need to get to.

Channeling a confidence that would make Leonardo weep with pride, I stride closer. Past the shocked faces of the demons, past the gilded tables bowed with maggoty cakes and vases of molding flowers. One demon crunches a mouthful of roses, bloody streaks running from the corners of his mouth.

I stop at the edge of the devil’s dais. I kneel, even though getting this close to him makes my stomach roll and head pound. In his human illusion, I see the flicker of something else. I swallow back an iron taste and keep my eyes on his crown, the only part of him that doesn’t shimmer and shake. “I want to make a bargain with you.” The words taste ancient and binding. “I want to put an end to the Medici’s power.”

The devil flashes a dazzling smile. “Is that truly why you’re here?”

Up close, his beauty is painful to behold. Black, curling hair cascades into dark, drowning eyes. His olive skin shimmers with the faintest bronze glow. He looks like a sculpture made from living flesh. How could I possibly make someone so beautiful unhappy? I want to fall to the floor and kiss the hem of his cloak. I want to call him master and sit by his feet.

Why else would I be here, if not to spend forever at his side?

I clamp my eyes shut and take a deep breath, another.

With his beauty still searing the inside of my eyelids, I paint over the image with one of my own until bronze dust becomes freckles, until black curls become red waves.

Until all I can see is my Leonardo.

If I can’t undo the Medici’s bargain with the devil, he’ll be forced to paint for them, to condemn people’s souls to the same fate of his stepmother. It would break him. I can’t let that happen.

“Yes,” I say, lifting, clear-eyed, from my bow. The nausea is still there, but fainter. “The Medici think themselves your equal. They believe they’re more powerful than you. They use your magic, your gifted power, to worship God!”

An unholy chorus of screams rends the air. Parts of the illusions curl away like peeling wallpaper, showing the shadows, the rot and filth, underneath it all.

The entire room shudders, and my knees buckle from the force.

The devil throws out a ringed hand, his fingernails suddenly black points. “Enough!”

The screams stop, dissolving into shuddering sobs instead. No one is dancing now. The demons huddle in sad piles, some of them bereft of their illusions entirely. Even Lupa is affected—her dark, curving horns now visible over her blond head, her eyes red-rimmed.

The devil doesn’t tear his stare away from me for an instant. Slowly, so slowly, the illusions decorating the ballroom slip back into place. He claps his hands. The sound echoes strangely, too loud and layered to be anything but magical. “You, play louder!”

The musicians startle back to their feet and saw away on their uncanny instruments once more.

“You, keep dancing!”

The dancers slam into each other and start swinging their partners around so fast, it makes me ill to watch.

“And you.” The devil hovers over me, terrible in his wrath, his eyebrows two curving daggers above his glare. “You’re coming with me.”

He snaps his fingers, and the last thing I see is Lupa’s stricken face before the ballroom dissolves.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

The ballroom disappears like the view beyond a rain-slicked window. I blink away the grayness and find myself in an opulent throne room. Dark walls and ornately carved chairs and tables dominate the space, the furniture too large to be comfortable. A portrait hangs across from the throne—its golden frame the only spot of color. It depicts a snarling, scaled creature with cloven hooves and curved horns.

The devil reclines on his throne and gestures for me to do the same on one of the chairs beneath him. I move to a seat, except my foot catches on an object.

A demon with too many legs sleeps sprawled under the chair. It’s one of perhaps a dozen at the edges of the room. I watch the drowsy rise and fall of their sides, freezing like I’ve stumbled into a den of slumbering wolves. One more noise, one more step, and they’ll wake up and tear out my throat.

“They’re in Florence right now, aren’t they?” I whisper. Their bodies sleeping here; their souls, or whatever passes as a soul for a demon, down on earth. The opposite of Niccolo.

The devil frowns, annoyed I’ve guessed right. His appearance has changed. His skin is fairer, his hair now a cascading gold curtain. He reminds me of angels painted in the churches, blond, beautiful, terrifying. The part of me that’s all instinct and no thought doesn’t know whether to shiver from fear or desire.

He wants you to find him agreeable, I remind myself fiercely. He doesn’t want you to fight him.

The devil smirks deliberately, and I flush, knowing he can see all my thoughts as plain as written words. “Do you think me a fool? Of course I know the Medici are liars. All humans lie.”

Flames suddenly erupt at the throne’s feet. I inhale sharply, shoving away from the table. Where’s Lupa? I don’t like the final look she gave me. “Why not take away their power, then? You’re a king. Surely you can outwit them.”