Page 40 of A Dangerous Bargain

Her fingertips graze my wrist, as if to take my hand. I pull away. I need a human moment. I can’t be the person she needs me to be right now.

Someone else needs me more.

The basilica swallows me without a sound.

Easter Mass is long over, but the monks are still chanting, devoted to their afternoon prayers. Even though it’s light outside, the inside of Santa Croce is twilight dark. Gold glimmers around the high altar—a treasure trove of art telling the tales of the Bible. I shiver and cross myself. How much demon magic infuses the display? Does the holiness cancel out the profanity?

In the very last row, I spot a familiar red-gold head. Careful not to disturb the other worshippers, I tiptoe down the aisle and slip beside Leonardo.

His face is damp when he looks up.

I wish I had a handkerchief to give him, or the courage to reach over and rub the tear tracks from his cheeks. His face was sculpted for smiles; seeing him like this feels wrong.

He thumbs the wetness away himself. “We should tell the other artists. Warn them to stop making bargains with her.”

I feel overspun, fabric with too fine a weave on the verge of tearing. Lupa is a demon, but she’s still Lupa, the creature who wanted me to have dolci on my birthday, who worried enough to find me when I didn’t come home. “I don’t know if telling other people is a good idea.”

Leonardo flinches. “Does a heart beat in your chest? My stepmother gave away all of her life to a soul-devouring monster.” He ducks closer, lips nearly brushing my ear. “Don’t you think everyone else should know?”

I shudder, the warmth of his breath too much on my icy skin. Do the other artists deserve to know the truth of their bargains? Of course, but also… would they want to? Would the truth stop them from seeking out magic?

I think of the portfolio I created to earn my apprenticeship in Verrocchio’s workshop, how many nights I labored by candlelight until my head ached and my eyes strained. How when I struck my first bargain with the old angel, I was relieved that creating would finally be easier. Making bargains let me do what I loved to support the people I loved. Without my magic, my mother and sisters would’ve been homeless long ago.

I rub my fingers over my dead bargain marks, thinking of all the power they gave me. I wait for the regret to well up like a rising tide… but ’tis more complicated than that. I regret how it’s ending, but not what I did. Knowing angels are demons doesn’t change anything that’s happened.

“You once asked if a wolf means to kill or does she kill because she’s hungry? I don’t think we can judge a creature for trying to live.” Leonardo scoffs and turns away, but I grab his thigh. He gives an annoyed huff, hard gaze striking against mine, but I don’t let go. “I agree that Florence deserves the truth about the angels, but you heard Piero and Lorenzo. The Medici do know the angels are demons, and they’ve chosen to lie about it for a reason.” The slain prior’s blood has dried on my clothes, but the rust scent lingers. I can taste it with each breath. “Think about it. Who would you believe: the most powerful family in Florence or two lowly painter’s apprentices?”

Leonardo jerks away, a hiss pushing through his teeth. The church door creaks open, sending a slice of daylight across his face. His frown is still there, but the lines are softer now, like he’s turning over my words.

Lupa sits gingerly on my other side, a honey-scented pastry clutched in her hand.

My stomach sinks. “More stolen goods?” Now doesn’t seem like a great time to remind Leonardo of her thieving fingers.

“No. I bought this with your money.” Her brow furrows suddenly. “Is that stealing?”

I pat the coin purse at my waist—and yes, it’s certainly lighter than before. “Not if you ask me next time.”

Lupa offers Leonardo the cake. “I am sorry for making your face wet. Virgil has said the wet face—”

“Crying. It’s called crying.”

“That crying means I have hurt someone. You are not someone I wanted to hurt.” She traces the ridgeline of a scar along the back of her head. “I don’t know why I can’t remember anything from before. But I wish I could.”

I feel the quiver of her voice in my bones. Florence and her bargains. It’s a handshake over a gilded desk, a knife biting into my skin. A banker with a predator’s smile. Perhaps the true terms of what Lupa agreed to were hidden from her until it was too late to matter, just like they were from me.

“I believe you.” Leonardo inhales sharply when I lay a hand along Lupa’s face. “Do you know why you’re like this?”

Her scar that shouldn’t be there. The magic she uses outside of the bargains. Her girl-shape. Lupa has been so different from the very beginning. I shouldn’t trust a demon, an eater of souls—the rabbit race of my pulse warns me away from her with every thump—but Lupa has never lied to me. She saved me when she didn’t have to.

Lupa blinks, pinpricks of predator green flashing. “No. But I think… I think you make me different.” Her lips part, pointed teeth sinking into the meat of my thumb without breaking my skin. “You make me want to be different.”

I don’t know what to think of that.

Leonardo’s dark eyes lift beneath the fringe of his lashes. He traces the single bargain mark on his wrist, the scrap of soul he’s pledged to this penitent demon. I bite my lip, half wanting to ask if whatever he asked for still feels worth it, already knowing he won’t answer. He touches the pocket of his jacket, the place where he keeps the lock of his stepmother’s hair. “I have to go.”

“Wait, why?” It feels like I’ve gotten lost in a neighborhood I’ve walked through a hundred times before. “Shouldn’t we figure out what to do next?” I don’t want to puzzle it out myself. I need his quicksilver mind, his steadying calm.

Leonardo smiles, but the expression is as hollow as an empty heart. “Because my stepmother is dead because of demons. And you might be ready to forgive them, but I’m not.”