Free Venom by Fiona Paul

hands began to shake. The short message was scrawled in crooked letters.
    Soon, bella, it will be your turn.
    Her breath caught in her throat. The Grand Canal blurred in front of her for a second, and she feared she might faint right into the water. She saw the messenger make his way across the stalled gondolas and over to the south bank of the canal. “Wait,” she called after him, but he melted into a throng of street vendors without looking back.
    “Is it news of Luca?” Siena asked.
    Blood pounded in Cass’s head. “No,” she said. She looked downat the parchment again. The note was signed with only a bloody X. Cass touched her finger to the X, half expecting the red lines to cut into her like a blade.
    “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Siena was still looking at Cass searchingly.
    “I’m fine,” Cass insisted. She folded the note into smaller and smaller squares until it disappeared into her right palm. She clenched her hand tightly around the folded paper.
    Could the murderer have seen her last night? He must have. That was the only explanation. And if he had seen her, he had seen Falco too. They were both in danger.
    Unless Falco…But no. Impossible. If
he
was dangerous, if he was the murderer, he could have easily killed her last night.
    “Was—was the note from a man?” Siena asked. “Someone you know well…?” She trailed off, her lily-white skin reddening at the unspoken implication.
    “No,” Cass said sharply. “Whatever would give you that idea?”
    “Well, you do go out late at night sometimes.” The maid fumbled over her words.
    Cass sighed. Everyone thought she was off trysting in the graveyard. “I go out to write in my journal, Siena.”
    “I’m sorry, Signorina. I meant no disrespect. I just know it must be hard to have Signor da Peraga so far away.”
    Cass didn’t answer. She scanned the crowded canal, looking for anyone or anything unusual. Next to her, three young women were dangling their bare feet over the side of their gondola. They wore their hair in braids twisted up on the top of their heads like horns, and their swanlike necks were ringed with pendants and chokers. Each of the girls held large fans made of peacock feathers andembellished with gilded edges. Courtesans, perhaps? The women laughed and waved to passersby. So vibrant, so alive. So different from the broken, lifeless body Cass had found the night before.
    On the bank, a tall man in a black cloak weaved in and out of the crowds that had gathered alongside the canal to watch the chaos. Cass tensed up. Was it the same man from San Domenico? She wasn’t sure. The sun had set and Cass couldn’t make out his face. He turned away as her gondola floated by, melting into the darkness like fading smoke. Cass felt her breathing accelerate. Usually, she found the frantic activity of Venice magical, but suddenly everything felt ominous and evil, as if God had abandoned the city to the forces of chaos. She snapped the blinds closed and sat back in the felze with her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
    But even hidden inside the little cabin, Cass suddenly felt dangerously exposed, as though strangers’ eyes were burning through the slats of the felze and into her skin. Hot breath swirled around her like mist off the canals. Oars hissed their way through the water. The greenish waves of the lagoon writhed as though filled with venomous snakes. Even the wood of the boat looked malevolent—warped and rickety, as if they might capsize before they made it home.
    Later on, in her room, Cass still found it impossible to relax. Her shutters rattled against her window, making her think strangers were knocking at the door. Each time the house creaked, she searched her room again, positive the murderer was under her bed or in her armoire or crouched below her washing table, waiting for her to go to sleep.
    Cass grabbed her journal and sprawled out across her bed. Writing usually calmed her. Not tonight. She stared at the