The Golden City (25 page)

Miss Paredes had come closer, simply li
st
ening. Duilio hoped she was keeping track. It would give him the luxury of having someone with whom to discuss this bewildering evening. He turned back to the Lady. “Are you a member of the Freemasons?”

The Freemasons sought enlightenment in all things, and someone who
st
udied the pra
ct
ice of witchcraft in the ab
st
ra
ct
might fit well into their ranks. But they didn’t have female members here, even if they did in France and in the Americas.

“No,” she said. “Carvalho is my conta
ct
, should I need information from them, but I am not a part of any of their organizations.”

That was a nicely unequivocal
st
atement. “What about the Open Hand? Who are they?”

“A secret society?” the Lady said musingly. “So far we’ve identified five officers within the Special Police who seem to be members of this Open Hand, Mata among them. There have to be others outside the Special Police, but we don’t know yet who they are. At this point, we don’t know exa
ct
ly what their goal is, either.”

Not very helpful
. All Special Police officers bore the sigil of an open hand on their caps, a symbol modeled after a
st
one carving on the gate of the palace itself. It seemed only logical that this group might be found within their ranks.

“I find it intere
st
ing that your uncle handed that name to you on a platter,” she added.

Ah, the Lady was aware of his relationship with the man. Duilio suspe
ct
ed she’d chosen those words to inform him of that. It increased the likelihood that she a
ct
ually had known Alessio. “I did too,” he said. “I’ve never heard that name before tonight.”

“But he has,” she pointed out. “Silva is like a spider, Mr. Ferreira, and his web touches on everything. He has friends everywhere, if you can call them friends. I suspe
ct
mo
st
of them tolerate him because he’s pulling their
st
rings; no more.”

That was Silva’s special talent: twi
st
ing people’s words and intentions, provoking them to di
st
ru
st
one another. Getting them to dance to
his
tune. It was gratifying to hear someone else say it aloud. “So he wanted to assure the police heard that name, through me,” Duilio surmised. “Why would he use Miss Paredes as bait?”

The Lady’s pale eyes flicked toward her. “Mo
st
pra
ct
itioners of witchcraft are very super
st
itious, Mr. Ferreira. A spell of this complexity—and I suspe
ct
there’s much more of it than what appears on the surface of that table—it does not require a specific vi
ct
im, save for the apparent fa
ct
that they lived in that house. However, if the witch involved wants to go back and fix this spell, fix the fa
ct
that one of the intended vi
ct
ims escaped, they will prefer
st
rongly to recover the original vi
ct
im.”

Miss Paredes’ eyes lowered to the carpet.

“So this Open Hand will be looking for her,” Duilio said, “to try again.”

“It’s very likely.” The Lady turned to Miss Paredes. “I would keep my di
st
ance from the Special Police, Miss Paredes, or you might be rejoining the other maid you mentioned in that house. I want you to appreciate the danger you
st
and in.”

Miss Paredes’ hands were shaking now. “Not a maid, Lady. It was Isabel Amaral, my mi
st
ress.
She
died there.”

For the fir
st
time, the Lady appeared disconcerted. “I thought you said they were servants.”

“Until la
st
Thursday night,” Duilio said, sparing Miss Paredes from repeating it. “Lady Isabel was planning on eloping, and decided that she and Miss Paredes should dress as housemaids to escape notice.”

“Whose idea was that?” the Lady asked.

“She seemed to have come up with it on her own,” Miss Paredes offered hesitantly.

“I don’t tru
st
anything that convenient,” the Lady said. “If I under
st
and corre
ct
ly, they’ve chosen dozens of vi
ct
ims already, and managed to cover their tracks well enough that the police didn’t catch on. Miss Paredes, you were the one person in the Amaral household not likely to die if put in the water, yet they chose you, a sereia? Does that not
st
rike you as an unlikely twi
st
of fate? It makes me suspe
ct
you were there intentionally.”

Miss Paredes looked as haunted as she had when Silva implied she was an assassin. “I am
not
in league with them.”

The Lady laid a gloved hand on Miss Paredes’ arm. “I do not imply that. But you and your mi
st
ress may have been chosen because someone within the organization wants to sabotage whatever the Open Hand is trying to achieve.”

“My knife,” Miss Paredes whispered, her eyes lifting to his. “They didn’t take my knife. I had it with me, but whoever tied me to that chair didn’t take it.”

Duilio recalled her mentioning the knife, but before this moment he’d assumed it was a hurried oversight. He could tell she’d already worked her way to the conclusion: if she’d been put there to sabotage the spell, then Isabel had been sele
ct
ed intentionally merely to put
Oriana Paredes
in the desired situation. He set a hand under her elbow to support her. “We don’t know what’s true at this point, Miss Paredes.”

She nodded jerkily. He hadn’t driven that demon out of her mind, he could tell.

The Lady glanced across the library, and Duilio turned to see Inspe
ct
or Gaspar
st
anding in the doorway. Duilio nodded to the man but didn’t bother with introdu
ct
ions.

“Are you ready to go?” the inspe
ct
or asked the Lady.

“A
ct
ually,” she said, “I need to
st
ay a while longer and speak to Carvalho about his security. Could you see these two home safely and then return for me?”

The inspe
ct
or nodded and
st
epped inside the library to wait.

Miss Paredes handed the sketch to the Lady. “Perhaps it will help.”

“We’ll talk again,” the Lady said, tucking the folded paper into a handbag Duilio hadn’t noted before. “I think we’ve all learned enough for one night.”

Duilio mentally agreed to that. If they weren’t running short on time, he would like to mull this over for a week or two. Possibly three.

Still looking shaken, Miss Paredes took his mother’s shawl and settled it around her own shoulders. “I’m ready.”

W
alking might not be the fashionable choice, but it was fa
st
er than sending for the carriage and waiting for it to come back. So she and Mr. Ferreira slipped out the servants’ door in the back and walked down the
st
reet in silence, the unknown African man following them at a di
st
ance. Oriana hadn’t caught who he was, although he was likely one of the Lady’s
special
associates. Mr. Ferreira seemed inclined to tru
st
him. For now that was enough for her.

Oriana drew the shawl up over her head to cover her hair. It was chilly out, although not nearly so much as this time la
st
week. Her thoughts swirled. She didn’t think she would sleep at all tonight, despite feeling worn to the bone.

Until tonight, she’d believed that ending up in that house with Isabel had been an accident. Not that those who put them there were unaware of their a
ct
ions, but that the sele
ct
ion of Isabel Amaral and Oriana Paredes as vi
ct
ims had been an accident. Hearing that her placement there might have been intentional—
that hurt
. That Isabel had been killed merely for being with her. For befriending her.

If true, it also implied that the saboteur was aware of Oriana’s identity. The killer hadn’t been, although he might have guessed by now how she’d escaped. Would the killer even know that something was missing from the artwork yet?
How
would he know that?

And Silva, that . . .
bottom-feeder
. She hadn’t believed for a moment that his rescue of her had been beneficent. But he clearly had ugly designs within designs. If that was what one used a seer’s gift for, it was a crime.

The Lady had said it very clearly, though. Silva was a seer, not a particularly
st
rong one,
but
st
ronger than Mr. Ferreira
. The moon was almo
st
full, allowing Oriana to see Mr. Ferreira’s face. He was watching the pede
st
rians on the
st
reet. Not overtly, but she could tell from the way his eyes flicked from group to group, evaluating the danger each posed.

“I owe you an apology,” she told him.

He didn’t look her way, eyes
st
ill busy. “Why do you think that?”

“Because of what I said about seers being frauds.”

He laughed softly. “No offense taken, Miss Paredes.”

A carriage rattled by and she tensed, unable to quell the irrational fear that someone would jump out and grab her. It was foolish. She knew that.

Mr. Ferreira took her hand and laid it on his sleeve. “We will get home safely, Miss Paredes. That’s about all my gift’s good for, but it does tell me that.”

Her tension slipped away like water rolling pa
st
. She wouldn’t have believed those words if they’d come from Silva, seer or not. But she tru
st
ed Duilio Ferreira. They walked on for a moment in silence, and then she said, “So, you and Miss Carvalho are betrothed?”

“No, she and I are
not
betrothed,” he said firmly. “Her father sugge
st
ed that it would be a good match, but I refused his proposition. I wonder how Silva learned about it.”

A good que
st
ion. “She’s a nice girl, although she and Isabel didn’t associate much.”

It was prying, she knew. She didn’t have any business asking into his personal plans.

“Yes, Genoveva Carvalho is a perfe
ct
ly nice young lady. When she was her young si
st
er’s age or so, she fell head over heels in love with Alessio. He never led her on. He was always very clear with women that he had no intention to marry, ever. But he was friendly to her, and that was enough. I would hate to marry a woman for whom I’m the second choice.”

Like Pia,
Oriana thought. Pia would have been Mr. Efisio’s second choice. Oriana wholeheartedly agreed with the girl’s decision to cut her ties with him. They
st
opped for a carriage to cross Clérigos Street, and then continued on. “Why did your brother not intend to marry?”

Mr. Ferreira let out a long breath, sounding almo
st
vexed. “His scruples. He didn’t believe he could be faithful to a wife and refused to take vows he couldn’t uphold.”

“Is that what he and your father argued over so much?” Pressuring a young man to marry and produce a legitimate heir was common in ari
st
ocratic families.

“They argued over everything possible, Miss Paredes. They would argue over whether the color of an invitation card was ivory or bone,” he said with a sigh. “Alessio adored our mother, and it infuriated him that Father was unfaithful to her. Alessio took every opportunity to fling that in his face. Father a
ct
ually threw him out of the house a few years ago. It took the theft of my mother’s pelt to get them to work together on anything.”

Oriana pressed her lips together. She had bickered endlessly with her own father. It didn’t mean she hadn’t adored him. But she’d always thought she knew better than he did, particularly where her younger si
st
er was concerned. It had taken her years on her own to realize how often she’d been wrong as a girl.

She could see the front gate of the Ferreira house now, a reassuring sight, but in the moonlight the house looked Gothic, its dark
st
one haunted by the memories of angry quarrels and bitterness. “Your mother doesn’t mention that about your father—that he was unfaithful.”

“No,” he said, “her people expe
ct
males to be promiscuous. She found it more troublesome that he lied about it and treated women like they were . . . I don’t know . . .
whores.
Throw some money at them and his responsibility ends there. Ju
st
like his father before him.”

Oriana felt the corners of her lips lifting. He definitely wouldn’t have said
that
to Genoveva Carvalho. His irritated tone hinted that the lying mu
st
have irked him as well. And his grandfather’s a
ct
ions had to be part of what made Silva such a twi
st
ed man. “Do you have any other siblings?” she asked cautiously. “Like Silva, I mean?”

He paused at the gate before his house. “There’s a reason I didn’t refute Silva’s claims about the nature of our relationship, Miss Paredes, despite the fa
ct
that I did so earlier when speaking to Rodrigo Pimental. Any scrap of information Silva picks up, he’ll twi
st
into a weapon. He has, in the pa
st
, hinted that I have two ba
st
ard brothers. He says he kept a closer eye on our father than Mother did. I have no way to know if it’s true. But he used that to di
st
ra
ct
me, which was all he was after, I suspe
ct
.”

Somehow she didn’t think another member of the Ferreira family would be a bad thing. “Could it be true?”

“Of course it could,” he said with a sigh.

He swung the gate open, and Oriana saw that Cardenas already
st
ood in the doorway, as if he’d been waiting for them. Oriana went up the flag
st
one walkway to the house. He
st
opped at the front door of the house, nodded in the dire
ct
ion of their di
st
ant escort, and then led her inside while Cardenas locked up behind them. They silently made their way up the
st
airs, but when she
st
opped at her own door, he paused, laying one hand on her arm.

Oriana turned back to look at him in the glow of the gaslight at the head of the hallway. She couldn’t read the expression on his features. He did look tired now, perhaps because he no longer needed to keep up the pretense. He opened his mouth to speak and then apparently thought better of it. She wanted to hear it, she realized, whatever it was he had to say. “Mr. Ferreira?”

He tugged off his gloves and brusquely said, “It isn’t your fault.”

She found herself
st
aring at his patent shoes, surprised by his cross tone. “I . . .”

His fingers lifted her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “You survived,” he said, speaking more gently now. “That doesn’t make you complicit. You are not responsible for Isabel’s death.”

“If they wanted me,” she said, “then Isabel—”

“No,” he interrupted. “It doesn’t matter
why
she ended up there. Neither of you deserved to die. You were both vi
ct
ims that night. You can’t blame yourself.”

She
could
. If she’d never come to Northern Portugal, Isabel wouldn’t be dead. If she’d not taken a job in Isabel’s home, if she’d refused to go with Isabel to Paris, if she had chosen . . . well, there were a thousand other paths her life could have taken, mo
st
of which wouldn’t have tied Isabel Amaral’s fate to hers. Life would be easier if she knew all the ramifications of each choice before she made it, but it seemed she had to make each one blind. And apparently Mr. Ferreira’s gift hadn’t made his life proof again
st
that, either. On the other hand, they had gotten back to the house safely, as he’d promised.

His fingers
st
ill cupped her chin, forcing him to
st
and close. She breathed in and caught that scent he had, the smell she’d mi
st
aken for cologne before. How long had she been
st
anding there silent? His warm eyes weren’t on hers any longer, fixed on her lips in
st
ead.

Foot
st
eps on the
st
airwell made her jerk away, and Mr. Ferreira
st
epped back. Cardenas came up onto the landing only a second later, the keys to the house dangling in his hand. He nodded blandly and bid them both a good evening, no reproach in his expression. Oriana felt it anyway. “Good night, Cardenas,” she answered quickly. “And to you too, Mr. Ferreira.”

Mr. Ferreira tipped his head toward her. “Miss Paredes, try to get some sleep.”

Oriana slipped inside her bedroom without answering. Once she’d closed the door, she pressed her warm cheek again
st
the wood. What had she been thinking?

She’d had to fend off enough attempts at sedu
ct
ion in the pa
st
two years. Duilio Ferreira had been considering kissing her. She was almo
st
certain of that. Almo
st
.

And she had been about to let him.