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was the Book of the Eternal Rose, but she had to check. After all,
the yellowed parchment looked very old. Tiptoeing into the room,
she bent low and squinted at the faded ink.
“Take Earth of Earth, Water of Earth, Fire of Earth, and Water
of the Wood. These are to lie together and then be parted. The spirit
of life is made up of three pure souls, as purged as crystal. Blood,
bone, and hair grow into a stone, which in turn will break the hold of
eternal slumber.”
Blood, bone, and hair grow into a stone? What did that mean?
Cass skimmed through the rest of the pages. The book was full of
stories about people who had risen from the dead. It made Cass think
of Belladonna. Was her history contained in this volume? Cass
didn’t have time to read the whole thing.
She turned her attention to the bookshelf and skimmed the other
titles. It was empty except for a few books about alchemy. There was
nothing that seemed to connect to the Order of the Eternal Rose, but
she flipped quickly through each of them to be certain. As she went
to replace the last book, a flicker of light startled her.
Leaning in, she realized there was an opening cut into the wall
behind the shelves. Someone had tried to hide it, but the corners
didn’t quite match up.
Cass pushed at the bookshelf. It didn’t budge. She inhaled deeply
and leaned against the wood. As she exhaled, she shoved with her
whole body. The set of shelves slid over, revealing a narrow doorway. Light danced against dark walls from within.
Holding her breath, she stepped into the secret room. The flash
of light had come from a swirling bronze candelabra that stood
against one wall. Four candles sat atop it, arranged in a Y shape. The
center candle was unlit. Four canvases hung behind the candelabra,
mounted in plain wooden frames. Four marble pedestals that looked
as if they might have been relocated from the portego were spread
across the room in a larger Y shape.
Despite the dancing flames, the room felt colder than the rest of
Palazzo Viaro’s lower level. Cass didn’t know what someone was
doing down here, but it wasn’t good. People didn’t just vacate their
houses and leave candles burning. It was much too dangerous. Either
    the person who lived here was disturbed or the candles were part of
a spell.
Or both.
Cass knew she should turn, go, flee, forget this place. But the
paintings enticed her forward. Her heart rose up into her throat as
she recognized the canvases from the art exhibition she had attended
the day of Madalena’s wedding: Mariabella, Sophia, and a woman
Cass thought of as R—each of them painted in a reclined position,
reaching out to the artist, their dark hair falling seductively over
their shoulders. Each with a tiny X carved across her heart. It wasn’t
the fact that they were dead girls that caused Cass’s hands to shake so
badly that she nearly dropped her lantern.
They were dead girls painted by Cristian de Lambert.
Luca’s half brother. The man who had tried to kill her . . . and
promised to try again.
“When the body dies, slivers of its essence
linger in the shadows of the living.” —THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
seven
    C
    ass’s breath went shallow. She had expected Belladonna or Piero, perhaps even Angelo de Gradi or one
of Dubois’s men. But she had never expected to find
evidence of Cristian de Lambert at Palazzo Viaro. He
was supposed to be gone. Dubois had sent him away for good, at least
that’s what Luca had assured her.
    She needed to leave right this instant. But she also needed to know
who was on the fourth canvas. Luca believed that Cristian had killed
his little sister, Diana, when she was only six years old. Was it possible?
    Cass glanced back at the narrow doorway before hesitantly creeping closer to the fourth picture. The light from the candelabra barely
reached the edges of the canvas. It wasn’t a painting of Luca’s little
sister.
    It was a painting of Cass.
Cristian had painted