Inside, however, the veneer of normalcy proved thin.
The proprietress, Laura Malipiero, sat behind a desk in the front lobby swathed in purple and black velvet, shuffling a tarot deck. Her hair was wild and curly, with streaks of white through the black. A garland of black paper bats was draped over the mailboxes, and the scent of sage and dragon’s-blood incense hung in the air.
“We’re full,” she said, not looking up from her cards. A cigarette was clasped in the corner of her mouth. It was purple and black, just like her outfit. At first I didn’t think it was lit. Signorina Malipiero was sitting under a sign that read VIETATO FUMARE, after all. But then the witch took a deep drag on it. There was indeed no smoke, though the tip glowed.
“They say she’s the richest witch in Venice. She made her fortune selling enchanted cigarettes.” Janet eyed her with disapproval. She had donned her disguising spell again and to the casual observer looked to be a frail nonagenarian rather than a slender thirty-something.
“I’m sorry, sisters, but the Regata delle Befane is this week, and there isn’t a room to be had in this part of Venice.” Signorina Malipiero’s attention remained on her cards.
I’d seen notices all over town announcing the annual Epiphany gondola race to see who could get from San Tomà to the Rialto the fastest. There were two races, of course: the official regatta in the morning and the far more exciting and dangerous one at midnight that involved not just brute strength but magic, too.
“We aren’t interested in a room, Signorina Malipiero. I’m Janet Gowdie, and this is Diana Bishop. We’re here to see Satu Järvinen on Congregation business—if she’s not practicing for the gondola race, that is.”
The Venetian witch looked up in shock, her dark eyes huge and her cigarette dangling.
“Room 17, is it? No need to trouble yourself. We can show ourselves up.” Janet beamed at the stunned witch and bundled me off in the direction of the stairs.
“You, Janet Gowdie, are a bulldozer,” I said breathlessly as she hustled me down the corridor. “Not to mention a mind reader.” It was such a useful magical talent.
“What a lovely thing to say, Diana.” Janet knocked on the door. “Cameriera!”
There was no answer. And after yesterday’s marathon Congregation meeting, I was tired of waiting. I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob and murmured an opening spell. The door swung open. Satu Järvinen was waiting for us inside, both hands up, ready to work magic.
I snared the threads that surrounded her and pulled them tight, binding her arms to her sides. Satu gasped.
“What do you know about weavers?” I demanded.
“Not as much as you do,” Satu replied.
“Is this why you treated me so badly at La Pierre?” I asked.
Satu’s expression was steely. Her actions then had been taken in the interest of self-preservation. She felt no remorse. “I won’t let you expose me. They’ll kill us all if they find out what weavers can do,” Satu said.
“They’ll kill me anyway for loving Matthew. What do I have to lose?”
“Your children,” Satu spit.
That, it turned out, was going too far.
“You are unfit to possess a witch’s gifts. I bind thee, Satu Järvinen, delivering you into the hands of the goddess without power or craft.” With the index finger of my left hand, I pulled the threads one more inch and knotted them tight. My finger flared darkly purple. It was, I had discovered, the color of justice.
Satu’s power left her in a whoosh, sucking the air out of the room.
“You can’t spellbind me!” she cried. “It’s forbidden!”
“Report me to the Congregation,” I said. “But before you do, know this: Nobody will be able to break the knot that binds you—except me. And what use will you be to the Congregation in this state? If you want to keep your seat, you’ll have to keep your silence—and hope that Sidonie von Borcke doesn’t notice.”
“You will pay for this, Diana Bishop!” Satu promised.
“I already have,” I said. “Or have you forgotten what you did to me in the name of sisterly solidarity?”
I advanced on her slowly. “Being spellbound is nothing compared to what Benjamin will do to you if he discovers that you are a weaver. You’ll have no way to defend yourself and will be entirely at his mercy. I’ve seen what Benjamin does to the witches he tries to impregnate. Not even you deserve that.”
Satu’s eyes flickered with fear.
“Vote for the de Clermont motion this afternoon.” I released Satu’s arms, but not the binding spell that limited her power. “For your own sake, if not for Matthew.”
Satu tried and failed to use her magic against me.
“Your power is gone. I wasn’t lying, sister.” I turned and stalked away. At the doorway I stopped and turned. “And don’t ever threaten my children again. If you do, you’ll be begging me to throw you down a hole and forget about you.”
* * *
Gerbert tried to delay the final vote on procedural grounds, arguing that the current constitution of the governing council did not meet the criteria set out in foundational documents dating from the Crusader period. These stipulated the presence of three vampires, three witches, and three daemons.
Janet stopped me from strangling the creature by quickly explaining that since she and I were both part vampire and part witch, the Congregation was equally balanced. While she argued percentages, I examined Gerbert’s so-called foundational documents and discovered words such as “unalienable” that were decidedly eighteenth-century in their tone. Presented with a list of the linguistic anachronisms in this supposedly Crusader document, Gerbert scowled at Domenico and said these were obviously later transcriptions of lost originals.
No one believed him.
Janet and I won the vote: six to three. Satu voted as we told her to do, her attitude subdued and defeated. Even Tatiana joined our ranks thanks to Osamu, who had devoted his morning to mapping the precise location of not only Chelm but every Russian city beginning with Ch just to prove that the Polish city’s witches had nothing to do with her grandmother’s skin affliction. When the two entered the council chamber hand in hand, I figured she might have switched not only sides but boyfriends.
Once the vote was tallied and recorded, we didn’t linger to celebrate. Instead Gallowglass, Janet, Fernando, and I took off in the de Clermont launch, headed across the lagoon for the airport.
As planned, I sent a three-letter text to Hamish with the results of the vote: QGA. It stood for Queen’s Gambit Accepted, a code to indicate that the Congregation had been persuaded to support Matthew’s rescue. We did not know if anyone was monitoring our communications, but we’d decided to be cautious.