Malefic, p.22
Malefic, page 22
part #2 of Sinister Series
Sofia met him with a blank stare, so Cameron took a deep breath and continued. “Okay, do you know the story of the Star of the Morning?”
Sofia shook her head.
“Right. So, the Star of the Morning was one of God’s most prized angels. A chief angel, if you will, blessed with unrivalled beauty and wisdom. But after a while, not unlike most aesthetically gifted people today, this chief angel started to develop a bit of a chip on his shoulder. He literally thought he was God’s gift, hence the expression, because he was endowed with what most others lacked. Because of this, he felt he shouldn’t have to worship God but instead wanted to be worshipped as a god himself. He became proud and, in God’s eyes, corrupted by his own splendour. God had no choice but to evict him and all his cohorts from the lap of Heaven and threw them to Earth.
“Which is why, many centuries ago, when the place we now know as Venice was just a boggy swamp and thousands fled here to escape the tyranny of Attila the Hun, they received a warm welcome. For this is where the Star of the Morning had built his own church. They worshipped and sacrificed to him in exchange for his wisdom, leadership, and of course, his protection. Before long, a major settlement was established that many years later would emerge as the country of Venetia, which was eventually assimilated and Romanised. Under the Romans, Venetia and its capital Padua became extremely wealthy. An empire was born, and it ruled the world.”
Sofia pulled a face. “Okay, Cam. Great history lesson, but not quite what I was after.”
The guide smiled. “Sofia, while it’s certainly undergone many alterations, the church of the Star of the Morning is Palazzo Rosso. That’s why it commands prime position on the Grand Canal. It’s quite literally stood there for centuries.”
“Right. Palazzo Rosso used to be a church. So what?”
“Not just any church, Sofia. His church.”
“This morning star angel person?”
“Star of the Morning.”
“Yes, him. Is that it?”
“Do you know who the Star of the Morning became better known as?”
“I have no—”
“Lucifer, Sofia,” Cameron threw out. “He became better known as Lucifer, the Prince of Darkness, and whichever other name you’d care to affix to the being who professed himself to be the very antithesis of God.”
Sofia let out a laugh. “Right. Good and evil. That old chestnut. Got it,” she said with a smirk.
“It’s no joke. Some awful things have happened there over the years, Sofia. Terrible things,” Cameron added seriously.
Sofia stopped smiling. “Okay, Cam. Just so you know, you’re doing that thing you do and are starting to creep me out. I mean, you’re acting like I’ve moved into some kind of satanic temple or something.”
Cameron looked at her like he was about to say something further but then thought better of it.
“What?” she prompted.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Cameron…” she warned. She didn’t particularly want to hear more, but she needed to. The tour guide was now shifting the weight on his feet, his eyes darting every which way but at her. She had to know.
“Sofia, nobody just moves into Palazzo Rosso,” he said gravely, his voice barely above a whisper.
“What do you mean?” she said, stiffening as her body reacted to the tone of his voice and what it might mean.
Cameron hesitated and was about to continue with his story when…
“Sofia?”
They both turned to watch Maria Bacciabella walk up to them. As always, she looked stylish in a black pantsuit wrapped in a longline petrol-colour sweater.
“What a wonderful surprise,” she said, joining them. “We weren’t expecting you today. Is everything all right?”
“Oh yes. Sorry, I wasn’t planning on coming in but then I realised that I needed to talk to Cameron about something.”
“Oh. I see.” Bacciabella looked at the guide and then glanced at the group of tourists milling about behind him.
The action did not require words. Instantly, Cameron said, “Well, I best get back to me tour. It was nice seeing you, Sofia. Give my best to Janay, won’t ya?” He nodded at Bacciabella then hurried away.
“How are you, Sofia?” the curator asked, reaching out and gently touching her new recruit on the arm. “Is everything all right?” There was kindness and sympathy in her eyes, as if she were feeling Sofia’s pain.
“Oh yes, much better now, thank you,” Sofia said, both masking her disappointment that her conversation with Cameron had been cut short and thinking of ways to avoid being dragged into small talk with her new boss. She didn’t want to appear ungrateful. The lady had been good to her, but she needed time to process everything she had learned today, and that couldn’t happen while she was here. She needed to get away.
“Things seem to be coming together for the gala. Raffaella has done a wonderful job with the exhibit. We’re very much looking forward to it. Are you?”
Sofia squinted. “Um… not really. Raffaella said it was senior staff only.”
“Nonsense. Everybody’s excited to meet you.”
“Everybody?”
“Of course.”
“Um, well, actually, Maria, I—”
“Yes?” the woman asked eagerly.
“I…I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Why, my dear child, even Cinderella managed to make it to the ball, no?”
Sofia didn’t know how to take that. Cinderella had a fairy godmother, someone she could definitely use but was sorely lacking. Of course, it was just the woman’s way of telling her to be creative. Nonetheless, it reminded her of how lonely she was, despite the curator’s good intentions.
“Of course,” she said with a smile. It didn’t matter anyway. The gala was in a few days, and by then, all being well, she wouldn’t even be in Venice anymore.
22
INTO THE VOID
WEDNESDAY. EARLY EVENING.
By the time Sofia returned to Palazzo Rosso, the blackened sky had been roused from its slumber. A thundering flotilla of heavy charcoal rain clouds drizzled their intention to unleash a watery payload on a city already drowning in Acqua Alta.
Although Cameron hadn’t managed to go into the specifics, he had said enough to crank her imagination into gear. Since she had left him, she had done nothing but think about the apparently satanic nature of the temple she had adopted as her home. Though, in truth, she realised, it was more as if it had adopted her.
It was all ludicrous, of course. As he said, it was just one of those urban legends that had been handed down through the generations. She truly believed it must be so, she told herself. It had to be. Still, her own reassurances did nothing to dilute the images of Daniele at the foot of those steps and the punctured eye sockets of her housekeeper.
No. There was no way she was staying there tonight. She didn’t have any money, but she did have a credit card and a goal. She would use the card to check in to the first available hotel, where she planned to soak in a hot bath as she processed everything that had happened. And, after a good night’s sleep, she was going to collect her friend from the hospital.
She had no idea what she was going to do after that because anything beyond picking up Janay would see her move from law abiding citizen to fugitive.
You should know your own police in England, they already make a warrant your arrest. Puglisi’s stumbling words echoed in her mind.
A warrant for her arrest? That was insane! She hadn’t done anything wrong. The image of a couple of burly officers clapping handcuffs on her the moment she walked through the arrivals gate threw itself at her.
At the bridge over the canal, she paused to catch her breath and looked across. From her position, she could not see anything of the fate that had befallen Daniele, apart from a patch of dark discoloration on the washed stone.
Blood. His blood.
Overturned shoe. His head facing his back. The faint smile on his lips. A trainload of grotesque images rattled along the tracks of her mind, as they had ever since she had witnessed the scene. She wished she could reach into her brain and scrub them away, but she knew they would haunt her for the rest of her days. Some horrors could never be forgotten.
What had she become? Moving to Italy was supposed to be a fresh start for her, but it had turned out to be an ugly continuation of what had started back in England. Maybe the police were onto something. Maybe all of this somehow had something to do with her. But how? She was a nobody.
Contessa of Palazzo Rosso.
Now, as the storm clouds gathered overhead and thunder rumbled to unleash a wintry gale until it howled through the passageways and swarmed all around her, that title took on a whole new meaning.
Contessa of the Temple of Lucifer.
No. She definitely could not stay there. Not tonight, not now, and certainly not alone.
She hastily climbed the steps, her eyes averted from the large, smudged stain. She paused at the top and looked towards Aurora’s house. She needed to go and see her, as uncomfortable as that meeting was going to be. It was the right and proper thing to do.
Right and proper. Those words again. In the light of everything that had happened, the world appeared to be anything but, yet the feeling she had about the phrase remained the same. She would visit Aurora as soon as she was done collecting Janay’s things.
She turned to the door and frowned. That ugly appendage of a doorknocker watched her with its grin and those dead eyes. She wanted to smash it. If she had an axe to hand right now, that is exactly what she would do. She would swing it and she would swing it until there was nothing left of the little monster. Instead, she looked away, as she had always done since she first saw it, turned the key in the lock, and entered.
As much as she didn’t want to shut herself inside, she let the door go. It swung slowly, heavily, creakily shut, with a loud thud that echoed around her.
The entrance hall had its usual cold and inhospitable atmosphere. It was like she’d stepped into the lair of a thousand malignant spirits seeking justice for the many wrongs done to them. The house somehow felt more unwelcoming than it had earlier in the day, even colder and bleaker. She supposed her imagination wasn’t helping any, fuelled by what she’d learned since. It wasn’t surprising. Of course she was going to sense more malevolence in the place than was rational, in the light of the history Cameron had illuminated, but at the end of the day it was just bricks and mortar. Stone and… glass. She thought about the housekeeper’s eyes and shivered.
It’s just a building, Sofia! It is only what you make of it. Satan’s temple?! If it wasn’t so bloody creepy it would be laughable.
The germ of her self-comforting smile was sterilised the moment she heard the sounds drifting to her from deep within the belly of the palazzo. Thumping… Whispering…
At first she thought she was imagining it, but then she stopped and held her breath. Yes, there! There were voices coming from up ahead, from inside the ballroom.
Hell bloody no. She considered turning around and heading straight back out the front door but then heard another sound. Was that laughter?
She waited then took a step forward.
More laughter. Yes, she could definitely hear it now. It wasn’t ghostly whisperings at all, but people talking in Italian.
What the hell was going on? She hurried forward, each step an indignant stride until she saw him.
Armando. She let go of the breath she was holding when she saw what he was doing. The handyman had plugged the gaping holes of the balcony doors with plywood, blocking out what little daylight was left as well as the beauty of the view outside that had so captivated her when she first arrived. God, it felt like a lifetime ago and yet had only just been a week.
The handyman had also enlisted the help of a few of his friends. They were busy cleaning and polishing away every trace of what had happened there with meticulous attention. One of the six men was even on his hands and knees, scrubbing in between the gaps of the floor tiles with a tiny brush.
The moment they sensed her presence, the whole crew jumped to their feet. Like Armando, they promptly removed their hats and turned their eyes to the floor. The scene was reminiscent of an officer arriving for a hut inspection at a concentration camp.
She hoped that wasn’t how they saw her and hated herself for having such a bizarre thought. She acknowledged the men with a feeble smile.
Eyes still to his feet, one man spoke. “Domani,” he said, making a circular gesture with his finger. “Domani ripariamo il vetro.”
Sofia nodded vacantly. She thought she caught the gist of what the man was saying. Domani meant tomorrow. And vetro… She knew of a company called Vetro, and they specialised almost exclusively in glass tables. It wasn’t much of a leap to conclude that the man was talking about replacing the glass in the balcony doors tomorrow.
She didn’t know if she even cared about that right now. What she did care about was that there was a group of mature but handy men in the building. That made her feel better. Safer. In fact, she wanted them to stay while she did whatever she needed to, not that she could communicate that to them. Besides, even if she could, she didn’t want to come across as a silly little girl that was afraid of being in her own house by herself, especially in the face of such deference.
So, she simply smiled again before hurrying up the stairs. With a bit of luck, she’d be able to collect all of Janay’s things and some items for herself before the men downstairs were done.
Sofia was about to enter Janay’s room when she heard a creak. It was coming from the opposite end of the floor, near her room.
The gallery was steeped in shadows. The gold candelabra sconces hanging at intervals from the wall struggled to pierce the gloom. One of them seemed to be flickering. Or was it her imagination?
Sofia wasn’t sure, but the creak she thought she had heard had sounded like weight shifting on floorboards. Like somebody was down there and had just stepped out of sight.
“Hello?” She spoke the word reluctantly as if she didn’t want to hear a reply. Which was good because the only response was from the sound of the men working downstairs. And it was reassuring.
There was nothing down there, nothing she could see, yet a sinister feeling of being watched crawled over her skin like the tickle of insect legs.
She hesitated a few more seconds then sighed. The more she did this to herself, the worse things were going to seem. The seed had been planted now. Every single sound and movement and shimmer of light was going to seem bloody creepy from here on out because she had put herself in this situation. Things were already bad enough. She should never have visited Cameron and learned what he knew.
What’s done is done. She needed to focus.
She turned, hurried across to Janay’s room, and paused outside as the sound of her screams replayed in her mind. She felt the wall for the light and clicked it on for what it was worth, but it did little to illuminate the space. It seemed like the lightbulbs all over the building had suddenly become fatigued from all their years of service and no longer had the verve to continue performing their function.
She took in the desolate room. Just a few days before, she and Janay had entered this space and filled it with drunken giggles and lively chatter. Now, Janay’s suitcase lay abandoned on the floor and her clothes were discarded on a nearby chair. The bed was naked but for a new fitted sheet. The housekeeper must have replaced it some time since. The housekeeper. Dead. Every time she thought about her, all she could see was those shards of glass.
She hurried forward, opened the suitcase, and then started to collect Janay’s clothing and other items. Questions about what actually took place there chased her around the room. She dodged obvious responses, but they came at her relentlessly. Her friend did have a lot to drink. The housekeeper testified that Janay had snuck Daniele into her room. Why would she lie? But why would Janay lie? There was no denying that she had been attacked, that much was obvious and corroborated by her doctors.
Sofia shook her head as if attempting to shrug off the thought of even momentarily doubting her friend. She switched on the bathroom light and hurried inside, avoiding her reflection in the mirror. She’d only seen a few horror movies, but she knew the drill. If she looked directly into the mirror, there was a good chance she would see the reflection of an ugly vampiric creature glaring back at her.
No thank you.
Instead, she collected Janay’s toothbrush and other assorted items, placed them back inside her washbag and then attempted to zip the whole thing up as she hurried back towards the bedroom. In her haste, the zip snagged and when she attempted to yank it up, she tugged the whole bag from her own grasp. It fell to the marble floor with a loud thud, spilling and scattering its contents across the room.
Sofia swore. She considered leaving everything as it lay. She would pick it up tomorrow or even just replace it. But Janay had been quite specific about needing this stuff. And what exactly was her problem? Why exactly was she allowing herself to be chased—
Her thought was interrupted by the creak of the door. She could do nothing but watch as it slowly and loudly screeched forward as if it was about to close.
It didn’t, but the fact that it had moved at all was enough to shift the thumping of her heart into a new gear. She crouched down, snatched up the nearby toothbrush, and shoved it back in the bag. Next, she retrieved the errant moisturiser, miniature perfume bottles, and lipstick.
It was when she moved to the far corner of the room to retrieve a runaway compact that she felt a draft brush against the back of her hand. She looked up and was startled to see wild-looking eyes staring back at her.
Her own.
She was gazing into a full-length mirror, housed in an ornate frame. She instantly wanted to look away for the same reason she wanted to avoid the mirror in the bathroom but lingered for several seconds as the air around her face shifted. Slowly, she moved forward, turning her cheek to her reflection. Yes! There!
