Malefic, p.5
Malefic, page 5
part #2 of Sinister Series
Time was ticking.
She pulled out the one thing that seemed a little more her speed: a black lacey pantsuit. Most of the footwear had heels so she opted for a pair of ankle-strapped wedges.
She threw everything onto the bed and ran into the bathroom, stripping as she went.
5
LIGHT & SHADOWS
VENICE. WEDNESDAY EVENING.
The sun had already bid farewell to Sofia’s first Venetian day by the time she was pulling the palazzo’s heavy wooden door shut with a loud echoey thud. She looked out at the vista before her and smiled. Fiery red rooftops glowed in the afterlight like hot embers, before slowly fading to grey. The air smelt sweet, like the end of a summer’s day, but that ever-present cold wind was still patrolling the area, blowing across the surface of the canal and funnelling through narrow passageways up to the stone steps, to play with Sofia’s freshly brushed hair like the fingers of restless children.
It was as she was trying to get ready that Sofia realised that she didn’t have any of her creature comforts with her. She needed to change that, so she made a mental note to ask Aurora at some point during the evening for some advice on where best to shop for such things.
In the meantime, she had settled for using a pretty but unusually heavy hairbrush that she had found on a silver tray on the vanity desk in her bedroom. It was there alongside an array of other beauty accessories, including perfume bottles that appeared to be untouched.
Was it all hers? She needed to talk to the lawyer. For now, she told herself that she was borrowing those things, as much as it pained her to do so. She was no expert, but the vanity desk alone must be worth a few thousand. It was made of wood with fanciful carvings and painted silver. It looked like the real deal. Which was why she couldn’t truly relax. Like a child in a stranger’s house, she was perpetually terrified of dirtying or damaging something. An act that would no doubt put her on a warpath with the housekeeper from hell.
Sofia had no idea as to the customary gift one brought to a neighbourly dinner in Venice. Aurora was undoubtedly a woman of style and bringing her the bottle of Italian wine from a brand she did not recognise that she had found in one of the kitchen cupboards somehow felt inadequate. Even so, it was exactly what she was carrying. It was better than going empty-handed, after all.
She crossed the crest of the steps and looked down into the dimly lit gloom of the via below and wondered what it would feel like to take a tumble down there. The mere thought of fragile flesh impacting against cold stone sent a shiver down her spine.
Sharing steps instead of a driveway was something Sofia had never experienced before. She liked it. Especially when she had to cross the tiny narrow bridge over the canal. It was like crossing a drawbridge to a fort. Particularly as, instead of the usual garden lights, her path appeared to be lit by lanterns.
The front door continued with this theme. Not unlike Palazzo Rosso’s, it appeared to be made of solid wood, bound by black metal rods of steel, and branded with a series of unusual symbols she couldn’t decipher.
It was lit by two burning torches that completed the medieval look, though Sofia—or perhaps more Sophie—couldn’t help but wonder if placing naked flames outside your front door wasn’t a bit of a safety hazard.
Really? You’re worried about bloody health and safety?
Sofia shook her head at herself. That was what working at the airport had done to her; everything needed an on-the-spot risk assessment.
Ugh. Work. She hadn’t really thought about that place since sending Steve that letter and had no intention of starting now. Despite the odd pang of apprehension about her decision to leave England and her old life, she was happy. There. She had admitted it to herself. She had had a wonderful day and, for the first time since her father’s funeral, she was allowing herself a real moment of happiness. Was that so wrong?
She spotted a red rope and tassel hanging out of a hole in the wall. She pulled on it, expecting to hear a bell clang somewhere, but there was nothing except an odd fusion of rhythmic percussion and Celtic music, pushing its way out under the door and rushing off to join the many merriments she could hear coming from other parts of the city.
A minute or so passed. She half expected to hear bare feet slapping on stone as someone approached the door but there was nothing.
She spun around, sensing something. Night was fast devouring the last dregs of daylight, yet it was still bright enough to see that the path behind her was empty. Strange. She was sure she had felt someone standing right behind her. But she was alone.
She pulled the rope again. Twice this time. She was eager to get inside, but when that yielded nothing, she stepped back from the building. There were small windows on the ground and first floor. It almost seemed as though they were painted black, but this could only be an illusion. It was obviously just dark inside, everywhere but upstairs where she could see that one of the windows was glowing amber. There was someone inside.
“Aurora?” she called up.
There was singing on the streets below. Laughter. Music. But no reply from anybody inside the house.
She considered leaving. Aurora had obviously changed her mind. But first she walked forward and thumped on the door. As she did so, she noticed that, now that daylight was almost faded away, the symbols were clearer somehow, brighter, as if glowing under the flickering torchlight.
She moved in for a closer look before drawing in a sharp breath. The carvings, underlined by an iron bar, were of a group of naked horned beings, seemingly defiling a clutch of naked females as well as the occasional male. The detail was astonishing, more akin to a painting than something that had been carved into wood. She almost expected one of those things to turn and look up at her with lustful eyes.
She snatched her head away. One of them just did! It moved!
She blinked and refocussed. That’s silly. It was just a trick of the light and her own overactive imagination. She knew exactly what this was about. It was about everything else here. She was the proverbial fish out of water, and she was already starting to manufacture reasons why she shouldn’t remain.
Well, I am. I’m staying.
Frustrated, she tried turning the loop handle. It clicked and swung open with a loud atmospheric creak.
The chamber music was much louder now and a bittersweet fragrance of burning incense welcomed her.
“Aurora?” she called, trying to raise her voice over the music that she now realised was coming not from the second floor but from a doorway across the dimly lit entrance lobby.
There were no electrical lights in here. Everything appeared to be lit by the amber glow of flickering candles. They burned and glinted off the ornate gem-encrusted chandelier above her head and from the pewter candelabras set upon tables that were seemingly carved out of the natural shape of tree trunks.
“Aurora?” she called again.
Nothing.
“Aurora! It’s Soph-ia!”
Her voice was loud and echoed around the walls. They were adorned by ornate wood panels featuring more carvings she couldn’t identify—not that she particularly wanted to—and frescos of unrecognisable characters in woodlands and on riverbanks.
Her frustration was already dissipating, absorbed by the undulating shadows, and giving way to nervousness. She was, after all, venturing inside the inner sanctum of somebody else’s home. She wasn’t afraid though, she told herself.
Why would you be afraid?
Her heart, on the other hand, was already reacting to the fact that she had entered such a dark place without permission and was thumping against her ribcage, urging her to turn back.
I do have permission. I was invited.
No. You just let yourself in!
And yet she stepped forward.
“Aurora!”
She had barely got the word out of her mouth when her attention was drawn to the end of the hallway, to more undulating shadows and something else. Laughter. It was faint but loud enough to be heard over the music.
She took another step forward but stopped when she saw the stairs to the next floor. At first, she thought it was a trick of the dim light, but when she moved closer, she could see that it wasn’t, and the sight quite literally took the breath from her mouth.
It was a masterpiece and could only be the elaborate result of a film set created to be one of the most magical of fairy-tale movies. The thick branches of a naked tree, reminiscent of Jack’s beanstalk, snaked up the side of wooden steps to create an elaborate natural handrail that disappeared into the ceiling. The effect was so realistic that Sofia felt compelled to reach out and touch it. There was no mistaking its texture. It was a real tree, confirmed by the heady aroma of terpenes and the musky fragrance of tree bark.
The realisation brought a smile to Sofia’s face as she ran her fingers over the abrasive surface only to suddenly snatch them away.
She reached out once more. Slowly. Tentatively. Yes! There! Did she imagine that too? No. It was there. Faint, perhaps, but perceptible. A tiny current running through her fingers, up her arm, and through her body. A thrum like a lifeforce. The very same one she had experienced at Greenfields.
Loud laughter startled her, and she pulled her hand away once more.
Now, her eyes fully accustomed to the gloom, she made her way further down the entrance hall and crossed to an open doorway where the amber light glowed brighter.
She stepped inside to find herself standing in what looked like a giant observatory. Overhead, a giant cloth studded with twinkling lights appeared to have been fashioned into an oval shape, resembling an eye. It was only when Sofia spotted the now ubiquitous glow that she realised. It wasn’t a piece of cloth at all but an oval window to a juvenile night sky, studded with stars. At its centre, like a queen bee in her hive, was the unmistakable glimmering coma of the comet. Sofia had completely forgotten about that thing. Right now, it looked like one of the most beautiful gems she’d ever seen. Still, there was something about it that unsettled her, and she must have drawn in a sharp breath or something because a voice suddenly spoke from inside the shadows.
“Ah, there you are. We’ve been expecting you,” it said.
Sofia squinted through the candlelight to see Aurora’s milky pearlescent shoulders peeking out from her velvet kaftan, her long black hair spilling, like ink, down her back to the base of her spine. She was sat in front of a large canvas, painting, although Sofia couldn’t see what from her angle.
All around, the shadows ebbed and shifted as if the woman were performing to an audience.
“Please. There’s nothing to fear, my lovely.”
Sofia forced a laugh. “I…um…I’m not afraid.”
“And yet you continue to view the portent as something evil.”
“Portent?”
“The comet.”
“Oh” was all Sofia could say. It seemed as if the woman had read her mind. Given the peculiar setting in which she found herself, it sent a skitter of a chill over her skin. “Well,” she said, swallowing, “things haven’t gone too well for me since it showed up.”
“And yet here you are. A contessa of her own palace, no less, in the beautiful city of light and shadows. Please, come in. Don’t be shy, my dearest Sofia. You are most welcome here. Most welcome.”
She continued with her art.
“Painting by candlelight, as many of history’s most renowned artists did too, is one of my favourite pastimes.” Her arm moved over the canvas in short strokes.
Sofia tentatively stepped forward.
“Did you know that Sofia means wisdom in Greek?” Aurora asked casually, eyes still on the task in hand.
“No, I didn’t,” Sofia responded with a shake of the head, as if the woman, her face still turned toward her canvas, could see her.
“Yes, it does. And Aurora means dawn. My favourite time of the day: the periphery between light and darkness.”
Sofia stepped around her host, and, like a developing photo, the painting slowly came into view.
Two heads. Two men. Both had short hair though one was darker than the other. Blond hair was painted above a round face with pointy chin and neat, elvish-like ears. Black hair crowned a square face with a strong jawline and small ears. The figure of blond hair had a slim yet defined naked body, with an arm resting on one leg and a cheeky grin on his face. The man of dark hair possessed a thick muscular body, nude and leaning back onto a delicate chair, his two strong arms rippling. He had speckled stubble on his face and a lustful glint in his eyes.
“Wow,” Sofia said, marvelling at the detail in the painting. “This is amazing.”
“You like it?” Aurora asked.
“I love it. They look like ancient gods.”
“Or demons,” Aurora mused.
Sofia laughed. “Now that you mention it… definitely naughty little devils!”
“Good evening, Sofia.”
The sound of men’s voices greeting her in perfect synchronicity made her jump back, away from the painting, as if it had spoken to her.
“We are over here,” said an amused voice in perfect English, but with an Italian inflection.
It took Sofia a few seconds to establish that the voice was not coming from the easel but from beyond it. She took another step forward and peeked around the canvas. Her eyes widened.
The two men in the painting were actually in the room, posing against a backdrop of red velvet and gold cushions. Both were naked.
Reflexively, Sofia shielded her eyes with her hand, as if wanting to spare the men’s modesty. In truth, she was protecting her own.
Aurora laughed out loud. “Oh, isn’t she adorable? It’s just nakedness, Sofia,” she chuckled with great enjoyment.
“I…um…” But Sofia couldn’t find the words. It wasn’t so much the nudity, although that was embarrassing enough considering that she had only just met these people. It was also the men’s… um… assets. The painting may have depicted them as innocent statues of gods but there was nothing innocent about the generous appendages both men were proudly exhibiting between their legs. Sofia wasn’t much of an expert on the subject, but the two men appeared to be particularly well endowed.
“My, my, Sofia, I do believe you are blushing,” Aurora said with a big grin. “Isn’t the Contessa adorable, boys?” she asked.
Both men nodded, but it was the one with the light hair who allowed his eyes to crawl, lingeringly, all over their guest. It compelled Sofia to look at herself for fear that she might have something on show that shouldn’t be.
“Sofia, meet Daniele and Gabriele, or Daniel and Gabriel, if you prefer,” Aurora declared, pointing at the two men in turn. “Aren’t they fine specimens?” she asked conspiratorially.
All Sofia could do was nod.
“Oh, my divine girl!” Aurora declared suddenly. “My absolute favourite!” She was greedily eying the bottle Sofia had forgotten she was carrying.
“Really?”
“Absolutely. But so expensive. Are you sure you want to part with it?”
“I…um…” Sofia looked at the bottle.
“Not much of an expert, eh?” Aurora said, allowing the northern origins of her accent to make an appearance, suddenly making her even more approachable. “You won’t get much change from a thousand dollars, I’d say.”
“What?” Sofia’s eyes widened and she yelped when she almost dropped the thing. Aurora shrieked with laughter once more.
“Okay, boys,” she said. “That’ll be all for now. We’ll pick this up again later. Now that our guest is here, it’s time for supper. Take the bottle through too, but don’t open it in case Sofia changes her mind. We’ll be there shortly.”
The men jumped up from their positions and confidently swung past Sofia, forcing her to avert her gaze once more. Daniele though, the fairest of the two men, turned back to her, sporting a mischievous smile. Sofia wasn’t sure if the heat was in her cheeks or emanating from the man’s nakedness. Then, slowly, he lifted a hand to her.
“May I?” he said, smile still intact.
Sofia wasn’t sure what the man wanted and was about to give him her hand when she realised. He wanted the bottle. She handed it to him, and the man finally walked away.
“Are you offended by nakedness, Sofia?” Aurora asked.
Sofia was surprised by the question and unsure how to answer it. “Well, not really. It’s just—”
“Just big cocks, eh?” Aurora laughed, her voice husky. The woman was obviously teasing.
Thank God it’s dark in here.
“You know, my mother used to always say, ‘Rora, if you’re gonna have one, have a biggun’.’ She was ya typical Northern lass.” The words were spoken with a perfect Yorkshire dialect that sounded odd coming from the glamorous woman’s lips. “You still seem surprised?” she asked, as if she had read Sofia’s thoughts.
“I would never have pegged you as a Northern lass.”
The woman leaned in. “Shh… let that be our secret,” she said, placing a long bony finger on her cherry lips. Then she left her stool and stood, the velvet fabric of her kaftan falling around her slender frame and to the floor, as if it was being poured over her. “Please, join me,” she said, extending a hand to her guest.
Sofia allowed herself to be led out of the room, into the hallway and through pools of light. Her host moved with the grace of royalty, the velvet caressing her every curve while the shadows appeared to stir, grow, and dissipate like smoke in her presence, a phenomenon that Sofia attributed to the candlelight.
She followed Aurora down the corridor, past the staircase, across the entrance, and into a large rectangular room.
A black chandelier laden with red candles hung over a heavy blackwood dining table. It featured two more ornately carved candelabras and a veritable banquet of food. From roast piglet to stuffed birds, from pies to a cornucopia of fruit. Crystal glasses, wine carafes, and silverware winked under the amber glow. There was no tablecloth, just a decorative grape and gold-coloured runner.
