Part 25 (2/2)

The sound was somehow hideous in this shadowy, silent place. She turned, and the sound registered. It was indeed a door. The door to the strange church.

Closing.

Just as she started racing for it, it slammed with a vengeance.

She ran for the door, throwing herself against it. She pounded, slammed, swore, and pounded some more.

Finally, she exhausted herself.

She stared back at the altar. ”This isn't funny at all. I will go to the police. The polizia, do you hear me!” Forcing her courage, she walked back toward the altar. ”I am leaving here, now, do you understand? Do you understand!”

She called out, facing the altar.

Then . . .

It seemed as if ice touched her. As if a finger of cold stretched across the room, finding her nape, traced the line of her spine.

She spun around, and in surprise, she screamed aloud.

There he was. The figure in the dark cloak and the strange mask. She stared at him, her throat going dry.

For once, she had nothing to say.

He walked to her slowly. Very slowly. She could see his eyes. They were not so beautiful now, but she couldn't draw her gaze from him.

He reached her. He touched the front hooks on the bodice of her harem costume. She wanted to tell him no. She couldn't speak, and she couldn't draw her eyes from his. He slid his hands beneath the fabric on her shoulders, and the bodice fell to the floor with a strange whisper.

He stepped back.

”Beautiful,” he acknowledged.

Then he lifted his hands, as if in supplication to heaven. ”My children .. . I bring you beauty!” he said.

She still couldn't draw her eyes from his. She heard again the strange, whispered, rustling sound. A breeze, a hiss, blowing by her, lifting her hair . ..

And then the shadows moved.

And descended. She was aware, in one split second, that she should have gone home. She should have married Josef, raised a dozen children, gotten fat, and baked bread.

She felt the first touch.

She started to scream .. .

And scream.

And as she was lifted to the altar, she realized that she had spoken the truth.

She was staying in Venice.

CHAPTER 11.

By the time they reached the palazzo Anna Maria had rented for her ball, the festivities had already begun.

They were greeted at their water taxi by costumed hosts who helped them to the dock; as they neared the grand entrance, trumpets announced them.

They entered a s.p.a.cious hall already crowded with guests in magnificent masks and costumes. People milled and talked, helping themselves to artistic little hors d'oeuvres at side tables, and Bellinis and champagne pa.s.sed by servers in traditional black serving attire.

From the moment they came in, Jared was greeted by various business acquaintances.

He made many introductions, then got into a conversation about arrangements for a group of grad school artists who wanted to come to Venice the following year.

Cindy suggested they move off and help themselves to hors d'oeuvres.

”Hey! Earth to Jordan. Shall we get something to munch on?”

”Um. I was looking for Tiff.”

”She'll show up,” Cindy said. ”Jordan, honestly, I like Tiff. She's brash; she's had a past tarnished to pure rust, but she's fun. Still, Jared has made travel arrangements for her for years, and she changes her mind like the wind. Don't let her ruin your evening.”

Jordan didn't respond to that. Cindy didn't understand that Ragnor Wulfsson was an object of desire to Tiff. But then, Ragnor had stayed behind, there wasn't anything she could do, and the party was fun and entertaining. On the dais at the foot of the double stairway, harem girls were dancing to flute music. Throughout the crowd, harlequins were practicing bits of magic. Everyone was dressed to the teeth; costumes were bejeweled as she'd never seen before, there were gladiators, wood nymphs, Edwardians, knights and damsels. On the tables, there were ice sculptures, flower arrangements, s.h.i.+ning silver coffee urns. The beauty and activity were almost too much to take in.

”Those little pastry puffs are as good as they look,” Cindy said between bites. ”And I'm starving.”

Jordan stared at Cindy. She was wearing a half mask, plumed hat, and Regency dress.

With her sandy blond hair and tall stature, she was dazzling, but beneath the mask, she looked a little pale. She must really need to eat, Jordan thought. ”Lead me to the table,” she said.

As they were sampling the food, they were suddenly approached by an elegant Southern belle with a cinched waist, incredible spill of petticoats, and beautifully curled hair.

”Ciao!”

”Ciao!” Jordan replied, staring at the woman.

”Ciao,” Cindy said politely.

They both waited expectantly. The belle burst into pleased laughter. ”It's me!”

”Raphael!” Jordan murmured.

He spun before them. ”Am I not magnificent!”

”Lord, yes!” Cindy said.

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