*
By the time they reached the foyer, Leo was already inside and closing the front doors. He had with him an older woman, tall, thin, and dour-looking in dark-gray men’s clothes.
Porzia tried to intercept him. “Where did you run off to? And who’s this, may I ask?”
“She’s here to identify the body” was all Leo said, and then he strode quickly past Porzia, the older woman at his side.
Elsa couldn’t believe it. After all his prying into her affairs, all the secrets she’d shared, now he wanted to leave her and Porzia in the dark. “I’m alive, by the way!” she called after him, thoroughly annoyed. “Thought you might care to know.”
Leo stopped, the mystery woman already a few steps down the hall that would lead to the library. He turned to look at Elsa, his expression inscrutable, and then hurried to catch up with his guest.
Porzia said, “What in the world has gotten into him?”
Elsa frowned. “And if everyone from his past is supposed to be dead, who’s that?”
Porzia tugged her skirts straight, as if she were mustering her courage. “Come on, then. We’ll not get any answers out of him if we keep standing around here.”
When they reached the library, the closet was open, and the older woman was crouched over the body. “Yes, I recognize him,” she was saying. “He’s one of the Carbonari who went missing during the Venetian rebellion. Presumed dead—wrongly, it seems, until now of course.”
Leo was standing with his back to the door and did not turn at the sound of their footsteps, seemingly unaware they had followed. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it. “At least there’s no room left for doubt.”
The assassin’s body drew Elsa’s gaze like a magnet, and she abruptly forgot about being vexed at Leo. The attack flashed through her memory, making her pulse jump and her palms dampen. This man had come perilously close to killing her.
Porzia planted her hands on her hips and cleared her throat. “Leo, what is going on? Who is this woman you’ve brought into my house?”
Leo finally turned to look at them. His throat worked and his lips parted, but the words didn’t come. The older woman stood, stepped around the corpse, and filled the silence for him. “Rosalinda Scarpa,” she said to Porzia. “I looked after Leo when he left Venezia, before your people laid their claim.”
Porzia arched an eyebrow. “You sound as if you’d like to stick a flag in him.”
While Elsa was curious how this woman from Leo’s murky past had suddenly appeared, she was more anxious to know the identity of her would-be assassin. “So the invaders who abducted my mother do have some connection with these Carbonari people?”
Leo sucked in a breath, as if her words had edges like broken glass. “You could say that. Some connection, all right.”
“Would you … care to elaborate?”
“Leo, you don’t have to—” Rosalinda started to say, but he interrupted her.
“The man named Garibaldi from Montaigne’s journals … he’s my father,” Leo said, his voice cracking. “My father’s alive.”
Rosalinda brushed his shoulder as if to remove a fleck of dust from his waistcoat, and she leaned in close. They shared a brief, muttered conversation, Leo’s expression somewhat glassy-eyed. Then he left the library without another word to anyone else. Elsa exchanged a look of disbelief with Porzia, who also seemed to be wondering exactly who this woman thought she was.
When Leo was gone, Rosalinda turned to them. “The boy has had quite a shock. You should let him rest. There will be time enough for hunting down Garibaldi once Leo has adjusted to the idea.”
Elsa herself could hardly believe it—Leo’s father was alive, and connected to her mother’s abduction. She narrowed her eyes at Rosalinda. “You’ve had the information we needed this whole time? How long have you been keeping this from him?”
Rosalinda pursed her lips. “Don’t judge what you don’t understand, child.”
Beside Elsa, Porzia folded her arms angrily. “I think you can judge how you like the feel of the night air after you walk yourself back out of my house. I’ll even show you the door.”
Elsa—who was so accustomed to standing alone in every conflict—grappled with the surreal feeling of having someone else defend her. How strange, to find herself shielded behind Porzia’s words when only a few days ago those same words had had their sharp points aimed at her. Was this what friendship meant, standing unified against common foes?
After Porzia bid Rosalinda a rather perfunctory good night, she and Elsa went looking for Faraz. They found him in a long, windowless room deep in the bowels of the house. A large engine chugged and huffed at the far end, and the walls on either side were lined with small alcoves, some occupied by house-bots and some standing empty.
Faraz looked up as they came in. He had a thick black rubber glove over his right hand, and a brass bug struggled in his grip. “What are you doing up and about? You should be resting.”
“Leo’s back,” Elsa explained.
He zapped the bug with an electrical prod and tossed it, still smoking, into a bucket of deactivated bugs. “Ah,” he said. “And?”
Elsa told him about Rosalinda’s visit and related what Leo had said about Garibaldi.
Faraz pulled the glove off and tossed it in the bucket. “Just to be clear, we now believe Leo’s father—who’s supposed to be dead—is somehow connected to, or perhaps even responsible for, abducting your mother? Doesn’t anyone else find this situation troubling?”
“This was always the situation,” Elsa said. “The only part that’s changed is now we know.”
Faraz pressed his lips together. “I barely remember my own parents.… To think I used to feel jealous of how close Leo had been with his family, how well he’d known them.”
Porzia shuffled her feet, her usual confidence drowning in doubt. “Perhaps we should let the Order handle this, after all.”
“Because they’ve done such an outstanding job so far,” Elsa said. “What precisely have they accomplished? Had a bunch of meetings?”
“Garibaldi has already made two attempts on your life!” Her voice rose an octave, shrill with distress. “What if he succeeds the third time?”
Faraz shook his head. “We can’t tell the Order about Leo’s relation to Garibaldi—it would call his loyalty into question.” He set his hands on his hips, exhaustion showing in the slope of his shoulders. “On the other hand, the house is effectively defenseless now, thanks to these damned bugs infiltrating Casa’s systems. Burak is still evaluating the extent of the damage, but I’d guess we’re in rather sore need of Gia’s assistance.”
Casa’s disembodied voice harrumphed. “I am not defenseless. This is merely a … a setback.”
“I meant no offense,” Faraz said soothingly. “You’ve been through an ordeal, and we simply wish to see you restored to your full glory as soon as possible.”