Page 29 of Succubus Shadows (Georgina Kincaid 5)

"But I - " The word "can't" was on my lips, and I bit it off. Under the scrutiny of her stare and power, I felt very small and very weak. You don't cross demons. I swallowed. "Yes, Tavia."

The next time Niccolò and I made love, he managed a tired but happy attempt at conversation in his post-sex exhaustion. "Lenzo's going to bring me one of his paintings tomorrow. Wait until you see it. It shows Venus and Adonis - "

"No."

He lifted his head up. "Hmm?"

"No. Don't bring me any more." It was hard, oh God, it was so hard speaking to him in such a cold tone. I kept reminding myself of what I was and what I had to do.

A frown crossed his handsome face. "What are you talking about? You've already collected so much - "

"I don't have them anymore. I gave them up to Savonarola."

"You...you're joking."

I shook my head. "No. I contacted his Bands of Hope this morning. They came and took it all."

Niccolò struggled to sit up. "Stop it. This isn't funny."

"It's not a joke. They're all gone. They're going to the fire. They're objects of sin. They need to be destroyed."

"You're lying. Stop this, Bianca. You don't mean - "

My voice sharpened. "They're wrong and heretical. They're gone."

Our eyes locked, and as he studied my face, I could see that he was starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, I spoke the truth. And I did. Sort of. I was very good at making people - especially men - believe what I wanted them to.

We dressed, and I took him to the storage room I'd previously hidden the objects in. He stared at the empty space, face pale and disbelieving. I stood nearby, arms crossed, maintaining a stiff and disapproving stance.

Eyes wide, he turned to me. "How could you? How could you do this to me?"

"I told you - "

"I trusted you! You said you'd keep them safe!"

"I was wrong. Satan clouded my judgment."

He gripped my arm painfully and leaned close to me. "What have they done to you? Did they threaten you? You wouldn't do this. What are they holding against you? Is it that priest you're always visiting?"

"No one made me do this," I replied bleakly. "It's the right thing to do."

He pulled back, like he couldn't stand my touch, and my heart lurched painfully at the look in his eyes. "Do you know what you've done? Some of those can never be replaced."

"I know. But it's better this way."

Niccolò stared at me for several more seconds and then stumbled for the door, uncaring of the curfew or his weakened state. I watched him go, feeling dead inside. He's just another man, I thought. Let him go. I'd had so many in my life; I'd have so many more. What did he matter?

Swallowing tears, I crept downstairs to the lower level, careful not to wake the sleeping household. I'd made the same journey last night, painstakingly carrying part of the horde down here - a part that I didn't give to the Church's minions.

Splitting the art and books had been like choosing which of my children had to live or die. The silks and velvets had been mindless; all of them went to Fra Savonarola. But the rest...that had been difficult. I'd let most of Ovid go. His works were so widespread, I had to believe copies of them would survive - if not in Florence, then perhaps some other place untouched by this bigotry. Other authors, those whom I feared had a limited run, stayed with me.

The paintings and sculptures proved hardest of all. They were one of a kind. I couldn't hope that other copies might exist. But I'd known I couldn't keep them all either, not with Tavia checking in. And so, I'd chosen those which I thought most worth saving, protecting them from the Church. Niccolò couldn't know that, though.

I didn't see him for almost three weeks, until we ran into each other at Savonarola's great burning. History would later know it as the Bonfire of the Vanities. It was a great pyramid stuffed with fuel and sin. The zealous threw more and more items in as it blazed, seeming to have a never ending supply. I watched as Botticelli himself tossed one of his paintings in.

Niccolò's greeting was curt. "Bianca."

"Hello, Niccolò." I kept my voice cold and crisp. Uncaring.

He stood in front of me, gray eyes black in the flickering light. His face seemed to have aged since our last meeting. We both turned and silently observed the blaze again, watching as more and more of man's finest things were sacrificed.

"You have killed progress," Niccolò said at last. "You betrayed me."

"I've delayed progress. And I had no obligations to you. Except for this." Reaching into the folds of my dress, I handed over a purse heavy with florins. It was the last part in my plan. He took it, blinking at its weight.

"This is more than you owe me. And I won't finish the fresco."

"I know. It's all right. Take it. Go somewhere else, somewhere away from this. Paint. Write. Create something beautiful. Whatever it takes to make you happy. I don't really care."

He stared, and I feared he'd give the money back. "I still don't understand. How can you not care about any of this? How can you be so cruel? Why did you do it?"

I studied the fire again. Humans, I realized idly, liked to burn things. Objects. Each other. "Because men cannot surpass the gods. Not yet anyway."

"Prometheus never intended his gift to be used like this."

I smiled without humor, remembering an old debate of ours about classical mythology, back during our sweeter days. "No. I suppose not."

We said nothing else. A moment later, he walked away, disappearing into the darkness. For a heartbeat, I considered telling him the truth, that much of his treasure was still safe. I'd paid well for it to be smuggled out of Florence, away from this mad destruction.

In fact, I'd actually sent the goods to an angel. I didn't like angels as a general rule, but this one was a scholar, one I'd met in England and tolerated. Heretical or no, the books and art would appeal to him as much as to me. He would keep them safe. How ironic, I thought, that I would turn to the enemy for help. Tavia had been right. Sometimes good and evil were impossible to distinguish from one another. And if she'd known what I had done, my existence would probably be over.

So I couldn't tell anyone. The secret had to stay with me and the angel, no matter how much I wished I could share it with Niccolò and comfort him. I had to live with the knowledge that I had taken his life, soul, and hope. He would hate me forever, and it was a sting I would likewise carry with me forever - one that would slowly make my existence more and more miserable.

My world dissolved into darkness. I was back in my box, still cramped and uncomfortable. As usual, I couldn't see anything, but my cheeks were wet with tears yet again. I felt exhausted, even a little disoriented, and my heart ached with a pain that I could never put into words. I didn't see the Oneroi, but something told me they were probably around.

"That was truth," I whispered. "That really happened."

As suspected, a voice answered me in the darkness, and I suddenly knew the real reason they kept showing me true dreams.

"Your truths are worse than your lies."

Chapter 13

I woke up next to Seth, and for the space of heartbeat, I thought I truly was waking - waking up from an awful, awful dream about the Oneroi and everything else that had happened since Seth and I had broken up. He lay asleep in bed with the sheets tangled around him, his light brown hair glinting reddish in the morning sun. He slept only in boxers, and his chest looked warm and smooth and perfect for cuddling against.

His breathing was even, his posture still and relaxed. I drank it all in, all the little Seth details I'd been missing for months. I swore that I could even smell him. Did dreams have smells? This one did, I was certain. That soft woodsy-apple scent wrapped around me like an embrace.

After a few moments, he began to stir and sleepily open his eyes. He squinted at the light and rolled onto his back, stifling a yawn. I wanted to roll right over to him and snuggle against his warmth, telling him all about the nightmares I'd been having.

Then, I realized there was no way I could go to him. I couldn't move. Well, that wasn't exactly true. There was more to it than that. I just didn't have a body. I was an observer only, like the invisible camera I'd been with Roman and Jerome. This apparently was not a dream I was active in, and the realization of that drove home the terrible truth: this was still an Oneroi dream. I hadn't imagined them. I hadn't imagined Seth and me breaking up.

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