Oriana suspected Maraval was too worn or too terrified to try anything on anyone. He was clearly frightened of the slender woman in black, who walked away toward the burning building without a backward glance.

Gaspar dragged Maraval to his feet. “Pinheiro, take your team and search the area for any others. We’ll send the regulars out to investigate further when there’s light. I’ll take this fellow and Miss Vladimirova back to the city. Mr. Ferreira?”

“Yes?” Duilio said.

“There’s a storm coming in. That flat-bottomed thing you came out here in won’t like that. You should probably tie it off and come back for it in a day or two.”

Duilio looked seaward at the dark sky. No stars were visible through that thick cloud cover. “I think you’re right.”

Two more police officers appeared at the end of the pathway as a carriage drew up to the edge of the beach, its dark sides gilded by the fire’s light. A second carriage drew up behind it. “Tavares, why don’t you head to the city with them? Get some rest,” Gaspar suggested as two of the officers wrestled the marquis into the carriage. “Anjos will want you back on the beach tomorrow.”

Inspector Tavares looked relieved to be joining them instead of heading back in that coach with Maraval and the strange Miss Vladimirova. He volunteered to help Duilio secure the paddleboat while Pinheiro and his crew boarded the moored yacht to look for evidence. Duilio took off his soot-stained coat and settled it around her shoulders, saying, “You must be freezing.”

“Thank you,” Oriana managed without her teeth chattering. She was cold now that she was out of the water. The pelt she clutched against her chest was still wet. Her clothes were sodden, and if they hadn’t been headed back into the city she’d remove them, but she didn’t want to cause further consternation.

So Oriana stood on the sand, her skirts dripping onto her bare feet. She just wanted to leave this place. She didn’t want to be around to watch the bodies of the three police officers she’d lured to their deaths wash in on the tide. It was a cowardly thought, not wanting to face up to what she’d done. But she would do it again if it meant keeping Duilio safe. What sort of person did that make her?

Returning from tying off the paddleboat, Duilio took one of her hands in his. “Let’s get back to the city.”

She had the strongest feeling he knew exactly what was bothering her. She nodded wordlessly.

After walking up to the burning workshop, they transferred the wooden box with its blood compass to the carriage. A handful more of Gaspar and Anjos’ officers had arrived to help with the search. Apparently Tavares knew them already and verified their identities. Then they were finally in the carriage, heading back to the city.

How late was it? Ten? Midnight?

Oriana wearily settled next to Duilio while his cousin took the seat facing backward. He took the pelt from her and arranged it on the empty spot on the bench, allowing some of the water to drain off. She listened while they talked of Anjos’ effort to convince the City Council to allow the floating houses to be pulled up from the river’s grasp. Apparently the inspector had been persuasive, and the effort was scheduled to begin as soon as the storm passed. The police suspected few of the bodies would be identifiable, so they were counting on Joaquim, with his knowledge of the case, to give names to the victims and help contact the families involved. She didn’t envy him that job.

They went on to talk about newspapers and which were sending writers and photographers out to cover it, whether the prince himself would comment on the whole affair, and whether Maraval would be charged or if he would quietly disappear. Just as long as he doesn’t go free, Oriana thought.

And that was the last thought she remembered until Duilio shook her shoulder to wake her.

CHAPTER 36

MONDAY, 6 OCTOBER 1902

Oriana had been sleeping, her head on his shoulder, for most of the trip. When they reached the house Duilio hated to wake her, but she probably didn’t want to sit there in damp clothing any longer than necessary.

Joaquim had been a font of information, mostly about what they’d learned in going through Maraval’s private papers. The papers cleared up any doubt of his having Alessio killed, as he’d kept thorough records of all Alessio’s movements for a few months prior to that date. Maraval had feared that Alessio might—at the infante’s request—seduce the prince out from under Maraval’s thumb. Ironically, it was Alessio’s death that had led the infante to bring in Anjos and his people, ultimately causing Maraval’s downfall.

Over the past few days, Joaquim had also learned a great deal about Anjos and his people. Having spent more time with them, he had several interesting observations. Duilio was most interested in Miss Vladimirova, though, whom Joaquim told him was a Russian water nymph called a rusalka. Camões might have referred to Oriana’s people as sea nymphs, but Duilio suspected the similarity ended there. According to Joaquim, Silva had apparently been correct in calling Miss Vladimirova undead. And while Duilio had read several lurid stories about vampires, he wasn’t sure he believed that something could be both dead and alive.

“All I know,” Joaquim said, “is that I’m glad I’m in this carriage, not the other. Just being around her makes me nervous.”

That Duilio did understand. Of course, if Joaquim had been in the other carriage, then he might have had a chance for a private talk with Oriana. He could tell she was shaken after what had happened at the cove. He didn’t know whether she’d ever caused another’s death before, but he suspected not. He understood that. He’d never liked killing, no matter the situation.

But the carriage had been standing for a couple of minutes now, and they should let the driver get his horses back to the police stables. Duilio sighed and gently shook Oriana’s shoulder. She blinked at him but obeyed his instructions when he helped her down onto the cobbles behind the house. He dragged the nearly dry pelt out as well, and then sent the driver on with orders to take Joaquim to his apartment. They could talk more later.

It was the one thing Duilio didn’t think should wait until morning, so in the early hours of the morning they stood next to his mother’s bed. The lady slept silently, looking almost like a painting in a museum, her braid trailing off the edge of the bed. Oriana touched her shoulder lightly. “Lady Ferreira?”

The lady moved as if in a dream, sitting up and stretching out her arms. Her eyes never saw Oriana there. She looked right past her.

Duilio held out the pelt. “See what we’ve found, Mother?”

He surrendered the damp pelt into her hands . . . or perhaps it moved into Lady Ferreira’s arms; Oriana wasn’t certain which she’d just seen. The lady gathered it close to her chest and curled around it like it was a lost child finally found. Under her fingertips, it seemed almost as though the pelt came alive, the fur shining again. “Mother, there are nail holes in it,” he warned, “so don’t try to wear it immediately.”

“No wonder my fingers always hurt,” Lady Ferreira said under her breath.

Tears stung Oriana’s eyes, and she wiped them away with the side of her hand. Now Lady Ferreira’s life could resume. It must be an incredible relief to be able to move on. Oriana didn’t know when, if ever, her own life would be hers to direct again. She sorely wanted that.

“It’ll be better soon, Mother,” Duilio said, touching her hair lightly. “Rest now.”

The lady breathed in the scent of her pelt as if it were the sweetest perfume. She seemed too enraptured to speak at all.