Zofia noticed his voice was a little more high-pitched. He sat up straight, flashing a wide smile at Enrique. Enrique did not acknowledge or return the smile.

“Good … and bad,” said Enrique, strolling forward. He walked to the middle of the room and faced them. “I believe I know where the map to the temple in Poveglia is being kept.”

Laila’s eyes widened. “Where?”

“For a while, I thought it would be here … somewhere … tucked in all these books and research,” said Enrique, gesturing to the library. “It is sensitive information, and so the matriarch might have concealed its whereabouts somewhere on these premises. But now I believe the map is in the possession of House Janus.”

“House Janus?” asked Laila, frowning. “I am not familiar with them.”

“I am,” grumbled Hypnos. He crossed his arms. “Like I said before—if anyone bothered to listen—they are a faction of the Italian Order who throw an exceptional party for Carnevale and have never once invited me—”

“They are renowned,” said Enrique loudly, “for their collection of Forged cartographical and nautical objects, which, according to the documents in this library, take most unusual shapes. For example, many of them are priceless and mind Forged.”

“A mind Forged map?” repeated Laila.

Zofia was familiar with the idea of the art form, but it was a very temporary and dangerous art. The idea that an object could retain the implanted memory of its artist over centuries was a degree of skill that had long been considered lost.

“I don’t know the specifics of its location,” said Enrique. “But I believe that’s where we’ll find it.”

“How?” asked Hypnos. “The location of House Janus supposedly changes each year. The only time anybody ever sees that reclusive House is during a secret Carnevale. Otherwise, they consider themselves guardians of their treasure and never bother to auction it off or interact with the other Houses.”

“Carnevale is two days from now.”

“What is Carnevale?” asked Zofia.

“It’s a celebration,” said Enrique.

“I wouldn’t know,” said Hypnos bitterly.

Enrique cleared his throat. “It all started in the twelfth century.”

“Here we go,” muttered Hypnos.

Zofia knew that others found Enrique long-winded, but she liked listening to him. Enrique saw the world differently, and sometimes when he taught her something new, it was as if the world had changed ever so slightly.

“It’s thought to have originated as a celebration over Venice’s enemy, the Aquileia,” said Enrique. “People used to gather in the streets wearing elaborate masks designed to disguise an individual’s class and rank, so that all might join in the revelries. Eventually it became part of the celebrations for Lent, but it was outlawed about a hundred years ago by the Holy Roman Emperor, and so it can only be celebrated off-season and in secret, and the place to go is—”

“House Janus,” said Hypnos. “Though you need a special—”

“Mask,” finished Enrique.

He reached for the papers on the long table, holding up two illustrations of a Venetian mask. It had an odd design, the nose long and curved like a bird’s beak. The eyeholes were circular. The other sketch showed a checkered black-and-white mask outlined in glitter that would be held up by two long, black ribbons.

“This is how we find an invitation to House Janus’s Carnevale,” said Enrique. “Hypnos? Care to explain?”

“Supposedly, there is a place where one receives such invitation,” said Hypnos, picking at an invisible speck on his pants. “A mascherari salon, I’m told. Inside, one may pick their specific mask, and when it is held to one’s face, it reveals the party’s location through mind Forging, and then you must go to said location in all your finery and drink and dance the night away etcetera etcetera.”

Zofia frowned. “That is too many instructions to attend a party.”

“I know,” sighed Hypnos. “It’s all so dreadfully enigmatic, I can’t help but be lured. Its exclusivity taunts me.”

“But you said Carnevale is two days from now,” said Laila, slowly turning the ring on her hand. “And we have no idea where to begin with finding this mascherari salon.”

“No,” said Enrique, before he looked around the room. “But I think the information is hidden here. The matriarch told Hypnos that the safe house would have everything we need to find the map.”

“What about Séverin?” asked Hypnos.

Enrique’s mouth pinched. “What about him?”

“We were supposed to meet and figure out what to do next. How will he know what we’re doing if we don’t even know where to meet him?”

“Séverin needs to find the map for himself,” said Enrique, scowling. “He’ll do that with or without us, and our paths will either cross at Carnevale or in Poveglia. Trust me. He won’t miss the opportunity for a power grab.”

Hypnos frowned, but he stayed quiet. Zofia looked at Laila. Her friend seemed distant as she cradled her jeweled hand against her. The longer Zofia looked at her, the more she realized that she was not the only one stuck in the dark. Laila, for all her smiles, walked through it too. Séverin, wherever he was, had no idea that they had lost the meeting point. Hypnos’s expressions suggested confusion, and even Enrique’s plans carried much unknown.

In that second, Zofia remembered her mother sitting beside the fire. She had tilted up Zofia’s chin, her watery blue eyes shining. Be a light in this world, my Zosia, for it can be very dark. Zofia had not forgotten her mother’s words, and she was determined to embody them.

“We will find the map,” said Zofia. “Solving a problem requires a piece-by-piece approach, and that is what we are doing.”

Laila looked up at her, a soft smile curving her lips. Hypnos nodded. Even Enrique flashed a small smile. A rare feeling of calm centered Zofia. For her friends … for herself … Zofia would find a way out of the dark.

8

SÉVERIN

At dawn, Séverin stood by the docks and turned an apple over in his hand. In the astrology room at L’Eden, he had kept a bowl of apples on the low table. Once, early on, when Enrique had demanded food during the discussion of a new acquisition, Séverin gestured at the bowl of apples and said, “Help yourself.”

Enrique had looked appalled. “Apples are hopelessly boring, either too sweet or too sour.”

“It will satisfy your appetite for a time.”

“Or it shall tempt me to abandon this intellectual endeavor entirely in pursuit of real food,” said Enrique. “It is the fruit of temptation, after all. Eve tempting Adam into sin and such.”

As if to demonstrate, Enrique had placed a red apple in his mouth and raised his eyebrows suggestively at Laila, Zofia, Tristan, and Séverin, who were seated across from him. Tristan grimaced. Laila bit back a laugh, and Zofia tilted her head to the side. “I saw a similar pose last night on the banquet table.”

Enrique spat out the apple. “That was a roasted pig!”