She was dressed as a harem girl-the best outfit she could piece together from old sc.r.a.ps of clothing, but she was proud that she looked much better in rags than many of the rich tourists in Venice looked in their expensive hand-made or rented costumes.

"You intend to act like shy little refugee schoolchildren!" she informed them. "I came to Venice to have fun."

"She came to stay," Josef called out in a sulky tone.

"She is going to meet a rich American, and he is going to take her away."

"Josef says that I am special only to him," she pouted.

"We are all only special to our friends!" Lizabet told her with a troubled frown. Lizabet was very religious. She had prayed on the floor of the bus for what had seemed like hours last night before finding her seat to sleep in cramped discomfort.

Marisa walked on ahead of her friends. Masked and costumed characters paused to bow to her; she bowed playfully in return. One man, tall and sleek, though he was costumed and in a mask that covered most of his face, did more than bow. He took her hand. Bent low over it, he kissed her. He spoke to her. In Italian. His voice was deep and pleasant.

"Beautiful," he said in English.

"Grazie!" she told him.

"And where are you going?"

"To the square, to listen to music."

"Ah, perhaps I will find you again, cara mia."

He walked by. Josef, Ari, and Lizabet reached her. "There, you see!" she told them.

"Can we please get to the music?" Lizabet asked. "We all know that you are beautiful, and you will go places."

"Or stay in Venice," Josef repeated acidly.

Josef felt more for her than she had realized, Marisa thought, but Josef had nothing and would go nowhere. If she was foolish enough to love Josef, she would have a child each year and grow as fat as a house and spend her life in her little village doing laundry and baking bread and washing dishes. She was sorry if she had hurt him, but she could see what he could not. There would always be war. Soldiers would come again, and men would go out and fight, and the villagers would be weak-willed and defenseless, able to do nothing as stronger enemies came and dragged them out, raped their wives, and burned their houses. "I am sorry, Josef," she said, under her breath.

They hadn't gone much farther when Josef determined that they had made a wrong turn.

The stream of human traffic was no longer with them. "We must go back."

"Do you have the map?" Ari asked.

As they pulled out the map, Marisa looked around the street. It was very dark here. The waters of the ca.n.a.l beyond them were black in the night. The few lights in the streets created blacker shadows against black streets and walls.

"This way," Ari said.

"No, I think, look here ..." Lizabet told them.

Marisa wasn't paying attention. As her eyes adjusted to the shadows, she saw a man ahead, going up the steps of a building. He was wearing a cape and mask. She felt her heart pounding. Was it the same man who had kissed her hand?

As she stared at him, he turned. He drew a finger to his lips-well, as close to his lips as the mask would allow. Then he beckoned to her.

And disappeared behind a door.

"I'm going this way," she said.

"Marisa, stay with us!" Josef told her.

"I cannot stay with you; I will get nowhere!"

"Well," Ari said, "we are following that bridge, there, and going on to the square. When you get tired of the darkness, follow us!"

Even Josef turned his back on her. Marisa was glad.

The moment they started walking, she flew to the shadows against the wall and flattened herself there.

She waited until she could no longer hear the echo of their footsteps on the calle. Then she ran up the steps.

The door was ajar. She pushed it open. "h.e.l.lo?"

It was shadowy and dark within, but the room was lit by candles here and there.

She stepped in, taking care to leave the door ajar, and started walking along a central aisle between pillars.

"h.e.l.lo? Ciao?" she called, her voice softening as it seemed to ricochet around the room. She kept walking in.

It was a church, she thought, with a bit of awe. But a church like no other. There were no longer any pews in it, and as she neared the altar, she saw that there was no cross above it. There were paintings though. One very strange painting, of an angel ripping into and consuming lambs, was hung above the altar, where the cross should have been. She looked around. There were side chapels, as in most churches. They were dark and shadowy, some curtained, some open. She blinked. In the candlelight, dark shapes seemed to flit from chapel to chapel.

Was he playing games with her?

"I know you're here!" she called, walking to the left side, through chapel after chapel.

Candles burned. Strange black cloth draped the altars.

She paused, thinking she heard whispers, or hisses. Wings, fluttering around her.

Footfalls across the stone floor.

"I won't play forever, you know!" she said. She crossed the nave and started along the right wall of chapels, looked up at the last painting above the black-clad altar. A figure with a crown of thorns sat holding a handful of severed heads.

She was suddenly cold in her harem outfit.

A sound fluttered from across the room again.

"h.e.l.lo, where are you?" she called. Her voice was stronger. Angry. And a bit too tremulous. "This isn't funny, if you want me to stay, show yourself."

Candles on the altar flickered and wavered. There was a sudden, sweeping hiss of movement near her, very near her. It seemed to brush her hair.

Slowly, she began to back away.

At first, she barely heard the creaking noise. It was the sound of a door. Moving slowly.

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, shining 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.