Saber de lineas de sangre 344257123-V20-Lore-of-the-Bloodlines-11056187-pdf | Page 40

“What’s one more meaningless act of violence on that zoo of a planet?
It would be appropriate. When in Rome; burn it.”
– Iain M. Banks, The State of the Art
Masks that Grin and Lie
“Will you be visiting our necrom
ancer friends?” Jacopo’s fingers tra
iled in dark waters as
the gondola cut its way through the
Grand Canal, his silent servant act
ing as gondolier. Gian
was keeping a steady eye on the
masked figure sitting at the prow,
while Jacopo pointedly
looked distracted by the filthy can
al. His preference was to look aw
ay.
A creak and a pop from the Harbin
ger’s bones signaled her reaction
to Jacopo’s words, but
it was some minutes before she spo
ke. The gondola was coasting alo
ngside the Fondaco dei
Turchi when whispered Latin em
anated from within the death ma
sk. “My focus is not the
Familia Giovanni, but I forgive
your natural assumption. Quite
aside from the renewal of
our relations, cousin of Typhon, I
am here to make a purchase.”
Jacopo looked up from the forbidd
ing, swirling depths to see the Ma
rchesa Liliana leaning
forward, head cocked slightly to one
side. The only expression he could
read was from her eyes,
the color of concrete, harsh and int
ense. “The kine and the neonates
of my Clan prefer the
commerce of Milan to that of Ven
ice, but I can acquire anything
you might need. You will
likely desire more modern, fashio
nable clothing, if you intend to
ingratiate yourself with
the local Kindred.”
Her voice, though low, was someho
w discernible over the sound of lau
revelers on the canal bank. The Ca
ghing and cheering
rnival was in full swing. “Caini
te.
Kin
will they use next to describe the
dred. What word
monster?” Liliana slowly remove
d her mask, exposing a
tangled trail of fleshy tissue thread
s imitating a rotten approximation
of a face. Her eyeballs
bulged from her skull, ovoid and
fixed.
Her Setite companion chewed the
inside of his mouth. “Really, Lil
iana. Venice upholds a
Masquerade these nights. You nev
er know who might be watching.”
He found himself looking
for recognizable vampires among
the partying kine in the Palazzo
Marcello, before noticing
Gian was visibly gagging. The gho
ul couldn’t keep his gaze on the
Lazarene squatting in
the gondola.
“Not a single existing thing can forc
e me to adhere to your society’s obfusc
ation,” the hair-thin
black lips rippled around her teeth
as the voice choked out. “But I desi
re masks. Hand-crafted
Venetian masks.” A gaunt arm rose
from her cloak to point in the dire
ction of mortals bearing
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