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“Vittoria is…” I swallowed hard, the action nearly choking me. “She’s…”
I stared down at the serpent dagger I still held, but had no memory of taking. I wondered if it was the weapon that had taken my sister’s life. My grip on it tightened.
Nonna took one look at the dagger and wrapped me in her arms, holding me fiercely against her. “What happened, bambina?”
I buried my face in her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of spices and herbs. Hugging Nonna made everything real. The whole goddessless nightmare.
“Your worst fears.”
Flashes of my twin and her missing heart crossed my mind, and whatever thread of strength I’d been clutching to snapped, plunging me into darkness.
The day after we laid my sister to rest, I sat alone in our room, an unopened book in my lap. It was so quiet. I used to cherish peaceful days like this, when my twin was out being adventurous and I was adventuring with a favorite character. A good book was its own brand of magic, one I could safely indulge in without fear of getting caught by those who hunted us. I loved escaping from reality, especially during times of trouble. Stories made everything possible.
My attention moved to the door the same way it had all morning, searching for a sign Vittoria was about to charge through it, her face flushed and her grin wide. All remained still.
Downstairs a spoon clinked against the cast iron cauldron. A moment later herbal scents wafted up. Nonna had been making spell candles nonstop. She lit them for the polizia, helping to guide them in their search. Or so she claimed. I’d seen the juniper berry and belladonna candle she’d made with a dash of salt and a pinch of pepper. It was her own recipe and it wasn’t used for clarity.
I set my book aside and went downstairs, hovering near the edge of the kitchen. Not quite hungry, but feeling empty, hollow. I hadn’t felt like cooking or creating, and couldn’t imagine ever feeling that light and free again. Living in a world without my sister felt dark and wrong.
Nonna glanced up. “Come sit, Emilia. I’ll make you something to eat.”
“That’s all right, Nonna. I can fix something.”
I went to the ice box and almost burst into tears when I saw the pitcher of limoncello wine Vittoria had made for me. No one had touched it.
I quickly shut the door, and perched on the edge of the closest stool.
“Here.” Nonna set a bowl of sweetened ricotta in front of me, her expression kind. “Desserts always go down easy.”
I pushed the creamy concoction around. “Do you think someone found out… what we are? Maybe Vittoria joked about the devil or demons to the wrong human.”
“No, bambina. I don’t believe it was a human who attacked her at all. Not with the signs we’ve been receiving. Or the blood debt.”
I’d forgotten all about the mysterious blood debt. It seemed an entire lifetime had passed since Nonna first mentioned it. “You believe the blood debt is responsible for Vittoria’s murder?”
“Mmh. It was part of an ancient bargain struck between La Prima and the devil. Some believe La Prima cursed the Wicked, others believe the devil cursed witches. A warning came one day: ‘When witch blood spills across Sicily, take your daughters and hide. The Malvagi have arrived.’ Now there’s been three witch murders.”
“It doesn’t mean the Wicked killed them. What about witch hunters? Don’t you think that sounds more logical than demon royalty breaking out of Hell? You know as well as I do how much humans fear witches, and how willing they are to commit the very sins they accuse us of. In fact, Antonio said a village not far from here is convinced shape-shifters have been cavorting with a goddess. Maybe someone like that saw Vittoria whisper a charm and killed her.”
“The devil stirred the seas and made the sky bleed. What more will convince you that danger is knocking at our door that has nothing to do with mortals? What use do humans have with witch hearts?”
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the anger building inside me. This wasn’t the time to believe stories passed down from generations ago. Now was the time to consider the facts that made the most sense. Starting with the first victim in Sciacca—more than a week before Emilia’s murder—not a single witch family had come forward with information about the Wicked’s arrival. Until new evidence or proof was uncovered about the demon princes, I?
??d stick with my theory of a human being responsible.
“Are we going to speak with the police, Nonna?”
“If they investigate too closely and discover what we are, do you think your fate will be any different than your sister’s?”
I shook my head. I didn’t want to fight with my grandma. I also couldn’t quite figure out a way to tell the police witch hunters might be to blame without casting suspicion on us.
I was so frustrated, I could scream. My twin had been murdered. No one who knew my sister would ever wish her harm. Which meant it had to be a stranger, or someone who’d figured out what she was. According to Nonna, the other two victims were also witches. That wasn’t a mere coincidence—it was a connection. A woman with a little power was terrifying to some.
I curled my hands into fists, focusing on the pain of my nails sinking into my skin. Someone chose to hurt Vittoria. And I wanted to know who. Why.
What had Vittoria been doing in the hours leading up to the attack? She didn’t usually visit the monastery, but I’d seen her there twice in as many days.
It was possible she was meeting that strange dark-haired man there. For what purpose, I wasn’t sure. She could have been secretly involved with him. Or maybe the murderer dragged her there against her will. Maybe she didn’t know him at all and he’d intercepted her while she’d been on her way elsewhere.
