Kingdom of the Wicked (Kingdom of the Wicked, #1)(12)

“Liar.” His voice was deep, rough, and elegant at once. A serrated blade wrapped in silk. All the hair on my arms rose.

Before I unleashed a torrent of curses, he did the last thing I expected; he turned on his heel and fled. In his haste to leave, his serpent dagger clattered to the floor. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care. I waited, kitchen knife pointed in front of me, breathing hard. I didn’t hear retreating footsteps, only a slight crackle like fire. There and gone too quickly to be sure.

If he charged from the shadows, I’d defend myself through any means necessary. No matter if the thought made me queasy. Another moment passed. Then another. I strained against the loud roaring of my pulse, listening for any signs of footsteps.

There was no sound aside from my frantic heartbeat.

He didn’t return. I contemplated chasing him, but found neither my breath nor my shaking legs were cooperating. I glanced down, wondering what had made him appear so uneasy, and saw my cornicello glinting in the darkness. How—

The silent calling was back in force, urging me to listen closely. I shoved the whispers into the deepest recesses of my mind. I didn’t need any more distractions. It took a few moments of slowing my pulse to realize the body on the table wasn’t where the brotherhood brought new corpses to be washed and prepared for mummification.

In fact, this room didn’t appear to be used for anything. My attention drifted around the chamber, noticing a thick layer of dust. Aside from the stone altar set in the middle, it was a small room carved from limestone. There were no shelves or crates or storage. It smelled of mold and stale air, as if it had been sealed off for hundreds of years and had only recently been opened. The must was a much stronger scent than the earlier faint aroma of thyme.

An uncomfortable prickle began at the top of my spine and worked its way to my toes. Now that the stranger was gone, there was no doubt the body was calling me. Which was never a positive sign. I hadn’t had the pleasure of speaking with the dead before and didn’t really find the thought all too appealing now. I wanted to run away and definitely not peer under the shroud, but couldn’t.

I gripped my knife and forced myself to walk over to the corpse, obeying that silent, insistent tug, cursing my conscience the whole way. Before I looked at the body, I snatched the stranger’s dagger from the ground, replacing my flimsy kitchen knife with it. Its heft was a small comfort. If the blood-drinking deviant returned, I had a much better weapon to threaten him with.

Feeling as comforted as I could, I turned to the covered body, finally giving in to its summoning. I permitted no fear to enter my heart as I wrenched the shroud back from its face.

I was silent for an entire breath before my scream shattered the tranquility of the monastery.





Five

Magic is a living, breathing entity; it thrives on the energy you give it. Like all forces of nature, it is neither good nor bad—it simply becomes based on the user’s intent. Feed it love and it blossoms and grows. Nourish it with hate and it will deliver hate back to you tenfold.

—Notes from the di Carlo grimoire

The face I stared into was a mirror of my own. Brown eyes, dark brown hair, olive skin bronzed by both the sun and our shared ancestry. I reached over, tentatively brushing a strand of hair off Vittoria’s brow, and yanked my hand back at the warmth that still lingered.

“Vittoria? Can you move?”

Her eyes were fixed and empty. I waited for her to blink, then wheeze with laughter. She never suppressed her giggles for long.

Vittoria didn’t move. I didn’t inhale or exhale, either. I stood there, looking down at her, caught somewhere between denial and terror. I could not make myself understand the sight before me. I tugged at my hair. I’d seen her just an hour or two earlier.

This had to be another one of her stupid pranks.

“Vittoria?” I whispered, hoping for a response. Seconds stretched into minutes. She stared, unblinking. Maybe she was unconscious. I reached over and shook her a little. “Please. Move.”

Even with her eyes open, she looked so peaceful, laying with a shroud tucked up under her chin. Like she was in a deep enchanted trance and a prince would soon come and kiss her awake. Something twisted deep inside me. This was no fairy tale. No one coming to break the spell of death. But I should have been here to rescue my sister.

If I’d only left the restaurant sooner, maybe I could’ve done something to save her. Maybe that murdering beast would’ve taken me instead. Or maybe I should’ve insisted that she listen to Nonna and stay in. I could have told our grandmother about the amulets. There were a hundred different choices laid out before me, and I’d done nothing. Maybe if . . . I closed my eyes against the rush of darkness surging through me.

Which was worse.

This had to be another horribly vivid fantasy I created—there was no way this was real. And yet, when I opened my eyes again, there was no denying that Vittoria was dead.

A steady drip broke into my thoughts. It seemed so strange, so mundane a noise. And yet I focused on it intently. It helped to drown out the insistent buzzing and whispering I could still hear.

Maybe madness was creeping in.

The drip slowed. It meant something—the absence of it. I couldn’t think of it now. The strange whispering finally grew too quiet to hear. Like whatever had caused it had moved far away.

A sob broke the growing silence. It took a moment to realize it came from me.