The Darkest Fall
Ripley Proserpina
Copyright © 2018 by Ripley Proserpina
Previously published as Matched with A Demon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by Bookends Editing
Content Edits by Heather V. Long
Cover by KD Ritchie at Storywrappers
Created with Vellum
Contents
Prologue
1. Lucia
2. Armaros
3. Lucia
4. Lucia
5. Armaros
6. Lucia
7. Armaros
8. Lucia
9. Armaros
10. Armaros
11. Lucia
12. Armaros
13. Lucia
14. Armaros
15. Lucia
16. Lucia
17. Armaros
18. Lucia
19. Armaros
20. Lucia
21. Armaros
22. Lucia
23. Armaros
24. Armaros
25. Lucia
26. Lucia
27. Armaros
28. Armaros
29. Lucia
30. Lucia
31. Lucia
32. Armaros
33. Lucia
34. Armaros
35. Lucia
36. Armaros
37. Lucia
38. Armaros
39. Lucia
40. Lucia
41. Armaros
42. Armaros
43. Lucia
Epilogue
About the Author
Books by Ripley:
For the Girls
Bethany, Michelle R-W., Michelle I., Jackie, Melanie, and Annie.
For my Mem, who taught me all the best Italian gestures to use while driving.
And for my mum, who never EVER uses jarred spaghetti sauce, or frozen meatballs.
Prologue
Zia Valeria
Her niece had been on Zia Valeria Castilucci’s mind since she woke. Sitting on the edge of her bed, staring out over the snow-covered apartment buildings, she said a quick Prayer to a Guardian Angel, but it did nothing to alleviate the rising nausea in her stomach. It was another nipple-freezing winter day, and somewhere in the city, her niece walked around, probably underdressed, oblivious to the evil following her like a shadow.
Numb fingers fumbled with her buttons as she shivered her way through dressing. She had to get herself together before she approached her older sister. Standing in front of the kitchen door, she breathed deeply, straightening her shoulders and making the sign of the cross before striding through.
“You talk to Lucia?” She poured herself a cup of coffee without spilling a drop. Good. No trembling.
“No. I haven’t heard from her in a week.” Connie cracked an egg more forcefully than needed, mumbling as she fished for the shell.
“You haven’t called?” Valeria couldn’t help herself. Needling Connie held as much appeal now as it did when she was six. And just like she’d hoped, Connie rose to the bait.
“Why should I call? I’m her mother. She should be calling me.”
Facing the tiny backyard, Valeria smiled and rolled her eyes. Her sister had inherited all their mother’s martyrdom and none of her second sight.
The hot coffee burned a path to her stomach. No. The second sight had come fully to Valeria, the youngest daughter, the black sheep, the disappointment, and of late, the old maid.
Lifebuoy soap and mint wafted through the door before the newspaper dropped onto the kitchen table with a slap. “Mornin’.”
Glancing over her shoulder to glare at Albert, her sister’s husband, she shuddered. If she had to choose between being an old maid, or being married to Albert Porter, she’d choose old maidenhood any day.
“Why do you ask?” Her sister’s suspicious voice cut into her reverie, returning the conversation to her earlier question about Lucia.
“No reason.” With commendable steadiness, she placed her mug next to the sink. “It’s too cold for a skirt. I’m going to change.”
“Val?”
Ignoring her, Valeria strode to her room, closing the door tightly with a soft snick. Lock thrown, she went to her bed, kneeling slowly on audibly creaking knees and reaching beneath the dust ruffle. God. Getting old sucked.
Her hand brushed over the cold wood floor, searching until she grasped a cylindrical cardboard container. Salt in hand, she walked back to the door, pouring it in a thick line across her doorway.
Her tarot, worn and soft, sat on the vanity next to the tiny blue jars she collected from antique stores. Her special candela del Santo sat where she left it in the drawer of her nightstand.
Whispering a Hail Mary, Valeria lit her candle and gathered her tarot. She rapped her knuckles against the ancient cards three times, praying the entire time.
One card: that was all she needed. With Lucia at the forefront of her mind, she shuffled.
Valeria Castilucci believed in God, the Catholic Church, and the Boston Red Sox. She believed her sister passed pre-made marinara sauce off as her own and hid the glass jars in the garage. She believed her mother looked down on her from Heaven and shook her head at her daughters.
In this world, there was what could be seen or touched, and there was what could not. The evil eye. The curse of the Bambino.
Even before she flipped the card over, she knew what she’d see.
The Tower.
Burning. Immolation. The destruction of everything before beliefs were rebuilt, reformed. Harder, tougher, and flame-resistant.
Son of a bitch. She’d better find her niece.
Lucia
Lucia didn’t know what it was that made her stop and peer into the blackness of an alley she passed a hundred times before. She blamed videos on social media about abandoned animals. In her mind, she saw a tiny pit bull puppy, whimpering innocently, yipping for its mother, body shivering in the cold New England winter.
Hitching her bag onto her shoulder, Lucia peered into the inky blackness.
Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Her brain screamed. Go home!
But the puppy…
Twisting away from the alley with her back to the brick wall, she examined both sides of the street. This was what happened when she decided to stay at the library extra late. She missed the final campus bus, then only reached her roommate’s voicemail, and had to sludge through the snow and ice.
Lucia was not dumb. Few people relied on rationality like she did. The smart thing to do was back away, run home. Return in the morning—or maybe in a car, if she was compelled to come back tonight—high beams annihilating the darkness.
Then why were her fingers curling into the sign of the horns? Middle finger and ring finger held down by her thumb, like she was rocking out at an AC/DC concert, warding off any evil lurking behind dumpsters.
The noise came from the alley again, a tiny cry, a cross between a kitten and a baby. Throatier, but weak.
“Hello?”
A shrill ringing from her pocket made her jump. Hoping it was her roommate, she answered without looking at the caller ID.
“Lucia?”
“Zia?”
“Lucia, where are you?”
A snort escaped her before she whispered, “Funny story…”
“I read the cards today, Lucia.” Her aunt’s voice, usually fast-paced, bypassed rapid and went straight to frantic. “Stop where you are and turn around. Go back wherever you ca
me.”
The cry came from the alley again. “Hello?” she called.
“Lucia, Madre di Dio, turn around.”
“Hello?” a tiny voice echoed down the alley in response to her call.
A lost preschooler replaced her puppy.
Through the phone, her aunt’s voice prayed in breakneck Italian, Hail Mary—
“Zia, someone needs help. I’ll call you back.”
“Lucia Maria—”
Her phone rang as soon as she hung up, but she sent it to voicemail. Flicking on the flashlight feature, she crept into the alley, heart hammering in her chest. “Are you okay?”
A flash of white was the only warning she had before something nailed her in the stomach. Her body folded in half, breath releasing in an audible gust.
Something small wrapped around her legs, holding so tightly, any movement would send her tumbling to the ground.
A child. Skinny arms blue with cold. Ragged shirt hanging off one emaciated shoulder.
“Oh, no!” Placing her hands on the child’s body, she attempted to push the child away to get a better look at him or her. Strong, for all their boniness, the child clung to her. “What’s your name?”
The child answered, but not in a language Lucia understood.
“Whoa. Slow down, sweetie.”
The child glanced up hearing Lucia’s voice, and time stopped. Red eyes, bright as maraschino cherries stared back at her. Pointed teeth—two rows of shark-like, jagged though small, and bright white—peeked behind bow-shaped lips. A girl with delicate features studied her with interest as the world came back into focus.
The child—could she be called that?—remained wrapped around her body. Knees weak, Lucia stumbled, falling so she was eye to eye with the girl.
So close to her face, her teeth appeared much more wicked and sharp.
“Hello.”
“Hello,” the girl repeated, the words sounding thick and muddled as if she was trying them out for the first time.
Glancing around the alley again, this time for a hidden camera or a B-list celebrity, Lucia searched for a clue about what was going on. There was nothing: no lights, no doors to the buildings, no…cage. A full-body shiver wracked the girl’s body and Lucia suddenly didn’t care if the child had red eyes or flesh-tearing teeth.
“Here.” Stripping off her wool coat, she draped it around the girl’s shoulders. Her eyes closed as it settled around her tiny body, and she rubbed her face against the collar, breathing in deeply. Placing her bag on her back, Lucia stood, staring down at the girl and wondering what the hell she was supposed to do. Having a weird face didn’t automatically eliminate the option of taking her to the police, did it? That was the responsible thing to do—drop a child off at the police station.
But something stopped her from making the call or from scooping her up and hightailing it to Station Three-One two blocks away.
A rumble thundered through the ground and headlights illuminated the alley. It was only a moment, but it lasted long enough for her to make out the girl’s bare feet and dirty legs. Without a second thought, Lucia picked her up. “I’m going to take you home. Get you warm—and we’ll go from there. Do you know where your parents live?”
Speaking slowly, the girl repeated, “Live?”
“Your parents? Your mom or dad?”
Understanding shone in her eyes and she shook her head.
“No mom?”
“No mom.”
The girl shivered again, but then giggled high and trilling. Her body wiggled in Lucia’s grasp, and she struggled to hold onto her. “Hey.”
Grasping her tighter, she felt a vibration through the wool. Her phone. Reaching for it quickly and tucking it under her chin, she answered, “I can’t talk, Zia.”
“Lucia, I swear to God, if you hang up—”
“Zia. I found a kid in an alley, and I gotta get her outta the cold. I can’t talk.” Red eyes remained glued to her face as she spoke, and the girl nodded. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“That’s not a girl, Lucia. You can’t take it home.”
“Hanging up, Zia.”
“Lucia!”
“I warned her,” Lucia told the girl, stuffing the phone in her back pocket. “That’s how you deal with irritating relatives, piccola. Just hang up.”
“Hang up.” Nodding seriously, her new charge agreed and shivered again.
“Let’s go.” Hurriedly, she wrapped the girl a little better and trekked out of the alley. “My apartment isn’t too far. We’ll eat, and you can take a bath, and then I’ll wrap you up all snuggly-wuggly and stick you in bed.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t know where snuggly-wuggly came from.”
The girl laughed, her breath huffing out in a tiny white puff.
“Where did you come from?” she said to herself, jogging now. The winter air cut through her sweater, and suddenly she was terrified the girl had hypothermia or frostbite. How long had she been in the alley crying out for someone?
Her aunt’s voice echoed in her head. That’s not a girl.
“Fuck that,” she said under her breath. “You’re a girl.”
“Fuck that.”
Jolted, she realized she’d spoken aloud. “You can’t say that.”
“Fuck.”
In her young voice, the word came out high and light, completely at odds with its meaning, and she couldn’t help laughing. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”
The girl immediately silenced. When the child spoke, her words were accented, but Lucia got the feeling she she understood every word she said. And something had muted the laughter they’d shared.
Her house was ahead, and she redoubled her efforts to hurry inside. “Almost there. See?” Lifting her finger, she pointed while holding the girl on her hip. “Right there.”
The girl whispered, the words rolling off her tongue, the sounds emanating from her throat in no combination Lucia recognized.
“I wish I knew what you were saying,” she mumbled, pushing the key into the lock and opening the door.
A cold hand touched her face and a jolt of electricity zipped along her skin like static.
“I said, I’m hungry.”
“I can make you a grilled cheese…” she answered distractedly before realizing the girl had strung more than two words together, and each was perfectly clear.
Her keys clattered to the floor, and the backpack slid from her shoulders. “I understand you.”
“You wanted to.” Pearly teeth poked into pink lips, and wide red eyes peeked at her nervously. “Am I in trouble?”
Was she? One little zap and instantaneously Lucia understood tongues. One part of her considered how helpful it could be on her languages exams, but the rest of her worried about brain damage. The girl stared up at her, worry clouding her face, and she remembered how it felt to view the world through a little girl’s lens. Quickly, she knelt on the carpet, letting her see she wasn’t upset. “I’m amazed. You did this?”
Nodding, the girl shivered in her borrowed coat. Carefully, she studied Lucia’s face, as if searching for a lie. Her features slowly relaxed, but a shudder racked the girl’s body, spurring Lucia to action. Right. She could understand her girl, but the child remained dirty, frozen, and apparently, hungry.
“Okay. Well.” Remembering her roommate and the shit show she’d face if she happened downstairs, Lucia lowered her voice. “Thanks. First job is warming you up, then I’ll feed you.”
“I don’t like grilled cheese.”
Nodding, she lifted the girl in her arms and trudged toward the bathroom. “Okay.” She flipped on the bathroom light and the girl winced. “Too bright?”
Blinking, she shook her head. “No.”
Even though Lucia focused on the mundane pieces of a bath time routine, she was two seconds from a complete freak-out meltdown. I’m starting a bath for a child who zapped me with insta-understanding, and who doesn’t want to eat grilled cheese, but might want to eat me.
&n
bsp; “I’ll make you something else.” Pushing both her thoughts and the shower curtain aside, she turned on the water and stuck her hand beneath it. “What’s your name?”
She glanced over where the girl stood examining every inch of her bathroom, still clad in her coat.
Ignoring her question, the girl walked to the mirror, staring at her face before glancing back at Lucia. “You don’t look like me.”
“No.” She pushed the plug in the tub and stood next to her, studying their reflections. The girl’s hair was blonde, and when it was clean, probably curled. Her skin, which initially appeared blue from cold, might just be pale blue. Otherwise, she was human…ish. “You’re much prettier than me.” It wasn’t a lie. Even with the teeth and eyes and skin, the girl was beautiful. “When I was your age, I had a mustache.”
The girl laughed. A lightbulb above the vanity blew out, and Lucia squeaked in surprise. “Sorry,” the little one apologized.
“It’s fine. Let’s test the water.” Kneeling on the bathmat, Lucia dipped her elbow into the tub, it felt warm, but not overly hot. “Want to try?”
Nodding, the girl dropped the coat and climbed onto the lip of the tub, touching the surface with her fingers. Her eyes closed in bliss and she slipped inside the water, thin kitten T-shirt, leggings and all. “It’s so warm.”
“Do you want it warmer?”
“Yes, please.” A film of dirt sloughed off her body, muddying the water to brown.
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