by Nicole Maggi
“Yep!” She squinted. “What are we talking about?”
Jenny shook her hair out of a ponytail and threw her hairband at Carly. “Jonah! He’s back.”
“Oh!” Carly reached across the aisle and patted my hand. “Just ignore him.”
Easy for her to say.
I pulled out my textbook and stared at it, the words swimming on the page with the effort it took me to not look at the door. Finally, just as the bell rang, Jonah ducked in. I forced myself to keep my head down as he brushed past me and dropped into his seat behind me.
Up at the front of the room, Madame Dubois could have been doing a cancan and I would have missed it. I had no idea if Jonah was staring at me, but the back of my neck sizzled. My hand moved across my notebook, conjugating verbs, but my mind was far away. Two miles, to be exact, at the Waterfall, flying circles inside the barrier under the watchful emerald-green eyes of the Panther. Jonah’s eyes.
Madame Dubois called something out, and everyone shuffled and flipped through their books. I blinked and looked at my notebook. I had conjugated the verb to ride eleven times in a row. With a sigh, I ran a hand over my face. This was what Morrissey had meant. I would have to see Jonah every day, and I couldn’t let him affect me like this.
A note slid onto my desk from behind, the sound of its landing hidden under the rustling of everyone’s pages. I covered it with my palm, my fingers trembling. Please be from Jenny, I thought as I unfolded it. Some easy platitude about hanging in there . . .
But it was Jonah’s block script that greeted me, not Jenny’s curlicues and hearts.
I have information that you need to hear. Meet me in the graveyard at midnight.
At eleven forty-five that night, I sat on the edge of my bed, fully dressed, Jonah’s note crumpled in my hand. All day, since it had landed on my desk, my brain had played tug-of-war. What information? Why did I have to hear it? Was it a trap?
That last thought was what kept me rooted to my bed, sneakers half laced. Jonah was a Malandante. Everything I knew about them was evidence of their treachery, and though I didn’t believe Jonah was deep-down evil, he was still one of them.
And yet . . . he protected you.
That was what Heath had told me, the night I’d learned what Jonah was, during an attack on the Waterfall. The Malandante Bobcat had nearly caught me, but Jonah had distracted him, giving me enough time to get away. And then last night, he had acted as though he was hurting me, but he hadn’t. He had actually protected me again from the Raven.
I laced my sneakers the whole way up and stopped.
But just because he hadn’t killed me, as the rest of his Clan wanted to do, didn’t mean we weren’t enemies. He was still one of them. He hadn’t come to me asking for help to get out of the Malandanti.
My stomach turned over. Maybe that was what he was doing now.
Before I could think it through—before hope and fear could cancel each other out—I crossed my room to the door and tiptoed downstairs. Lidia had long since gone to bed, and I had snuck out of the house so many times in the last couple of months that it was second nature now.
The old wrought-iron gate still had the same creak it always had, but everything was different. The last time I had been here was before. Before Jonah had found out what I was. Before he had told me what he was. Before everything had fallen apart. I walked through the rows of gravestones. They, at least, were unchanging.
Icicles clung to the long, bare branches that brushed the top of my head as I wound my way to the bench. Our bench. I shook my head. Not our bench anymore. Nothing was ours anymore. We were separate. I had to remember that.
Jonah was already seated on the bench when I rounded the corner of the mausoleum. He looked up at the crunch of my feet on the snow-tipped grass. “You came.”
I folded my arms and nodded, keeping my distance to several feet from the bench. “What information was so important you had to drag me out of bed at midnight?”
Jonah sighed and ran a hand through his hair. A large, black pen-ink tattoo circled his middle finger; I’d watched him draw it during biology class that afternoon. “Aren’t you even gonna sit down?”
“Fine.” I sat as far away from him as the bench would allow and hugged myself against the chill. Whether the cold came from outside or within, I didn’t know.
“I can’t believe how cold it gets in Maine,” Jonah said after a few minutes of thick silence.
I looked at him. “Really, Jonah? The weather?”
“You’re right—”
“Just tell me what you meant by your note, and then we can both go back to bed.” I kept my focus on the frosted ground. Looking at him hurt, like staring at something so beautiful it broke your heart. He didn’t speak for so long that I finally had to look up. Shadows veiled his eyes, but there was something in them that caught my breath.
“I still think you’re wrong,” he said finally. “About the Benandanti.”
“Save your breath.” Anger rose in me like soda bubbles. “I know you’re wrong.”
“Why can’t you see—?”
“Is this what you came here to say?” I stood up. “Because if it is, you dragged both of us out of bed for nothing.” I stared at him, my body suddenly numb. “Or did you? Did you drag me out here to keep me busy?”
“What do you—?”
“While the rest of your Clan attacks the Waterfall!” I backed away, every nerve alight with fear. I had to get out of here, get home, transform, and get to the Waterfall before they could—
“Alessia, stop!” In a blur, Jonah moved to block my path.
I froze. He was close enough now I could feel his breath on my face.
“I didn’t bring you here to keep you busy. Get real. If the Waterfall were in trouble, you’d be Called.”
I exhaled slowly. He was right, and I’d panicked for nothing in front of him. I clenched my fists at my sides. I couldn’t let him see my weaknesses. Wasn’t that a basic rule of warfare? “Then why did you ask me here?”
His eyes searched my face. “Uh, how’s your mom?”
I blinked. “What?”
“She’s okay, right?”
“She’s fine.” I tilted my head, trying to read in his face what he was getting at. But he gave nothing away. “Though she would be a lot better if Mr. Salter were around.”
“What do you mean?”
My jaw tightened. “Mr. Salter. He’s been missing since before Christmas. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the last time we saw him he was fighting with your father.”
“Alessia, I have no idea where Mr. Salter is.” Jonah balled his hands into fists. “You don’t even know for sure that he disappeared. He probably just went away for a while.”
“Yeah, right—”
“Look, I don’t want to talk about Mr. Salter,” Jonah said, his words tumbling out fast and angry. “I asked about your mom because—I think you should know—they’re suspicious. They used the same magic on your mom that they used on the town, and it didn’t work. And they’re wondering why.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you that.”
I ground my teeth together. He didn’t need to—I knew it was either his dad at the Guild or his Malandanti Clan. They were virtually interchangeable. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I told you—” He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. “I still care about you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“A little too late for that.”
“God, Alessia!” Jonah turned away from me, then spun back, his eyes glowing against his pale skin. “You think this doesn’t kill me? You think I don’t hate this? I loved you! I still—” He clamped his mouth shut and inhaled sharply through his nose. “It doesn’t matter why I told you, okay? I just thought you should know. Can’t you just say thank you and be done with it?”
“Thank you.” My voice shook. I was fighting to keep my balance. He said he still loved me
. At least, I was pretty sure that was what he was going to say . . .
“You’re welcome.” Jonah straightened his shoulders. He rocked a little on his heels. “How come it didn’t work? The magic?”
I bit my lip. I wasn’t about to tell him about the amulet. “The Malandanti aren’t the only ones who have magic, you know.” As the words came out of my mouth, I realized they must be true. The Benandanti had to have magic, too. Why weren’t we using it like the Malandanti?
Jonah crossed his arms. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Doesn’t it also make sense that the Malandanti burned down my barn?” We had fought over this point before. “If you follow the logic that they were suspicious of my mother? Besides the fact that I saw the freaking Raven there just before the fire?”
“I know.” Jonah looked at the ground. “But you have to believe that I had nothing to do with it and didn’t know anything about—”
“It doesn’t matter!” Wind shifted through the gravestones, as if the spirits below felt my anger. “Just because you didn’t know about it doesn’t mean you’re innocent, Jonah. You’re one of them. Whatever they do, you’re a part of.” He finally met my gaze, and we stood, inches but worlds apart, breathing heavily. “That’s why we can’t talk. Because you’ll never convince me you’re not just as evil as they are.”
I backed away, my feet picking up speed until I rounded the corner of the mausoleum. I turned and ran, dry branches whipping against my face as I fled through the gravestones. It was a mistake to come here and face him. My heart had split open all over again.
Once through the ancient gate, I stopped and caught my breath. Jonah was nowhere to be seen; he hadn’t followed me. I pressed a hand to my chest and closed the gate, its creak echoing down Main Street. It wasn’t until I was halfway home that I really thought about what he had told me.
I stopped in the middle of the road and bent over, my head to my knees. I thought I might be sick.
Lidia was in danger.
They were coming after my mom.
Chapter Four
The Return
Alessia
Before the sun rose, I hiked over the hill and into the woods. Nerina had marked the hidden door to her hideout with a small cluster of stones, so it took me less than a minute to find, even in the dark. Light flooded into the predawn darkness when I pulled open the door. I figured that Nerina would still be jet-lagged and awake even at this hour.
“Buongiorno?” I called out. The smell of coffee grew stronger as I descended the staircase.
“Pronto,” Nerina answered.
When I got to the bottom of the staircase, I found a much different hideout than the one I’d seen a day ago. A cable-knit blanket was draped stylishly over the couch, and throw pillows had been arranged on the armchairs. An iPod dock sat on the end table, and the latest issues of Vogue, Italian Vogue, and W lay on the coffee table. I followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen, which had been tricked out with a very sleek, very silver, and very expensive coffeemaker, food processor, and convection oven.
Nerina sat at the kitchen table, papers and folders piled high in front of her. “Hello, cara.” She was fully made-up and in high heels—at four o’clock in the morning. “Help yourself to some coffee,” she said, waving a hand.
“Thanks.” I opened the cabinet above the sink and pulled down a heavy ceramic mug. It looked brand-new. “Uh—where did all this come from?”
“Oh, I took a trip to Bangor yesterday while you were at school.” Nerina came over to the coffeemaker and poured herself another cup. “I couldn’t possibly be expected to survive on that antique that was in here.” She took a sip and winked at me. “We Italians take our caffè very seriously. Sit, sit.”
We sat at the table, drinking our coffee in silence for a few minutes. Nerina wasn’t kidding; it was the best cup I’d had in a long time. I finished it and poured myself another. I was going on practically no sleep for the past two nights; it was definitely a two-cup morning.
“So what is all this?” I asked when I sat back down. I rested my hand on the top of a stack of folders.
“Everything I’ve collected on the Guild.” Nerina sighed and ran a manicured fingertip over her bottom lip. “I had so much more, but this is all I had time to take before—” She swallowed and looked away.
I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. I picked up a bright yellow pamphlet from the table. The cover was dominated by a picture of two Africans in tribal dress standing in front of a sign that read Future Home of the Guild Coffee Plantation. They were smiling broadly at the tall white man with his arms slung over each of their shoulders. My throat went dry. Mr. Wolfe.
I opened the brochure, and my stomach bottomed out. In the center picture, Jonah sat reading to a group of attentive African children. I dropped the brochure as if I’d been burned.
“What’s the matter?” Nerina picked up the brochure and raised an eyebrow at me.
“Those people—” I cleared my throat. “That’s the Wolfes. They moved here a few months ago with the Guild.”
“Ah, yes.” Nerina smoothed the brochure open on the table. “I know all about Mr. Wolfe. He’s one of the Guild’s gruntlings.”
“What does that mean?” I crept my fingers over to the open brochure and traced Jonah’s figure with my forefinger.
“That’s what we call the employees who do the grunt work for the Guild. They go wherever the Guild sends them to do the dirty work. They aren’t Malandanti; we’re not even sure how much they know about the Malandanti. They’re just people who have traded their consciences for a hefty salary and certain privileges.”
“Privileges?”
“Well . . .” Nerina dug out a folder from the stack in front of her and flipped it open. “Before the Wolfes moved here, they lived in Fairfield, Connecticut.”
I froze, my finger on Picture Jonah’s hands.
“Their son got into a bad car accident, and the Guild made it—how you say?—go away.”
“How—how did you know that?” I whispered. My voice felt paper thin, on the verge of shredding.
Nerina looked up from the folder. She focused on my finger on Picture Jonah and then on what must have been a stricken look on my face. “Is there something you’d like to tell me, Alessia?”
I knew I had to say something, but I didn’t know how much I could. “That’s his son, Jonah. In the picture. We dated for a while, but we broke up. Last month.”
Nerina laid her hand on mine. “I’m sorry, cara. Love is never easy to lose.”
I jerked my head up. It was the first time an adult had ever acknowledged that what Jonah and I had had was love and not some childish fling. Before I could stop myself, the rest of the truth tumbled out of my mouth. “I had to break up with him. He’s a Malandante.”
Nerina pulled her hand away and stood up. She walked over to the counter and pushed against it, her back to me. I clamped my palm over my mouth. Why the hell did I tell her that? What was I thinking? Honesty was not always the best policy. “Look,” I said, “Heath knows about this, and he said as long as it doesn’t get to me when we’re at the Waterfall it would be okay and we didn’t have to tell the rest of the Clan—”
“Alessia.” Nerina turned around.
At the sight of her face, I pushed back my chair an inch. She didn’t look angry, just fierce, like whatever beast she transformed into lurked just beneath the surface of her skin. She came around the table and squatted next to my chair—not an easy feat in four-inch heels. “I know what it is like to love someone who is forbidden to you,” she said, and for the thousandth time since she arrived, I wondered about her history with Heath. “I am sorry that happened to you.”
“Uh, thanks.” I looked down at our entwined hands. “I’m okay, though.”
Nerina raised an eyebrow. “Is it definitely over?”
“Yeah. I mean, I saw him last night, but it is over.”
“Last night?”
I thought I
might turn to ash beneath her gaze. “Only because he had information for me.”
“And what if that had been a trap?” Nerina rose and towered over me. “Alessia, there is no one who understands the power of the heart better than I do. But you cannot allow your heart to be so foolish. He is a Malandante. That is finito, the end of the story. You cannot be with him. Ever. Capire?”
“Capire.” I spread my palm flat over the brochure. “But I told you this for a reason. When I saw him last night, he told me the Guild is suspicious of my mom.”
“Why?”
“Because the magic didn’t work on her.”
Nerina’s brow creased in confusion.
“When Mr. Wolfe first came here, he gave a presentation about the power plant they wanted to build over the Waterfall,” I explained. “Most of the town showed up. He did something at the meeting, some kind of magic to make everyone agree to the plan. We—the Clan—figured it out.” I tucked one leg up onto the chair and rested my chin on my knee. “But my mom didn’t go to the meeting, so Mr. Wolfe came to the house. He tried to use the same magic, but it didn’t work.”
“Ah. Yes.” Nerina dropped back into her chair. “The amulet.”
I stared at her. “How did you know about that?”
She shrugged. “Because I put it there. When I was here, fifty years ago, building this.” She waved her hand, indicating the whole of her hideout.
No wonder she knew where the door was; she’d been the architect. “You were here fifty years ago? Did you know my grandparents?” My nails scraped against the tabletop. “Did they know about the Benandanti?” Did my father? I couldn’t quite give voice to that thought.
“So now the Guild wants to know why the magic didn’t work in your house,” Nerina mused.
It didn’t escape me that she had pointedly ignored my last question. I decided not to press it; after all, she’d let me off the hook with Jonah when I knew I could’ve been in a lot more trouble about that. Besides, whatever had happened on the farm fifty years ago didn’t exactly matter in the here and now. I pushed off the chair and paced the length of the little kitchen. “What if they suspect Lidia of being a Benandante? They’ll come after her—and it’ll be all my fault.” I rubbed my hands over my face. “What should I do? Should I tell her?”