Westerham Witches and a Venetian Vendetta

by Dionne Lister

  Isabella blinked at me and shook her head. “You really are stupid. I like you, but you are not very smart.” God, if smashing someone over the head was what she did to people she liked….

  “Excuse me?” So much for being a nice old lady. If she kept this up, I would push her over.

  Angelica groaned. I snapped my head around. Her head lolled to one side, and her eyes moved behind her lids. Isabella’s magic tingled my scalp. I looked at her. A needle appeared in her hand. She stepped up to the bed and leaned down to stick it in Angelica’s arm.

  I grabbed Isabella’s arm. “No! I can’t let you do that.”

  She strained against my hold, the needle inching closer to Angelica’s arm. “I want her sleeping.”

  “I don’t.” My voice came out in a pant. Damn, she was strong. I tried to draw magic. A trickle came through. I willed the needle part of the syringe onto the hallway floor. She’d have no idea where it was, and the closer I tried to send it, the more likely it was to disappear with the way the magic was blinking in and out.

  Just as the metal tip pierced her skin, the needle disappeared. I let go of Isabella, and she fell forward onto Angelica. The old lady awkwardly righted herself and turned to face me, her lips pinched with anger. “You don’t understand. She doesn’t know who put her here. This is for her own safety. If she sees me, I’ll have to kill both of you.”

  My mouth dropped open. And I’d thought she was kind of nice. Was it crazy of me to be just a little hurt? I thought she liked me. “You’re going to kill me?”

  “Of course. As you said, I hit you and kidnapped you. I don’t want to go to jail. Once my family is safe, I will make sure Angelica is returned alive. You shouldn’t have asked so many questions. Francesco never listens. It’s not his fault though. My daughter never listens either. If she had, none of this would’ve happened.”

  “Right, so everything is everyone else’s fault?”

  She regarded me with a look of complete righteousness. “Of course. I always have to fix everything. Who do you think made the ’otel a success? Who do you think looked after Francesco when Elena was off with one of her men and Antonio drank himself stupid? I am not a young woman anymore. I am tired, and I want to enjoy the years I have left. I’ve given up more than enough for this family.”

  “What did you have to give up?” Maybe if she thought I cared, she’d decide not to kill me? Not that I was going to let her. The only problem was my reluctance to hurt her. If she tried to kill me, though, I guessed I’d have to get over myself. I resisted the urge to look at Angelica to see how she was. I hoped she wouldn’t groan again and remind Isabella that she needed sedating.

  “My brilliant career, not that women are encouraged as artists, but I could’ve started late. If my grandson hadn’t needed me so much… if his father wasn’t such an idiot.” She blew out a breath and waved her hand around. “When I was young, my paintings were shown in a gallery once, and then I started glass-blowing. Why don’t I show you?” Her magic tickled my scalp, and a glass sculpture of a bird appeared in her hand, a pigeon.

  I leaned closer to study the detailed work. “You did that?” She looked at me again but said nothing. I slapped my forehead. “Oh, right. You killed your son-in-law. But why?” Yay that I’d finally, with more than a lot of hints, figured out who the murderer was, but poo that it took until I was at said murderer’s mercy before I did. I was putting it down to the fact that I wasn’t the only one on holiday—my brain was right there along with me. I tried to ignore the icy fingers of fear skating down my back.

  “He let my daughter have her way with everything. But he would never leave her, no matter how much they fought. It made my life difficult.” She pressed her lips together. “I put up with it for many years, but my… how you say… last straw was when he killed the pigeons in the courtyard.” She shook her head, anger radiating from her eyes. “He should not have done that.”

  “I love pigeons… all birds actually.” Maybe I should try and turn myself into a pigeon to save myself? At the very least, I needed a bird costume. Should I start cooing? Honestly, after all I’d been through, if I was killed because of a freaking pigeon, I was going to be severely crapped off.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  “Oh, sorry. I was… thinking about pigeons. They’re so cute. I love feeding them, and how cool are they in Saint Mark’s Square, landing all over people.” Okay, and pooing on them, but I didn’t want to get into that now. The longer I kept her talking, the better. I needed more time to find a way out of this.

  She smiled. “Yes, they are beautiful creatures. They bring life to the square. They have always been good company too. I once had a pigeon familiar, but he died ten years ago.” She sniffed. “I have been sad since he has gone.”

  “I’m so sorry. That is sad.”

  She nodded. “Thank you. You are a lovely girl. I’m sorry I have to kill you. I really am.” Her magic prickled my scalp, and the pigeon disappeared.

  What the hell? I looked at the ceiling and threw my arms in the air. I hated being nice for nothing, well, not for nothing, but when it gets thrown back in your face, like letting people merge into your lane when you’re stuck in traffic. They push in by racing down the inside lane knowing people are parked there, and then they don’t even do a thank-you wave. Is it wrong that I always wished those people would crash their car? Hmm, being a witch, I could make them crash their car, and no one would ever know…. No, bad Lily.

  Angelica groaned, snapping me out of my reverie. Isabella’s magic tickled my scalp, and a new needle materialised in her hand. She pushed my chest, and I stumbled backwards, away from her and Angelica.

  “No!”

  She stabbed the needle into Angelica’s arm. I found my footing and leaped to Isabella, shoving her out of the way—old lady or not, she was crazy and dangerous. The needle stuck out of Angelica’s arm, but no fluid had gone in yet. As I ripped it out, Isabella’s magic tickled my scalp. Crap. I drew from the river of power, but it was still glitchy—she must have a way around it. Damn it!

  The needle disappeared from my grasp and shot into Angelica’s arm. For God’s sake. This was getting ridiculous. I moved to grab it again, but Isabella’s power slammed into me. It was as if a strong wind buffeted me, pushing me backwards. I tried to brace against it, lean forward. Just a few inches and I’d be able to touch the needle.

  I strained my muscles and grunted with the effort. Come on. Just a couple more inches. The plunger slid down, pushing the liquid into Angelica’s body. “Nooooooo!”

  And then it was done.

  The wind died, and I flew forward, only saving myself by falling on top of Angelica. Annoyance gave way to seething anger, which heated my insides almost as much as drawing too much magic. Even if she wasn’t trying to kill Angelica, she could end up overdoing it by accident, not to mention, I was hoping Angelica would be able to help us escape. She might know the spell that was cutting off our magic and be able to undo it or something.

  Isabella gave me a “you shouldn’t have done that” look and drew more magic. I tried to draw consistent power to make a return to sender. I just managed to get it up when her spell hit, but then my protection failed as the magic winked out again. She must have cast a freeze spell because she stood there, not moving, and my limbs felt heavy, like I couldn’t take more than one or two steps even if I wanted to. Hopefully, I managed to deflect more of the spell than I got. I turned with the speed of a teenager who’d just been told to hurry up and get ready for school. Hoping Angelica would be safe because she posed no threat, I tried to move towards the door.

  Did I have gravity boots on? Trying to lift my foot off the floor was worse than walking through knee-deep mud. Even my breathing had slowed. Sweat popped out on my forehead as my right foot came completely off the floor, moved forward in slow motion, and landed. Time for my left foot. I couldn’t turn my head quickly either, so I was still half looking at Isabella and half at the door. She hadn’t moved.
Did that mean she couldn’t draw power to undo the effects of the spell or was that even impossible with power after the fact? If only I had more of an idea of how all this worked. Whatever it was, I was winning because I could move and she couldn’t.

  My left foot inched through the air and dropped to the ground, my leg more bent than normal. Looked like gravity was going to help me get the job done. All I had to do was get my foot up and forward. It would make for some noisy treading, but I didn’t need to sneak anymore. The only risk was if I fell. Oh, God. How the hell would I get back up again? It would take an hour, which was pretty depressing for someone who was sober or someone who hadn’t just broken both legs and an arm. Note to self: don’t put your foot too far forward, and keep the leg bent.

  I managed two more steps. I hadn’t turned my head all the way forward because I wanted to keep an eye on Isabella. It was a good thing I had—she was lifting a foot even more slowly than I was. I had the upper hand, although this was ridiculous. The slowest chase in history.

  After a couple of minutes, I was halfway to the door and exhausted. Sheesh. This was akin to smashing out weights at the gym. The subtle scrape of Isabella’s magic scored the back of my neck. Crap. Now what? If she was able to reverse the spell on herself, I was in major trouble.

  Her smile was more catlike than pigeonish. She shook her arms and legs, as if testing them. “Ah, bene.”

  Ah, not bene. I knew that meant good. It was so not.

  I let my foot drop to the floor. A snail could catch me at the rate I was moving. Instead, I’d just have to keep trying to draw power and hope I could suck in enough to keep her at bay. There must be some reason she hadn’t killed me yet, since that’s what she’d decided had to happen. Hmm, if she’d been turning people into glass sculptures and it needed a lot of power, maybe she’d worn herself out and was still recovering? I knew how that felt, straining yourself to the absolute limit. It’d landed me in bed for days at a time, and I was young. I narrowed my eyes. It was a slow and embarrassing manoeuvre. That’s why she must’ve been cooking the non-witch way! She didn’t have the energy to magic the food. It all made sense.

  Maybe I had a chance after all.

  She moved and stood between me and the door. “You need not try to run. I have locked this house with magic. You can never escape.” She cocked her head to the side, studying me. Nodding, she folded her arms. “I will make you into a masterpiece!” She grinned. “You will be my best work. Instead of putting you outside where they will take you away, I can move you to an art gallery, and people will marvel over your beauty.” She nodded. “Si, perfetta. I did not get the credit I deserved for Antonio or Violetta, even though I saw those people amazed at the beauty of my work. I will make a new name so they will not know who I really am. Then I can enjoy my success.”

  Oh crap. Isabella was ten types of crazy. This was a new and even worse way to be objectified. Was she going to undress me first? When I tried to talk, my lips and tongue were heavy, reluctant. My words came out in a drunk-on-a-bender slur—which was much worse than the usual drunken slur. It would be a surprise if she could understand me. “A… togaaa… wooould… beee… nicccccce.” If I was going to be immortalised, she could at least let me pick what to wear, and since I was in Italy, a toga would make things feel more classical. Also, I did not want to be naked in public for eternity.

  “Silly girl. I cannot understand you.” She cupped my cheek with her hand. “Ah, such youthful skin. Much easier to work with than Violetta and Antonio.” My mouth would’ve dropped open, but nothing was happening quickly, except for my thoughts because who wouldn’t want to be lucid when they were about to die? And, yes, that was totally sarcastic. I always hoped when I died that it would come as a total surprise for one hundredth of a second or even when I wasn’t looking. I did not want to know ahead of time.

  We didn’t always get what we wished for, obviously.

  She ran a hand over my head. “Your hair will turn out well. Yes. Much better than your friend’s.” She turned her head to glance at Angelica before looking back at me. My eyes widened, albeit slowly, and Isabella grinned. “Ah, you thought I was telling the truth before? I lied. She found my button.” Her magic tingled my scalp, and the pearlescent blue button in the photo I’d taken of Angelica sat in her palm. “Of course I’m going to turn her into a sculpture as well. Maybe we show you together at the gallery? I didn’t want you to have extra… how you say… incentive to stop me before.” She magicked the button away.

  The spell I was under didn’t prevent my stomach from dropping like a rollercoaster car. What would losing both of us do to my mum, and everyone else? The pressure of frustration built inside me until I thought I’d explode. This couldn’t be happening. I needed to think about something else otherwise my brain would stay on a panicked loop.

  I knew why she was going to kill us, but I wanted to ask why she’d killed that old lady—Violetta. Where did she fit into it? The only thing worse than dying? Dying without knowing the answer to a puzzle. It was all I had to cling to right now, so I was taking it.

  I opened myself to the power and sucked in little by little, moving it to my internal reserves. It might take a while, but if I had enough time, I’d end up with a sufficient amount to do something to Isabella. I just wasn’t sure what. And if I did kill her, would her protection spells on the house disappear, or would Angelica and I starve to death? Argh! Don’t worry about that. You’ll find a way—you always do. My heart wanted to race, but the half-strength freeze spell wouldn’t let it.

  Isabella clicked her fingers in front of my face. “Lily? Lily, you are not listening to me. This is very rude of you.” I would’ve shrugged, but by the time it happened, she’d be onto the next thing. Instead of doing or slurring anything, I syphoned more power across. “I do not like to work in this space. I will move you to my studio.”

  Damn it! What if her studio was in a different building? There would be no way to find Angelica later. Hmm, unless I could do something to the outside of the building that basically said “Angelica and Lily are here.” But what?

  Before I had time to figure it out, she’d made a doorway around me. The room disappeared, and a different one materialised. It looked to be a reception room with the same terrazzo floor as the room I’d just been in. Were we still in the same house?

  The door opened, and Isabella stood behind a wheelchair. She pushed it into the room and shoved me into it. “There. Much easier. Let’s get you into my studio.” I wanted to scream, but it would achieve nothing but tiring me out. Frustration sizzled beneath my skin. How dare she just manhandle me like that, treat me like I was an inanimate object to be moved about at her whim. It was as if she no longer saw me as a person. I’d become her next project. Possibly, in her mind, I was already made of glass—no longer alive, devoid of feelings.

  But I wasn’t, dammit!

  She pushed me down a hallway and into a large room that again had all windows covered. Even if I had been able to see out, it was still night-time, the landscape shrouded in darkness. It wouldn’t have helped me much, if at all.

  An easel stood in the middle of one wall, and paintings hung from every available surface—Venetian landscapes and still lifes. A rustic green industrial-looking cabinet with small drawers stood about chest height, its top covered with all manner of small-animal glass sculptures. Oh my God, was that someone’s cat in amongst the pigeons, sparrows, mice, and fish? Hopefully, it had been an old cat ready to die before she did that to it.

  She moved me to the middle of the room and used magic to lift me out of the chair. She manually adjusted my legs so they were straight rather than bent, and then I was standing. “Oh, splendido!” She grabbed my left wrist and used her other hand in an attempt to bend my elbow. Stuff making it easy for her. Even though I couldn’t move, I could still tense my muscles, making my arm rigid and unyielding. That’s right—there would be no more yielding today. All yielding was over, finished. I was not a mannequin. If I h
ad my way, I’d make sure I was the worst-posed sculpture ever. If I could foil her attempts at a visually pleasing pose, maybe I’d be too ugly to ever display. That would suit me just fine.

  She released my arm, then slapped it. “Boh!” She said some choice words in Italian whilst waving her arms. I could only assume she was swearing by the tone of her voice and her pinched expression. One point to me, zero to Isabella. I would have fist pumped, but, well, you know.

  “Stop making this difficult.”

  I painstakingly cracked a smile. Luckily, I was still feeling the mood when I finally reached maximum up-curl. Was that what it was like to be a tortoise or a sloth? By the time you could reveal your emotions on your face, the feeling had already passed.

  She narrowed her eyes. “I prefer that you are alive when I start this process—the sculpture will be more lifelike. But I can kill you first, and it will still be beautiful.”

  The warm flood of adrenaline lazily seeped through my belly, making me realise I needed to go to the toilet. Gah, what a time to notice. I pushed the thought away. I was not dying today. No way. I sucked in more power. It was never enough, but it was something to add to what was already there. I needed to concentrate, not get distracted by Isabella, so when she grabbed my wrist again, I let her treat me as if I were a Barbie doll. She arranged my left arm so it was bent, and my hand was on my hip. The other arm, she lifted vertically, with a slight bend in the elbow. My hand was bent back and flat, ready for something to rest on my palm. Her magic scraped the back of my neck, and something heavy, hard, and cold settled in my palm. My arm started bending more with the weight until she put her hand underneath it to stop it falling.

  “Hmm.” She thought for a moment. Her magic returned, and whatever was on my hand disappeared. I couldn’t turn or raise my head fast enough to see what it was. Her eyes lit up, and she nodded, a self-satisfied smile on her face. She drew more magic, and something cool, heavy, slippery, and firmly squishy moulded to my palm, and around the back of my neck. What the hell? Gah, don’t be distracted. Suck in more magic.