by Heloise Hull
My body shuttered and the moped wobbled. “Keep it together, Ava,” I muttered, righting the handle bars and managing to stay on the road. Back in my teen days, I’d hot wired a motorcycle. Now I could barely handle a Vespa? Pathetic. I had turned into a house cat. Declawed and domesticated.
Nonna rounded a corner at breakneck speed and came to a halt in the square. In the light of day, I had a chance to see it clearly. Each side consisted of one building with narrow entrances between them. The baby cherub fountain was still cute during the day, and a few cats sunbathed lazily on stoops.
Rosemary’s Bakery shared a wall with the taverna. The tables and chairs were still out, but the wine and tea lights were gone. For being the only bakery in town, it was empty.
I pulled out my cotton balls and glanced around. “Kind of quiet, don’t you think?” I whispered.
It felt right in the moment, like the Renaissance ghost might sense my presence and pop out again. As much as I loved the idea of ghosts, I realized I didn’t love them hitting on me.
“You’re right, girlie. Let’s investigate,” Nonna said, putting a finger to the side of her nose. “Something doesn’t smell right.”
We cautiously walked up to the bakery and peered inside. The door was locked, and it appeared to have been abandoned in a hurry. A chair was overturned, and there were napkins and silverware scattered across the black and white tiled floor. A coffee cup dripped from where it had been knocked over, half-finished.
“How many violent crimes do you get on Aradia?” I whispered.
“None. I told you. The most Luca does is yell at Marco for home brewing absinthe that will singe your nose hairs off.”
“Does he stop?”
“Hasn’t yet.” Nonna bobbed around to peer in the other window. “Maybe I should spell the lock open.”
“Let me try.” I pulled out a hair pin and inserted it into the tumblers. Carefully, I felt around until the ends snapped into place. The medieval door clicked and, with a soft whine, swung open.
“Full of secrets, aren’t you, girlie?” Nonna patted me on the back and put a finger to her wizened lips. “Now, follow me and keep quiet.”
I nodded, preparing myself for… something. What if the bakery was closed because of a magical attack? I doubted another witch or monster would be frightened off by my hair pin. Heck, I didn’t even know what sort of monsters existed.
Nonna tiptoed through the wreckage, and I was impressed at her catlike ability. On the other hand, she probably weighed ninety pounds dripping wet.
She stopped and put an arm out to catch me. “I hear something.”
I strained to listen, and then I heard it too. Grunting. Something big was in the back room. Something big and animalistic.
I needed a better weapon. Frantically, I grabbed the broken espresso cup and nodded for Nonna to proceed. What had my life come to that I had to brandish a weapon twice in one morning?
The grunting got louder. It sounded almost like a predator growling. Nonna pressed two fingers to her side and did another complicated gesture, like I was supposed to understand spy talk. I made a mental note to ask later if she was part of the Resistance during WWII.
She held up three fingers, then two. On one, she flung open the door, already chanting something ancient. Multiple people screamed, including me. Inside, a large, hairy and very stunned lion was morphing into a human, his humanoid butt still covered in golden hair.
The woman below him looked normal and un-eaten. She also looked mad. “Nonna,” she yelled. “How many times have I told you to knock before you enter!”
It appears, for the second time in a week, I’d walked in on people doing the down and dirty.
Chapter Eight
“Have you no shame?” the woman screeched at Nonna who was still watching as the lion-man yanked up his pants and buckled them. I was fairly certain it was Marco, but I really, really did not want to know. The woman, I guessed, was Rosemary.
Her curls were messy, as if someone had been running their claws through them, and her face flushed. “I’m so sorry. We’ll just—”
Nonna cackled, interrupting my rambling. “Marco, you old dog. I’m sorry, I mean cat.”
Rosemary straightened her half-buttoned baker’s outfit. “It’s fine. I need to open for the lunch, as do you, caro mio.” She gave Marco a kiss on the cheek.
Marco roared and huffed, clearly not happy about this turn of events, but Rosemary took his elbow and led him out of the storage room. “How about a cuppa before you go, my love? Sit over there.”
Sheepishly, we righted the tables and chairs and cleaned up the coffee cups. If I were a betting type, I’d say Marco half-shifted into a lion as he chased Rosemary into the back room for some midday pleasure.
“Rosemary and Marco have been together for decades now. Right?” Nonna called.
Rosemary bustled behind the marble counter, pouring us beautifully thick shots of espresso. “Sì. We found each other on the island in our time of need. Aradia is special that way.”
She came over with a gilt tray of cups and saucers and petite orders of biscotti, which she set in front of us. “They’re hazelnut chocolate. Dunk it first on this end, please. No, no, all wrong! This way, darling.”
Marco grunted, “Don’t mind Rosemary, she’s a harpy. She’ll nag you all day long, and she’s quite particular about her baked goods.”
Before I knew what I was doing, I leapt from the table, totally ignoring the fact that I didn’t know these people or that one of them was part lion, and smacked Marco over the head with my purse full of goodies. “No woman is a harpy,” I growled through gritted teeth, my chest heaving. Triggered.
Marco bristled. Golden fur teemed to life on his skin, rapidly covering his body and crawling up his face in long, thick clumps. His teeth, too, expanded, growing to the length of my forefinger before Rosemary burst out laughing.
She gave him a kiss on his curled, snarling lips. “Dio Mio, Marco, we’re getting a divorce so I can marry Ava.”
Marco’s fur receded quicker than my ex’s hairline, and he smoothed back the hair on his head like nothing extraordinary had happened, although he did give me a last glare before going to open up the taverna.
“Darling, I am a harpy. It’s my nature,” Rosemary explained. She paused. “You are a supernatural, right? How else would you have gotten inside the veil?”
My face must have reflected how faint I felt. Nonna jumped in smoothly. “We’re not sure. Something, obviously. Aradia doesn’t make mistakes. Besides Luca, but he doesn’t count. Aradia clearly knew he needed us.”
I could barely get past the part where they acted like the island had a consciousness, so I ignored that bit for now. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I clocked your husband. Shall I just pack my things and apologize on my way out or do you need to exact some sort of public shaming first? I saw a pillory post on my way into town.”
Rosemary patted my hand and gave me another biscotti while Nonna almost choked she was laughing so hard. I was glad I was such a delight to her.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re not the first to give him a good smack. You probably won’t be the last.”
Still, I was mortified.
“What you need,” Rosemary said, “is a proper girls’ night out with women your own age. Nonna is great and all, but…”
“Watch your tongue, girlie,” Nonna pointed a chocolate-covered biscotti at her. Good to know I wasn’t the only one she considered a girlie.
“…you should enjoy all that Aradia has to offer,” Rosemary finished firmly. “I’ll call Coronis and we’ll meet you at the taverna around eight p.m.?”
“That sounds amazing, but I can’t stay. I’m about to go through what will presumably be a very messy divorce, which means I need to find a job in the States. This trip was just a midlife crisis weekend fling.”
“Ah. I’m sorry,” Rosemary said, her glossy ringlets bouncing in sympathy. “Sometimes those we love the most hurt us the
easiest.” From the way her eyes darkened, I got the feeling she knew from experience.
“Like when Marco bit you last year and I had to stitch the hole in your ass? I hope that was worth it,” Nonna chortled.
“Quiet, you. And yes, it was worth it.”
“I don’t think my marriage included true love,” I said thoughtfully. “I mean, I appreciated my ex for what he did for me, but he barely had the power to truly wound me. It was more my pride than my heart that hurt when I found him sleeping with my assistant. Wow! You’re the first people I’ve told that too. Not even my sons know.”
“Sons?” Nonna looked up sharply. “You already have children?”
“Yes, I’m not the young girlie you think. I’ve raised twin boys!”
“What a feat,” Rosemary laughed with me. “I’ve no children of my own, but I’ve seen enough of these hellions to know I’m quite okay without one. I’m sure yours, however, are perfectly behaved.”
“Not in the slightest,” I assured her. “That last year of high school is like the last month of pregnancy. You just want them out, out, out!”
It was easy and comfortable talking to her. Unlike Nonna who was starting to make me paranoid. I couldn’t believe we broke into a perfectly fine bakery on a gut feeling. She probably still believed I murdered her this morning.
“A feat,” Nonna echoed softly. She snapped out of whatever reverie she was in and drained her cup. “Come on, Ava. I’m going to show you exactly why you can stay another night and, frankly, as many nights as you want.”
Rosemary rolled her eyes, but she had to handle more customers looking for a midday pick-me-up. “Good luck!” she waved to me as we left. “Hopefully, I’ll see you tonight!”
I waved back, following Nonna to our Vespas. Was it really that easy to make friends? It always felt so difficult back home, more like a chore than anything else. Even when I had the boys it wasn’t easy. I had to stake out the playground and determine which moms were my type. There was a fine line between being too put together and too frazzled, and I never found the right balance. School kids didn’t know how easy they had it. All they had to do was figure out who dressed like them, or liked the same music, or needed to study for that impossible chemistry test and bam—instant friendship.
“Get ready for some rough riding, Mamma,” Nonna shouted over her shoulder.
The change in my pet name jolted me. “What did you call me?”
“You’ve graduated. Enjoy it, Mamma. Now, focus on the road. This old island is wily.”
Before I could protest that it was just an island, a sinkhole opened a few feet in front of me. I swerved and almost nailed an errant goat. As he bleated indignantly, I tumbled off, my Vespa rolling a few more feet before crashing on its side. I yelped and rolled, holding my arm.
“Mamma!” Nonna raised a fist, yelling obscenities at the island before circling back to check on me. “Just a scrape,” she murmured. “There now. Easy does it.”
I held my battered arm, but it didn’t appear to be broken. I’d done that once before at our company’s co-ed softball game after attempting to steal home. I went straight from third to the hospital, but I’ve always been competitive. The minute they discharged me, I ran straight back to the field. Another team was playing, and they were quite confused by the hollering middle-aged woman stomping on home plate.
“Can you still ride?”
I nodded, feeling a little shaky at my brush with a serious accident on a foreign island with no hospital. I didn’t even know if they had a doctor. Plus, the way that sinkhole had appeared reminded me of the earthquake back home. Like it was meant for me. Before, that would have seemed ridiculous. Now… I wasn’t sure. “Where did that come from? One minute, the road was fine…”
Nonna helped me up, dusting off my jeans and speckled blouse. She narrowed her eyes at the road. “Keep it together. We’re not here to kill anyone today, you old she-devil.”
“Excuse me?”
Nonna hopped back on her Vespa. “Keep your eyes peeled. Aradia still fancies herself wild.”
“The island?”
“Of course, girlie! I mean, Mamma.”
“Just clarifying,” I muttered.
“Hurry now. You want to make apertivo hour with the other girls, don’t you?”
Nonna was right. I absolutely wanted to make one last apertivo hour before I had to stumble home and find a new life.
“The graveyard is to the left over this hill,” Nonna shouted.
“The what?” I screeched, but Nonna either didn’t hear me or was ignoring me. I’d bet a round of Botox it was the latter.
After we crested the hill, the cypress trees grew closer together in gnarled clumps, casting the road in dark shadows. Despite it being early in the afternoon, a chill settled over the land.
Before, this would have been the highlight of my trip. Now, I prayed we didn’t meet anything else in the cemetery. Which was literally the first time I hoped not to see a ghost in my life.
The dirt road came to an end in a thicket of trees and plants, and Nonna signaled for us to get off and continue on foot.
“Is everyone from the island buried here?” I whispered. It felt wrong to talk too loud.
“No one has been interred for hundreds of years. Then again, no one has died, either.”
I lurched at her words. “What do you mean no one has died?”
Like usual, Nonna ignored me and crept over twisted vines, going deeper into the grove. It was surrounded by crumbling fluted columns and ancient arches. I half-expected my Renaissance wannabe lover to poke his lacy ruff out and yell, “Boo!”
As she walked, Nonna tapped random urns and muttered to herself. The urns looked ancient, like old Roman vases. Some had intricate scrollwork. Others showcased beautiful women at their toilette, servants pining up their hair or buffing their makeup.
From the inscriptions I could decipher on the older headstones, this burial ground was founded in 1220. They must have re-used the Roman urns, and I wondered if they dumped out the previous occupant before filling it with the cremated remains of the freshly departed.
“Wait, how old are Marco and Rosemary?”
“Does it matter?”
“Maybe.”
Nonna shrugged. “Hard to say. Now help me dig. My bones are older than the ones in this cemetery,” she cackled.
I honestly couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, so I decided not to pry. It seemed easier that way.
We were in a slightly newer part of the cemetery, meaning the tombstones were from the fifteen-hundreds and had witty little sayings like Towards Immortality, and my personal favorite, She possessed a fondness for the finer things in life. And let my headstone read: She enjoyed wine.
Nonna handed me a stick and marked an X next to one of the smaller, less ornate urns. “Dig here and be precise. You might not like what you find if you go wandering.”
With that, I began digging exactly where she pointed.
As she waited, Nonna walked circles around me, crunching over fallen twigs and leaves, her long, silk robe rustling with each step. “Hurry up, Mamma. I smell something coming.”
“Smell?”
“Don’t you? It’s sulfuric with a hint of tomato and something else. Maybe… oregano?”
“No. I’m absolutely not getting the same smells you are.” In fact, it smelled like a wet graveyard with decaying leaves and a lack of sunlight. Except it was almost two p.m. in southern Italy.
Nonna froze.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She put a finger to her lips as a now-familiar chill swept over me. A cold wind curled around my face, without rustling any of the leaves on the trees or Nonna’s dress.
A ghost wind.
Chapter Nine
“Get behind me,” Nonna ordered.
“You’re a 115 years old. Shouldn’t you get behind me?”
“And let you get killed? I don’t think so. The island’s attempt today was merely a warnin
g shot. She will grow more determined.”
“You’re saying the island is alive. Not just plants and birds, but the actual island?”
“Get behind me,” Nonna replied. Her voice was short but firm.
Never one to take direction well, I stood next to her studying the grove. I could have sworn I saw moonlight drift across the urns, but then it solidified.
“Orbs,” I whispered.
“Sì.”
“Can they manifest?”
“Certo che sì!”
“Okay, okay. So what do we do? And why do they keep showing up?”
“We’ll have to ask Tiberius later. If we survive.”
There was a high-pitched wail, the kind only centipedes or some other invertebrate could’ve understood, and then the glowing orbs began to race around the cemetery. I could have sworn they were attacking… each other?
“Watch out!” I yelled, diving out of the way as the orbs launched themselves into the air.
During the tussle, they began to take shape—a man and a woman with their ghostly hands around each other’s necks. They were shouting in Italian, but I didn’t need a translator to get the gist.
“Should we do something?” I asked Nonna.
“No. It’s too dangerous. Ghosts can be very unpredictable. Dig fast and let’s get out of here.”
I was about to follow her lead when the ghosts spotted me. I froze.
The translucent woman wore a long, tattered gown that once had red and white stripes. A few whalebones from her corset poked through the fabric, as if they were her own ribs sticking out. “You must help me. I want to move on.” She held out her arms and floated closer, beseeching me, but her combatant, a man in full metal armor and a chainmail headpiece butted his way in front.
“Sì, I want her to move on, too. I am sick and tired of listening to her whine about her husband.” The knight bounced up and down. “It’s been hundreds of years. Time to get a new hobby.”
“He drowned me in my own tomato sauce!” she exclaimed.
“Did you ever stop to think you deserved it?”
“I swear, one of these days, I will figure out how to throw away one of your bones, and you’ll have to fetch it from the cliff like the dog that you are,” the woman threatened. I could tell she was just warming up, so I took a chance and stepped between them. Their insults were locked and loaded after centuries of arguing. Or, you know, like any couple married for longer than ten years.