by Heloise Hull
“Stop!” I shouted. “I’m not from here. I have no idea how to help you.”
“Go on. Get back,” Nonna said, fumbling with an evil eye amulet at her neck. The ghosts ignored her. I had the feeling they’d been doing this song and dance for many lifetimes, and nothing, not even a spelled amulet, was going to change that.
They finally separated, the man breathing heavily through his full suit of armor. “It was that siren. She lured me over the cliff and drowned me in the ocean. Then she ate the flesh off my bones. Help me first.”
“That’s a lie. You did not drown in the ocean, and she did not eat your flesh! I can see it and smell it hanging off of you now! I am the most deserving. Tomato sauce! Can you imagine how thick and chunky it is to drown in tomato sauce? A piece of oregano got caught in my nostril, and it burned like actual hell.”
“You haven’t had a chance to get to hell yet, although you’ve certainly made this afterlife feel like one,” the knight snapped.
“Attento a come parli,” she snarled. Watch your mouth.
“Sta’ zitto!”
“Everyone, quiet!” I put two fingers to my lips and let out a long dog whistle. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard, and the ghosts covered their ears and howled. “I have no idea why you think I can help you move on, but have you ever considered that you don’t want to?” I asked. “How many years—no centuries—has it been?”
They both started arguing once again, so I let out another ear-splitting whistle. “No arguing! Both of you sit.”
They immediately sat cross-legged and hovered over the graves.
“That’s better.” I began to pace in front them, my arms behind my back. “I’m going to ask you questions one at a time. Got it?”
They nodded.
“Good. Okay, you.” I pointed to the woman. “When did you pass away?”
“Murdered. When was I murdered by my no good louse of a husband? 1685.”
“Any unfinished business? I mean, your husband is already long gone.” Good Lord, I couldn’t believe I was asking a ghost from the seventeenth century for their unfinished business, like I was somehow going to fix it.
She lifted her shoulders dramatically. “How should I know? It’s been a long time. What I do know is that I’m still angry.”
“Understandably so,” I said soothingly. “And you?” I nodded at the Knight.
He stuck out his chest. “I was killed in the Year of our Lord, Fifteen Hundred and Forty whilst fighting for the Holy Land.”
I racked my brain. “Was that a crusade year?”
The knight creaked a bit while the woman burst out laughing. “Ha! He claims the siren got him, but he fell off his horse on the journey to the Holy Land and drowned in two inches of water because he was too fat to roll over in his armor and get his nose out of the mud.”
“I hate myself for knowing you,” he muttered.
“Not as much as I hate you,” she responded.
I held up my hands, feeling like a referee by this point. “Did you ever stop to think that you don’t want to move on, not because you’re afraid of what’s on the other side, nor because you have unfinished business, but because you’ll miss each other?”
The two gaped at me while Nonna chuckled somewhere off to my left.
“Well I never,” the woman finally said. “The very idea that I would even harbor one feeling that wasn’t complete antipathy for this, this—”
“Robust, manly, Knight of St. John, the Hospitaller Order?” he interrupted smugly.
“Chi ti credi di essere?” she shrieked. Who do you think you are?
“The man of your dreams apparently,” he responded.
While they bickered, Nonna waved me over to where she’d been digging. “It’s down there, Mamma.”
“What is?” My voice was barely above a butterfly’s flutter.
“Everything you’ll need to stay here for as long as you want.”
“I thought Aradia was trying to kill me.”
“Well, sure. But she rarely succeeds.”
“Nonna, sometimes I think you’re being serious.” Ghosts were one thing. I’d always wanted to believe in them, but an island with a consciousnesses that was trying to kill me? Right.
She patted my cheek and then turned my chin to where she’d opened a chest-sized hole in the ground.
“Jackpot,” I whispered.
Chapter Ten
This time, I didn’t need a doctor to diagnose me. I had gold fever. My mouth was dry and my tongue fuzzy as I gaped at the literal buried treasure beneath me. Then reason butted its way into my consciousness. “Why do you have ancient Roman treasure buried in a graveyard?”
“Why wouldn’t I? One never knows when a rainy day may come.”
“Right. Silly me.”
She pointed out the silver and gold bars of precious metals. “Those are ingots that I liberated from a passing merchant ship.”
“You mean a shipwreck?”
“They hardly needed them, those thieves.”
“Because their ship had sank and they were dead?”
“Sure.”
I shot her a scowl, but she was too busy digging around for something else to notice. The woman probably had a century’s worth of junk buried down there. Hoarding: Extreme Strega Edition.
“What about those ghosts? Should we help them? Do you have any spells?”
Nonna wiped some sweat out of her eyes and leaned against an urn. “I think you’ve showed them the light they were looking for. While it may not be the light, it is the light they needed to see.”
“You think?” I glanced over at the odd couple as they began gesticulating wildly.
“I do. Help me lift a few of these ingots into my bag.”
“Why do you need them here on Aradia?” I asked, heaving under the weight of pure gold. “It seems like everyone sort of looks out for each other.”
“We do. Like I said, they’re for a rainy day. In this case, the best American lawyer ingots can buy. You’re the most interesting thing to happen to this island in a long time, and I’m not ready to give you up yet.”
My heart swelled. “Aw, thanks, Nonna. You’ve grown on me, too. You know, in the twenty-four hours I’ve known you. So is Luca the only one who pays for things?”
“Yeah, it makes him feel better to pay in Euros, so we let him.”
After we covered up the remaining gold, we tiptoed out of the graveyard so the ghosts wouldn’t see us leaving and rode back to Villa Venus. As soon as we left the circle of gnarled trees, the sun beat down as before and the air cleared of its dank, brimstone smell. Aradia even left me alone—if Nonna was to be believed.
At this point, I wasn’t quite sure what to think. As a child, strange things happened around me all the time, which was probably why I didn’t last long with foster families or why the streets never bothered me. Feral dogs and rabid coyotes always appeared to spook away any would-be bullies.
“Are you going into town with me tonight?” I asked as we lugged the ingots inside.
“No, Mamma. You enjoy yourself with the other girlies.”
“Are you sure? I could bring you back something to eat.”
Nonna squeezed my hands, her grip surprisingly strong. Her hands were ice, probably from poor circulation. I should tell her about the red algae supplement I’d read about.
“I’ll be fine. Thank you, Mamma.”
I went back and drew a bath in the clawfoot tub. It was in the shared bathroom across the hall, but Aurick never came out of his room, so I felt fine indulging in a deep soak with lavender buds and a book I’d plucked off the shelf. I couldn’t remember when I’d last had time for a bath.
As I lay in the water, my toes peeking over the bubbles, I began to remember why. Baths were the worst. And the book turned out to be an unabridged copy of the Aeneid. I couldn’t say it was riveting, but I guess it helped capture the ambiance of ancient Rome. I skipped to the middle where Aeneas meets Queen Dido. Maybe it would pick up.<
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While I read, I kept wondering how long I had to stay in the water to feel relaxed. Twenty minutes? Thirty? I checked the clock by the sink. Eh. Fifteen was fine. Maybe I’d try a glass of rosé next time to see if that helped.
I put the book back on the shelf, a bad taste in my mouth from the one chapter I’d managed to read. Poor Dido. Despite being the queen of Carthage, she was forced by the gods to fall in love with Aeneas. Then, thanks to the gods, she was betrayed by Aeneas, and she fell on his sword. Where’s the justice in that? And he had the balls to approach her in the underworld. For what? Forgiveness? I cheered a little when she refused to look at him. That was quite enough of that book.
Clearly, if I was ever going to get back into the dating pool, I’d have to work some things out. When I paid special attention to my hair and makeup today, I did it for me. The leopard-print dress I’d picked out, the one that showed off my curves—also for me. For now, that would be my new focus. Me.
I gave my lips a few last smacks as I checked all the angles. A few stray chin hairs had had the audacity to begin popping up lately, like they thought my eyesight was so bad I wouldn’t notice.
I noticed.
I plucked them and misted on my make-up setting spray so the wind and bugs wouldn’t mess things up too much. On my way through the kitchen, I asked Nonna one last time if she wanted to go.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine with Tiberius.”
The chipmunk gave me a salute from inside the walnut bowl, and I vowed not to eat any walnuts from it ever again.
“Okay, if you’re sure,” I said slowly.
She shooed me out. “Go, have fun. Get to know the girlies. Eat some of Marco’s cooking. You’ll never want to leave.”
“I knew this was all a ploy to get me to take over the villa.”
Nonna clucked me under the chin. “You’re the smart one.”
I took the spare Vespa and promised myself only two glasses of wine. Whether or not there truly was an ancient creature waiting to lure me to my death, the cliffs were not safe at night.
The ride to town was quaint, and the sea made a lovely soundtrack. I never understood why the younger generation had to go around with headphones for a simple commute to the city. Especially young girls. Being a woman made it painfully clear we needed our senses about us at all times, and that was the sad truth.
Rosemary met me in front of Marco’s taverna, no trace of embarrassment on her face after we’d barged in on her afternoon delight. She greeted me with open arms, and her embrace smelled like yeast and sweet dough. I adored her instantly. She wore a lacy navy-blue dress, and I had a feeling she dressed that way all of the time. Italian fashion plate for the forty-plus crowd. A little different from my own leopard print dress.
“Ciao, darling,” she said, kissing me on both cheeks. “I’m so glad you made it. Come, sit. Marco will bring us some fabulous wine, and we’ll get to know each other. It’s not every day a new woman comes to Aradia!”
“I brought gifts,” I said. “Nonna mentioned you haven’t been getting any shipments of lipstick lately?”
Rosemary dove into the bag. “Oh, you are too good!”
Marco banged open the wooden door and sat down two glasses of thick, delicious looking red wine. “An Aradia specialty,” he announced.
We swirled and sniffed, finally clinking before our first sip. “Oh wow! I taste blackberries and chocolate.” I sniffed again and took another sip. “Maybe something like… leather?”
Marco nodded in acknowledgment of my appreciation. “That’s the medium body. I’ll get your nibbles, cara mia.”
As they kissed, perhaps a little more passionately than would be considered polite in front of virtual strangers, another woman I hadn’t met yet walked up to join our table. Marco pulled away, smiling at his wife. Rosemary stood and I quickly followed suit to exchange customary greetings.
If I thought Rosemary was fashionable, this woman embodied the very ideal. She wore a long black velvet skirt with slits up both sides. She had knotted a red and white polka dot halter top at her navel and tied a matching silk scarf around her neck. Her bobbed hair was ice white, which contrasted with her clear blue eyes. “Ciao, darling,” she said, casually draping herself in the next chair. I even saw tattoos swirling up the back of her arms and a few under her halter.
“Coronis, meet Ava Falcetti. She’s visiting from America and completely adorable. Look what she brought us!”
The woman turned her head, as if observing me from another viewpoint. “Is she now? What brings you here?”
“Midlife crisis,” I said casually. “I’ve always wanted to travel, and Italy pretty much was my list.”
“As it should be,” Coronis said. “Italy is the best place to drown one’s sorrows. Riempi il bicchiere quando è vuoto, vuota il bicchiere quando è pieno. It’s an Italian proverb and one of my favorite ones.”
“It’s beautiful. What does it mean?”
“Fill your glass when empty, empty your glass when full.” Coronis clinked my wine glass.
After the cheers, I swirled the red liquid gold in my cup, considering if it was okay to ask what sort of supernatural being she was. On the one hand, I was dying to know. On the other hand, I didn’t want to actually die by asking a supernatural a socially unacceptable question.
Rosemary sensed my curiosity. “How you are getting along in this wild town?”
“It’s been interesting. I’m still absorbing.” I didn’t know if I should mention the second ghost encounter or the secret cache of ingots, so I didn’t.
“Coronis is one of our more special residents. You came here when? Remind me, darling.”
“Oh, that. I can’t quite recall. But it was after Alfred’s little film.”
“Alfred?”
“Hitchcock, darling,” Rosemary said. “Coronis used to be a movie star, just like Nonna. We have an affinity for golden era film stars in Italy.”
“Have you ever seen that 1960s photograph of Tippi Hedren and a crow?” Coronis asked, lighting a long, tapered cigarette and leaning back. “It was a promotional image for his film, The Birds.”
“The one where the crow is holding a lit match and lighting a cigarette dangling from Tippi’s mouth?”
“That’s the one.”
“Are you going to tell me you’re Tippi Hedren, even though she’s alive and well in the States?”
“Oh, you are adorable,” Coronis said.
Rosemary nodded. “I told you. Adorable.”
Coronis laughed. “No, of course not. I’m the crow.”
My wine went down a little scratchy as I covered up a cough of shock. “Excuse me?”
“Would you like to see?” Coronis took my open mouth as an affirmative. With a graceful twirl, she leapt into the air, glossy black feathers cascading down her back as she grew to the size of an energy efficient, compact car. It was the complete opposite of her ice queen hair and eyes.
“Whoa,” I breathed.
Coronis cawed a few times, strutting in her form. Her beak snapped in the air, and I had shivers up and down my body at the power of her jaw.
Before, I could sort of brush aside the crazy with a list of potential causes. Dreams, lack of sleep, jet lag. Did I really see a talking chipmunk and Nonna floating in an astral projection? No, of course not! But when the crazy kept happening, it got harder to explain. And let’s be honest, I didn’t want to anyway.
“Do you have a minute to talk about our lord and savior, Edgar Allen Poe?” I asked teasingly. At their blank stares, I tried to pull up a picture of the meme, but still no WIFI. “Hm, no internet, but there’s a funny picture of a crow walking next to a cat who has the most annoyed look on his face and that quote on it. A personal favorite of mine.”
Coronis snapped her beak, a little more ferociously than before.
“But probably not a joking matter,” I added hastily. “Does Luca ever notice anything odd?” I asked as she slipped gracefully back into a woman. Coronis
puckered her lips and applied a brilliant ruby red.
“You both are what we call MILF’s,” Rosemary said. “Most of your type go out of your way to ignore the obvious.”
“Wait, is that why Nonna keeps calling me Mamma?”
The women cocked their heads, confused.
“MILF in America stands for…” I reddened, then scooted my chair closer and dropped my voice. “Mother I’d like to…” I trailed off, unsure of Italian polite society protocols.
“Cosa?” they begged. What?
“Mother I’d like to fuck,” I said, my voice barely at a whisper now.
The two of them jerked back, roaring with laughter. I didn’t see the joke, unless it was on me. My fingers got tingly, and I felt the same raw energy when Jim said something passive-aggressive.
“No, no. MILF stands for Maevii Igneus Laceratrix Faex. It’s Latin and not exactly nice,” Rosemary said.
“Basically, it refers to non-magical folks as wretched, life-draining dregs on society,” Coronis added.
“Wait, I think Tiberius said that to me, but I was in no state of mind to follow a chipmunk’s train of thought.”
They nodded, understanding completely, and just like that the anxiety ebbed away. I couldn’t articulate how wonderful it felt to be understood.
“Tiberius is a good influence on that old strega,” Coronis said. “So, Ava Falcetti, a MILF in all manners,” she continued with a wink, “What are your plans? It’s nice having someone new on this old island.”
I lifted my shoulders, taking another sip of the delicious wine. “I don’t know. Nonna wants me to stay, but she thinks I’m a witch. She wants me to take over Villa Venus for some reason, but I barely know her.”
“Are you?” they asked, in unison again.
“What? Taking over the villa?”