by Heloise Hull
“A witch?” The women watched me closely.
“Absolutely not. I used to pretend I was back in my Charmed days, but nothing ever came of it. I couldn’t even find enough girls to have a proper ritual. Then, I morphed that interest into ghost hunting. My husband thought it was stupid though, and well, I wanted to impress him. I wanted to be cool or normal or whatever, so I sort of stopped. Until I came here, the most supernatural my life got was when I watched re-runs of Supernatural.”
“Eh? What’s this?”
“An American television show. I watched it mostly for the sexy factor of the two male leads.”
They nodded knowingly. I wondered what they did all day without any internet or telephone service. Aradia felt like an island lost to time. But the wine hadn’t loosened my lips enough yet, and I felt too shy to ask. Instead, I said, “So Nonna really is a strega?”
“Nonna dabbles,” Rosemary clarified. “She mostly arranges marriages for supernaturals offshore. A few healing potions, perhaps something a little darker from time to time if she’s pissed. Mostly she clears up acne or gives it. Depending on her mood.”
Coronis chimed in. “It’s the old religion. La Vecchia Religione. A few hundred years ago, she would have been denounced as a strega and burned for her troubles.”
“And now?”
“Now she’s just Nonna,” Coronis shrugged, sitting back to sip the rest of her espresso martini. “She’s always trying to rope us into her schemes. We like life quiet. It’s why we came here. We’re not even proper witches! You have to be born into that sort of thing, like Nonna. We’re halflings. Shifters can’t ever be properly whole. Destined to be half-animal, half-human, we’re doomed to live half-lives. The only powerful part-shifter here is Marco.”
“I object to that!” Rosemary said indignantly. “We live a great life. Even if you’re a shifter and I’m a harpy.”
Right as I was about to ask what Marco was if it wasn’t a full lion shifter, he arrived carrying a tray over his head that was probably as wide as I was tall. It smelled fantastic—of spices and cheese, fresh herbs, and pasta. There were prosciutto-wrapped dates stuffed with almonds and hard Italian cheeses, and more of his marinated bruschetta. He sat the tray on the empty table next to us and gave his wife another deep kiss.
“Cara mia,” he said fondly, cupping her chin with his paw of a hand. She giggled like a school girl at his attention. “Ladies,” he clapped his hands with gusto, that Italian spirit flowing through him. “I’ve brought you fresh zucchini salad, colatura risotto with ginger, and wild boar Bolognese. Ah, I forgot the melon and prosciutto.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll have the melon tomorrow,” Rosemary said. Then she turned to me, “You’ll be staying, of course?”
“At this rate, I don’t know how I couldn’t,” I admitted, picturing the ingots that could buy my way out of any trouble. Everything I’d done the last twenty years of my life—half of it!—was for others. Children’s needs always came first, and the only “me time” I got was when Jim graciously watched the boys so I could run errands alone. Or finish the chores without the twins slipping frogs in my pockets and leaving mud pies on my counters.
Staying on an Italian island for an indefinite amount of time? Well, that would be just for me.
“Time enough to decide tomorrow. Now eat!” Rosemary invited. “That way we can drink more.”
“I do love Bolognese,” I gushed. “But I don’t know what colatura is?”
“Basically, it’s an Italian fish sauce,” Coronis said, loading her plate with the risotto. “It’s made with anchovies and salt, and left to age for up to three years. It’s magnificent. I believe it’s similar to the ancient Romans’ garum sauce that they poured on everything.”
“Try it,” Rosemary urged at the apprehensive look on my face.
I scooped up a bite of the risotto and brought it eye level. “When in Rome, right?”
“When in Aradia,” they sang together.
At first, I tasted only a briny saltiness. Then, the flavors exploded on my tongue, singing together with the ginger and garlic. It was such a wonderful mashup of coastal Southeast Asia and coastal Italy that I was lost in ecstasy for a moment. “Is this why you married Marco?”
“For his cooking?” Rosemary raised an eyebrow. “Certainly not.”
Coronis giggled and let out a moan when she took a bite. “You’re still not interested in a harem situation? A throuple? I promise to clean up after I molt.”
“Molting. How sexy.”
“Doing dishes. Sweeping. Even sexier,” Coronis countered. She lowered her voice seductively. “Taking out the trash. Scrubbing. The. Oven.”
“Oh, now you’re speaking my love language.”
They continued to gently rib each other while I soaked in this new Italian life. Hand gestures, loud aggressive voices, multiple instances of screaming, “Stai scherzando?” which I think meant, “Are you kidding me?” was a bit of a culture shock for someone like me who never made it out of the Midwest. I cherished every minute.
I leaned back, my plate clean and my heart full, content to watch the moonlight over the town square and swirl my funky wine. To be honest, I was quite sure I’d never had this before. Women joining forces for good rarely seemed to happen in my town. We were constantly keeping up appearances with and against each other.
Rosemary saw the smile at my lips. “What is it, darling? Do you want dessert?”
“Always,” I grinned back.
A bottle later, I knew it was time to call it. “Well, ladies, it’s been amazing, but I’m going to take my buzz home with me and dream of Italian late summer nights. I’ll never forget you.” I shot a fake finger gun at Coronis. “That’s a cool party trick, crow-lady.”
Okay, I was swaying. The wine seemed strong on Aradia. I wondered giddily if it was magical. Bottled under the light of a harvest moon or something like that.
Rosemary stood up, alarmed. “What do you mean? You’ve decided to go home?”
I struggled with the lime green helmet, thinking this was the time Luca needed to finally step in and arrest me. Handcuffs. Luca. Mmmm. I giggled, still struggling.
“It seems too easy. Like I haven’t worked hard enough to deserve all of this.” I waved the still-locked helmet at the town square. “It’s too beautiful, too much, too… you know.”
“Darling, we don’t. It’s just home. It can be your home. I can always use a set of hands at the bakery. As long as you like early mornings. I can’t pay you a salary, but you’ll never have to worry about food. Between Marco and I, we’ll keep you fed.”
“Whoa. Am I seeing ghosts or are you going blinky?” I flashed my hands open and closed.
“Another ghost?” Rosemary turned in her chair, bobbing her head to find it. A moment later, my Renaissance stalker wavered to life as he pretended to lounge idly in my chair, like he’d been there all along.
“You!” I pointed.
“Scusi?
“Don’t act like you don’t know. Why are you so obsessed with me?”
Rosemary and Coronis watched agape. For being creatures of legend, I got the feeling ghosts were new to them.
The ghost soared into the air and produced a bouquet of wilted flowers. “I am but a romantic type, milady.”
I couldn’t help it. I snorted. “I’m the least ladylike person in the world.”
“Maybe that’s how I like my ladies.”
“Ew.”
The ghost got to his feet, which hovered six inches above the ground. “Before I was shocked by your presence. Let me introduce myself as a proper gentleman. I am Piero Rossi, at your service.” He flourished a bow. “One-time counselor to the great Medici family, now shipwrecked here. I’ve come to ask if you would do me the honor of dinner one night?”
I glanced around, practically begging for help. Rosemary and Coronis had their mouths covered with their hands, trying not to laugh. They gave me a thumbs up.
“You know, I just left my husband, and
I’m more in the male maiming stage of grief than the revenge sex stage.”
Somehow, that perked him up. “Perfecto! I don’t have a male member you could harm.”
At the look of abject horror on my face, he backtracked. “I’m sure I could figure out how to inhabit something though, when the time came. Tell me, how do you feel about sheep?”
The world was spinning by this point. “Not good, Piero. Not good.”
Suddenly, Piero flickered. He looked as surprised as we did as he winked out.
“Piero?”
He appeared again, his pencil thin goatee shuddering as he solidified. “Dio mio, that was new.”
“It was?” Rosemary asked.
“Sì.” Piero looked shaken for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “Beautiful woman, I am pleading with you. One date. I will make it a night you will never forget.”
“If I don’t die.”
“I would never kill you!”
“On purpose.”
“Stop that!” Piero demanded. “I am true and trustworthy. Just ask the Medicis.”
“Weren’t they bloodthirsty tyrants who lied, cheated, and stole?”
Piero waved away my accusations like smoke. “Simply misunderstood.”
“I’m sorry, Piero, but I’m not interested in a dead relationship. I’m sure you’ll find a lovely ghost in the cemeteries of Aradia.”
“Milady—”
“I said no!”
Piero flickered again, this time out of fear. Of me. Like I had done something to make him flicker. With a reproachful look, he vanished into smoke. I let out a breath, thankful that the ordeal was over. “Don’t say anything,” I pointed to the women who were going purple holding back their laughter.
“Oh darling, promise that you’ll stay on Aradia!” Rosemary exclaimed. “You’ve really sparked this place to life.”
A noise behind me made me pause. For a second, I thought Piero had nursed his broken heart in record time and decided to try again.
Worse. It was Luca. And I was officially seeing two of him.
Chapter Eleven
My face flushed as Luca eyed me suspiciously. “You weren’t planning to do what it looks like, correct?”
I pointed in both of his general directions. “You know, you have a weird accent. And you don’t speak much Italian. In fact, everyone’s English is perfect.”
Luca raised an eyebrow. A manly eyebrow. A manly, bushy eyebrow. I bet he had a lot of chest hair. Jim didn’t have any. Well, that wasn’t true. He had three single hairs he refused to shave, but they’d turned gray, and it was hard to get a visual on them. I think I liked chest hair.
Luca looked at the helmet in my hands.
I hid it behind my back. “If you thought I was planning on riding this Vespa while buzzed, you’re…”
“What?”
“It’s against the law to lie to a police officer in Italy, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Never mind then,” I muttered. “Would anyone steal Nonna’s Vespa if I left it here?”
“And you’re going to walk home?” he asked.
“Looks like it.”
Rosemary and Coronis made crude gestures behind Luca’s back, and I very subtlety flapped my hand, hoping they’d stop. I didn’t need him turning around to find them making kissy faces at each other. Why did everyone want to hook me up with Luca? I guess he had that ruggedly devastated look going for him. A sad widower always got the sympathy card, unlike a divorcée.
Luca rolled his manly eyes and his manly shoulders. “Put that on. I’ll drive you back to Villa Venus.”
“You?”
“Do you see anyone else not drunk around here?”
I looked at the merry square. Everyone was either giggling, leaning over tea lights, or kissing passionately. “Not really.”
“Okay, then, let’s go.”
Luca straddled the Vespa like it was a wild horse he had to tame. He keyed the ignition, even going so far as to rev it slightly. When I didn’t budge, he turned around to look at me, a question posed in the upturn of his eyebrow.
“You want me to hold onto you?”
“Unless you’d prefer to fall off.”
“Fine, fine.” I sat as far back on the tiny seat as I could, making sure there was room for Jesus, as one of my foster moms loved to say. Although the amount of times I caught her being rude to Jesus would have made Mary Magdalen blush, prostitute or not.
“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you putting on your helmet?”
“The latch is stuck.”
Luca examined it and popped it open with his thumb. “Do you need me to snap it shut, too?” he asked dryly.
“I’ve got it, thank you.”
Narrator: She did not have it.
Luca adjusted the straps, clicked the latch, placed my hands around his waist, and took off. The wind limited our ability to talk, but that was probably for the best. In my current state, I didn’t trust myself to speak.
My body vibrated from the engine beneath it and from the hot Italian man between my legs. His abs were hard and ridged as I explored under the pretense of getting a tighter grip. Delicious.
Luca revved it again, and I let myself enjoy the warm bite of the trade winds off the ocean. It was easy to rest my cheek on his back and enjoy the smell of pine and cypress and Luca’s own woodsy scent. I had a feeling he spent the majority of his day outside. He looked too big and primal to be kept indoors.
Luca motored to the villa and the Vespa puttered to a stop. I melted into him at the sudden stop in vibrations, my fingers clutching his stomach tighter. “Do you need help?” he asked, offering his hand.
He helped me down and removed the helmet, his fingers on the soft skin of my throat. As Luca turned around to clip the helmet to the handlebars, a little devil poofed up on my shoulder. She wore the clingiest red dress with a slit that went past her thigh.
I blinked slowly. “Are you real?”
“Did you say something?” Luca asked.
“Uh, thank you. Very kind,” I rambled.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, walking the Vespa next to its partner and adjusting the kickstand.
“Go away,” I panicked, flailing my hands at the little devil.
She sashayed around, parading her hips in silk. “I think you should go for it,” she said, her voice tantalizing low and sultry. “You never know. Maybe you’ll bang this out of your system. This is the new you, right?”
“First, I don’t need to be ‘banged’ to love myself,” I whispered.
“What’s the second part?”
I crossed my arms. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.” Mostly because the second part was admitting there was no way I could fit into one of those slinky dresses anymore. Not gracefully at least. And getting out of it once we got back to his place? Mortifying. It would’ve been like a sausage casing. No one needed to see that. At least, no one who wanted to eat wants to see that. And I would not mind being eaten. Eventually. Once I was past the man maiming stage.
Devil-me flipped her hair over her shoulder and walked up to my ear. “I think you’ll enjoy it.” Then she disappeared in a puff of smoke. I shivered as Luca turned back around.
“I think you must have dropped this earlier.” He handed me a tube of lipstick, his calloused hand brushing mine. “Do you have a key?” he asked oblivious to the inner war I’d waged with the personification of my slutty side.
“A key?” I repeated dumbly.
“To get inside.” Luca raised that manly eyebrow, so like a hairy caterpillar, and I thought about stroking it.
“No! I mean, yes. Yes, I have a key.” I patted my bag. “Thanks, again. See you around.”
Luca’s eyes gleamed. “So, you’re planning on staying?” At my confused look, he said, “People talk. It’s a small town.”
“Everyone has been very welcoming.” I fiddled with the tube of lipstick. “Yes, I think I want to stay.”
He nodded slowly. “Fro
m one newcomer to another, be careful. I’ve found this town to be lovely, but also unpredictable.” He moved closer, his eyes intense. Like he was remembering something. We held each other’s gazes, and I felt little warm squiggles in my belly for the first time in a long time. Besides the quiet waves breaking below the cliff, our breathing was the loudest thing, and it easily fell into rhythm with each other.
“Thank you for taking me home, Luca.” I closed my eyes and went on my tip toes—only to feel something hard grip my shoulders. I peeked under one eyelid. Luca held me at arm’s length, his eyes sad. “Goodnight, Signora.”
“Oh, I’m getting divorced,” I said, my face as hot as my stomach had been seconds before, all the beautiful squiggles now writhing in embarrassment.
“My apologies. But even an unmarried, older woman would be addressed by Signora.” He gave me a slight nod and lumbered off into the night.
If I thought that horrifying exchange was enough mortification for a day, that was before I woke up in the middle of the night, walking on the waves like Frankenstein’s monster.
A glorious sound drifted on the wind, but somehow, it filled my head as if it were inside me, an ear-worm I couldn’t escape. “Hello?” I asked, my voice sounding mangled and ugly compared to the melody.
It was black as tar outside with only a ghostly sliver of a moon shimmering on the ocean to light my way. My feet were wet. And my legs. I looked down. My entire body was half in the waves. Somehow, I had climbed out of my window, down the cliff, and tossed myself in the ocean.
“I must be dreaming.”
The water licked higher, or I was sinking faster. “Okay, time to wake up,” I told myself sternly. “Right now.”
When the water reached my chest, I began to seriously panic. This was not how I wanted to go. It wasn’t as if I’d ever considered all the ways I wouldn’t mind dying, but drowning at forty certainly wasn’t it. I knew I should have called someone.
The singing began again and it was comforting. Maybe drowning wasn’t the worst way. I heard it was peaceful. Once your lungs filled up, you sort of drifted off, unaware.
Oh yeah? My mind challenged my subconscious. And how would dead people be able to tell us that?