by Heloise Hull
“What was that?” I asked as she let me go. My teeth were starting to chatter, and I rubbed my arms up and down.
“You have a gift.”
“Are you sure? That didn’t feel like a gift.”
“No.” She eyed me wearily. “Perhaps it’s a curse.”
“Tell me what you know!” I grabbed at Thessaly, but she backed away, snarling. Suddenly, her teeth sharpened to fangs and I sank back. “Please tell me. Do you know what it’s like to suddenly wake up after so many years dragging through life? I’m finally awake and I’m desperate to know the real world around me.”
“No,” Thessaly said flatly. “Cursed sirens don’t sleep.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, because it felt like the right thing to say in the moment.
“You could help me sleep. If you un-cursed me.”
I knew I wouldn’t get anything else out of her with that look on her face, although at least her teeth were back to normal. “Okay, okay. I already promised, but I’ll re-promise if that helps. I’ll figure out how to un-curse you.”
She glared at me.
“I promise.”
“Good.”
“Will you give me a hint now about who I am? Am I like… the chosen one?”
Thessaly laughed so hard, I thought she might fall off her rock. I wasn’t as amused.
“No.”
“Fine, give me a hint then.”
“I just did. You’re not the chosen one.”
I frowned. She was enjoying this. “Give me another. Consider it an act of good faith. Or an upfront payment. Half upon signing, half upon delivery.”
She leaned in close enough to see her purple eyes glowing in the dark. “I’m certain. Yours is a curse. Pure and simple. I know a godly curse when I sense one.”
I shuddered involuntarily. “Will I die?”
“That depends on many things. Not from the curse, though.”
“Like…” I waited for her to fill in the blanks.
“Find my cure and I will help you.”
“Quid pro quo, eh? You sure you’re not human?”
Thessaly sneered.
I sat on the rock, still shivering, and peered through the moonlit ocean at Villa Venus sitting on the far-off cliffs of Aradia, which I’d have to scale in my nightie. “So, this is weird,” I began, looking sideways at the siren, “but could you sing me back to my bed?”
Thessaly narrowed her eyes in confusion. “Why?”
“I really don’t enjoy the idea of having to breaststroke. I’d rather be hypnotized or knocked out or unconscious or whatever supernatural stuff you deal in.”
Thessaly’s face barely changed, but when she opened her mouth, a beautiful, haunting aria swept me off to dreamland.
“Are you getting enough sleep?” Nonna asked as we rode into town. She had joined me as a show of support for my first day of work. It was sweet, but I think Tiberius talked her into it so they could get free biscotti.
I jumped, mostly because I’d been dozing on Nonna’s back for the mile trundle into town. “Hm? Yes. Just getting used to sleeping alone.”
That was true. Despite our marriage being full of silence, Jim and I had still slept in the same bed every night. It was probably why I’d wanted to escape the moment I found Marla in it. Learning to sleep alone was oddly disconcerting. It didn’t help that Thessaly’s words would not stop weaving through my mind, making sleep all but an impossibility.
I could think of plenty of times where I’d felt cursed, but that was mostly when I hit all the red lights on my carpool days. Or, you know, when I found my assistant tangled up in my bedsheets. Or was that a blessing?
The same questions swirled and haunted me until Nonna killed the engine, and I realized we were there. At the ungodly hour of 4:45 a.m.
“Rosemary will have your head spinning so fast, you won’t even realize it’s afternoon.”
“Great.”
Apparently, I was going to have to learn to be a morning person.
Rosemary handed me a white apron, no frills. “We serve only specialties since we’re a small bakery. Basically, we took a survey to find the top ten things everyone wanted in the mornings and these are it. Changes to the menu are subject to a new survey and a town meeting.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Harpies rarely kid.”
I tied the apron around my waist and washed my hands as Rosemary explained the elected pastries.
“Bombolni donuts are fried to order, but we’ll make the yeasted dough now and keep it in the fridge. Torta della Nonna, no relation, is a custard cake with pine nuts. I make that the night before so it sets up by morning. We also have cornettos, which are like croissants, but we fill ours with Chantilly cream and pistachios. Then there’s chocolate hazelnut biscotti, lemon ricotta cannoli, tiramisu, sfogliatella, seasonal fruit tarts, bread and marmalade, and of course, a pizza for my Marco. We change the toppings depending on what’s available. This week, it’s speck and eggs, because Marco hates sweets.”
“Except for you, cara mia,” a loud voice boomed.
“Was that Marco?” I asked.
“Of course. He’s next door in his taverna preparing the wood fired oven. That’s where we’ll bake the pies and pizzas.”
“But how did he hear?”
Rosemary shrugged. “Lions have very good ears.”
I made a mental note to be very careful about what I said as Rosemary showed me how to whip the cream for the bombolni and cornettos. Apparently, that was about as far as she was willing to let me go on my first day.
“Next, I’ll teach you how to do pastry cream.”
“Maybe tomorrow I’ll do the dough!”
Rosemary gave me a smile. “I like your enthusiasm. Not a chance, but I still like it.”
After two hours of straight up hard work, I stood back and took in the glorious view of Rosemary’s refrigerated glass showcase at the front of the bakery. There were golden pastries, pillowy creams, and bright pops of red raspberries and strawberries with flecks of emerald green pistachios. It was a thing of beauty. Besides my twins, I couldn’t think of anything I’d ever been prouder of in my entire life.
As soon as it hit seven a.m., the bakery flooded with customers. Rosemary had a line out the door and around the square. Everyone chatted as I gamely tried to remember the difference between latte macchiato and caffè macchiato. One was milk with a drop of coffee and one was coffee with a drop of milk, but I kept mixing it up.
After the rush, Rosemary ordered me to take a break, and I slumped in a chair next to Nonna.
“You’re doing great, Mamma,” she promised.
“Am I? I feel like a chicken running around with my head chopped off.”
“You are.”
“Which one? Doing great or a headless chicken?”
“Both. Hey, why don’t you invite your boys here?” Nonna gestured for more espresso. “Let them see your new life!”
“Here?”
“Certo che sì!”
“I miss them fiercely, but I couldn’t possibly ask them to miss classes.”
“Oh, what’s a weekend here or there?” Nonna said, waving away my concerns.
“Lots of money. Jet lag for the entire trip. I could go on.”
“Pah,” she said.
I took a sip of my third espresso. “You know, our American Thanksgiving is coming up. I could see if they want to come for the week.” I didn’t mention how wonderful it would be or how it would instantly make me the cool parent. No contest. I’d stuff one warm, fluffy, oozing bombolni in their faces, and they’d be putty in my hands. Jim who? Finally, after years of being the strict one, which was just so stereotypical, I could be the fun one. They were no longer my baby birds to parent into functioning human beings. They were adults. And I would woo them with sugar.
My face must have had a dreamy look because Tiberius waved his paws in front of my face. I jumped.
“Now that you’re awake, can I have this?”
I scowled as he took the last piece of my bombolni and stuffed it in his mouth without waiting for my response. Nonna scooped him up and tucked him in her pocket. “We’ll see you back at the villa?”
“Yes. See you for dinner.”
They shuffled out as the late morning crowd began shuffling in, each looking for a little caffeine and sugar to start their day. But I also noticed a few repeat customers for their second pick-me-up. I was barely one to judge, though, as I finished my third. Tonight, I definitely needed some sleep, which meant I had to find some information to give to Thessaly. She was as relentless as her waves.
As the crowd died down, Coronis sauntered in to grab the last of the cornettos. She looked fabulous as usual, wearing a pencil skirt, high heels, and a polka dot blouse that tied at her left hip. Rosemary joined us, and we told her the gist of what happened at the basilica. Then, I filled them in on Thessaly.
Coronis almost choked on my Chantilly cream. “Again? That demon is too bold.”
“She just wants to get out of the water,” I insisted. “Although, I’d prefer if her summonings weren’t while I was sleeping.”
Rosemary, however, was quiet. “She said you were cursed?”
“Any ideas?”
Coronis tapped her nose, which, when I thought about it, did look a little beak-like. “And Aradia wouldn’t let you see the manuscripts.”
“Yeah, that was weird. I’d like to do some research, but I don’t think you have the internet or a library, right?”
“Not in this realm,” Coronis said.
Once again, I had no idea what that meant. “Any chance you know much about de-cursing a siren?”
“Never heard of it happening before.”
Suddenly, the bell jingled as someone attempted to push open the door ten minutes after closing. Our heads snapped up like marionettes on a wire. A tall man with light blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a strong jawline stood at the entrance to the bakery. He looked vaguely familiar. There was something captivating about him, and I wasn’t the only one who felt it.
Rosemary stuttered something about “Welcome to Bakery”, forgetting her own name and possessives for a moment as she unlocked the door.
Without taking her eyes off the newcomer, Coronis wiped some flour from my elbow and a smear of chocolate off my chin. She was a good friend like that.
“Ciao.” The man inclined his head and then turned to look at the case of baked goods—what was left of them anyway.
“I’ll take that one.” He pointed to the last cannoli. “And perhaps a latte macchiato if you still have the machines running.”
That voice. There was something very familiar about it.
“Yes, yes, of course.” Rosemary ran off to do his bidding while I stared without remorse. He looked like he’d stepped off the pages of a GQ magazine for classy, older men. He wore a long, black coat with a short, upturned collar and simple jeans with a black shirt underneath.
The man must have felt my stare burning into the back of his skull. He turned around with a slight smile at the corner of his mouth. “Buongiorno, Ava. I hope you like your new job?”
I jerked so hard, I fell into Coronis’s lap. She yelped and helped me back up.
After we were sufficiently red in the face, I gave him a once-over. “I’m sorry. This sounds horrible, but do I know you?”
“Ah,” he said softly.
“Did we meet at apertivo hour? Because I wasn’t really myself that night—"
“No,” he said, his smile turning into a smirk, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “I haven’t been into town yet.”
My heart thudded in my fingertips. “No way… Aurick?”
His face was smooth and shiny with a marmoreal gleam. Not even Botox achieved that kind of results, and he could still make facial expressions without appearing constipated.
He bowed slightly at the waist before turning to thank Rosemary and accept his macchiato. With one swallow, he downed the hot liquid and handed it back. “Grazie mille. I’ll try not to be late tomorrow, Signora.” He turned to me. “Ava, shall I see you at dinner at tonight?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Was this gorgeous man asking me on a date?
“At Nonna’s,” he clarified.
“Ah, yes,” I said, a bit disappointed.
He gave us one last brilliant smile before turning to go. Rosemary locked the door behind him and staggered back to her seat, fanning herself. “Don’t tell Marco,” she whispered.
“What? That you acted like a nerdy school girl who’d just been approached by the high school quarterback for her homework?” I teased.
“Che?”
“Never mind,” I said quickly. “That was not the Aurick I met yesterday. He looks like he had a face lift at some expensive, celebrity spa in the South of France. Or a face transplant.”
“Does he?”
“Yes. Yesterday he could barely keep his eyes open or string three words together. Now he’s a certified hunk. What type of supernatural creature does that make him?”
“Vampire,” mused Coronis. “The older they are, the more sleep they need.”
“But Nonna said he eats garlic.”
“Ah, that wouldn’t matter too much. It’s more the dismembering of their head that harms them.”
“Or…” Rosemary trailed off.
“Or what?”
“Maybe a mummy. But they’re quite rare.”
“He’s pretty pale for an Egyptian mummy,” I pointed out.
“There are other types of mummies. Not just in history, like the Incan mummies, but individuals who have been turned into one. Actually, ancient mummies are the rarest. Most have crumbled into dust by now. I’ve heard of a few on the Council, but they spend most of their days in their wrappings.”
“It felt like you said council with a capital letter.”
When Coronis laughed, it sounded like a bird chittering. It was cute. “Yes, darling. The Council of Beings was formed after the Archon Wars to govern supernatural creatures. We couldn’t go around letting blood mages, vampires, and demons prey on innocent MILFs. The Council polices supernatural beings. Keeps them in line. Investigates complaints. That sort of thing.”
“They used to,” Rosemary snorted. “When’s the last time you’ve heard of the Council doing anything other than sitting in their hall and gorging on gossip? We don’t really need them anymore.”
“Things have been quiet everywhere for a long time,” Coronis admitted. “It’s like I told you before, supernaturals keep to their islands of refuge. Aradia tends to be a Graeco-Roman haven. Someday, you should visit some of the communities near the Scottish Isles. Selkies know how to throw a party.”
I rubbed my temples in tight circles. “Once again, my brain feels like it’s going to burst.”
“What are you going to do this afternoon?” Rosemary asked. “We could show you around and teach you more about the supernaturals.”
“That sounds amazing, but I’ll probably go home and take a nap. You know, to prepare for Thessaly. She has no sense of personal space, but then again, she is a siren.”
“Would you like us to be there tonight?” Coronis asked.
I cocked my head at them, thinking. “Maybe. It would prove I’m trying. At very least, you might be able to get more information out of her.”
We walked outside into the brilliant sunshine and ran straight into Luca, who was pretty much a brick wall in motion.
“Luca, I didn’t see you today for coffee. Is everything okay?” Rosemary asked.
Luca looked at us guiltily. “Scusi, Signora. I overslept, but don’t worry. I ate something at home.” He looked over his shoulder. “Who was that?”
“Aurick,” I said. “He’s the other guest at Nonna’s villa.”
Luca’s eyes narrowed, but it was so slight I almost missed it. “Interesting. Please let him know I am available if he needs anything.”
“I will tonight, when I see him for dinner.”
> “He asked you to dinner?”
“Oh, no,” I said at the same time Coronis and Rosemary said “Yes!” which just confused everyone. “Dinner at Nonna’s,” I clarified.
“Ah.” Luca looked thoughtfully at me, and I was sure my fluttering pulse was visible to every supernatural on Aradia. Damn their heightened senses!
He turned to go. “I’m going to meditate near the cliffs today if anyone needs assistance.”
“Assistance in paradise, Luca?” Coronis laughed.
“You never know. Good day, ladies.” He shuffled off toward the ocean.
“Poor man.” Rosemary shook her head. “He’s clearly in so much pain. I couldn’t imagine losing my Marco.” She gave me a sly eye. “What Luca needs is a good woman to help him move on.”
“Yeah, heard that one before. But my shop is closed until I clean out the cobwebs and figure out me.”
“Didn’t he seem interested in the fact that Aurick was having dinner with our dear Ava tonight?” Rosemary asked.
“As a matter of fact he did,” Coronis agreed.
I rolled my eyes at both of them, as a cold wind gusted through the square. It rustled the ivy growing around an old Roman aqueduct and swept through our hair. I shivered. “Did you guys feel that?”
We stood still.
“A ghost wind.”
“Where’s it coming from?”
The wind grew stronger and we struggled to stay upright as we looked for the source. There, flickering to life under the stone arches, was a Roman Centurion and his faithful mastiff. The ghost still wore his breastplate with etchings of myths, and the dog had a permanent string of slobber hanging from its jowls. The Centurion stumbled, dazed and confused. He reached out his arms covered in rotting leather greaves and looked at us in shock, as if he couldn’t believe he wasn’t still dead.
Rosemary and Coronis called out to him in Latin, which I understood even less than Italian. The Centurion began gesticulating while the mastiff let out a series of plaintive barks. Whatever was happening to the ghosts of Aradia, they didn’t like it.