A sea of people standing in line for gelato parted for us as we crossed the road and entered the clothing section. Salvatore was in the middle of arguing with someone over another threadbare tunic when Wrath stopped at his table, emanating that quiet menace he was so good at. Conversations ceased. The other patron took one look at the expression on the demon’s face and bolted into the crowd, the clothing in question discarded and forgotten.
“You and I have business, vendor.”
“I don’t believe we…” Sal’s attention shifted to the shirt Wrath wore, then shot to me. I gave him a little finger wave. I’d tried warning him about the condition and cost. Now he could deal with an angry demon. I felt the not-so-subtle rattling of Wrath’s namesake emotion as it slithered toward Sal and wound around him.
The vendor’s hand trembled as he pushed it through his dark hair. “Signore, h-how nice. The shirt is—”
“Being exchanged for that one.”
Wrath jerked his chin toward the row of clothing hanging behind the stall; the most expensive pieces judging from the drape of them. Sal opened his mouth, took in the set of Wrath’s shoulders, then closed it and plastered on a big false smile. Smart man.
“A bargain indeed!” Sal cringed as he removed the black shirt from a hanger and handed it over. Well, he tried to hand it over. He clutched it before Wrath finally snatched it away. “This is a fine, fine garment, signore. It’s a perfect match for your trousers. May you wear it well.”
I rolled my eyes skyward. Sal cracked under pressure from the demon faster than an egg hitting the ground. Next time I wanted a good deal, I’d have to try scowling and summoning some quiet menace, too.
Wrath was out of the tawny monstrosity a breath later and tossed the offending garment back at the vendor. If the demon prince hadn’t already caused a disturbance before, his bare, sculpted chest certainly did now. He slipped the new shirt on, seemingly unaware of the effect he had on the people nearest us. Muscles, supple and sinuous, moved with practiced ease. His serpent tattoo also caused quite a stir. Someone nearby commented on how large it was, how lifelike. Another person whispered about its possible meaning.
A line of people that had been meandering through the clothing stalls halted to watch.
I begged the goddess of serenity to send me some in buckets, then turned to Salvatore to get what we actually came here for. “Do you have any information about Giulia?”
“I sure do. Reliable sources, too. I heard from Bibby down at the docks, who spoke to Angelo who makes ricotta near the palace, that her heart was ripped clean from her chest.” Despite the graphic nature of his gossip, Sal looked immensely pleased with himself. “Her nonna was the one who went a bit…”
He lifted his pointer finger to his temple and made circles, an offensive gesture indicating madness. I went to admonish him when a member of the brotherhood walked by the stall and touched his forehead, heart, and each shoulder in the sign of the cross.
“Anyway… whatever got her was vicious. Angelo said blood sprayed all over the building. Looked like animals ripped her apart. He had a devil of a time cleaning it up. Chunks of…”
“I’m sorry, but where was her body found?” I asked, cutting him off mid-description. I had my own nightmares about how that looked firsthand, and didn’t need any more details. “You mentioned someone who works near the palace?”
“That’s right. Angelo with the ricotta said it was near his stall out front. Prime location.” Sal jerked his chin to the right. “The police are still there, so you won’t miss the crowd. If you hurry, you might still see the body.”
It was impossible to get within sight of the murder scene. Sal’s information was indeed reliable. And it looked like he’d told a few hundred of his closest confidants the same thing he’d shared with us. Wrath was about to barrel his way through, but I reached out to stop him.
“How close do you need to be to…” I glanced around. There were too many humans around for me to start talking about demons. “To do your special investigation?”
Wrath was well versed in the art of deception. He didn’t miss a beat. “I’d like to get a better visual, but I can tell from here that none of my brothers have recently been in the area.”
I scrunched my nose. His heightened sense of smell was unsettling. I rolled up onto my toes, trying to see over the heads of everyone. Wrath startled me by briefly placing a hand on my back so I wouldn’t wobble. I couldn’t see the body, thank the goddess, but I saw a priest tossing holy water around and assumed he was doing some sacramental blessing for her soul. It would be a long while before the crowd dispersed, so there was no point in waiting here until then. We might as well return tomorrow night when all was quiet.
“Follow me,” I said, turning toward an alley. Wrath didn’t protest and kept close as we maneuvered out of the thickest part of the crowd. A little food stand that had already closed up for the night caught my attention. There was a painting on its side—a pawprint clutching a stalk of wheat, and something about it made me think of Greed. I waited until we were far enough away to speak openly. “You’re sure you didn’t find any traces of Greed?”
“Unless he’s come up with a way to mask his magic, no. He wasn’t here. Why are you so convinced he’s to blame? What evidence do you have?”
“I’m not convinced of anything. I’m just trying to tug on threads that seem likely.” I bumped into a few people still on their way to the murder scene, muttered apologies, and turned down another street. “As for evidence? Based on my conversation with him, his desire to possess the Horn of Hades, and the attack on my grandmother immediately following my meeting with him, Greed makes the most sense right now.”
I felt Wrath’s attention on me as we moved into a narrower street, a constant prickle of energy between my shoulder blades, but he didn’t ask how my grandmother was or offer apologies.
And to be perfectly honest, he was the last creature in the world I wanted comfort from.
I stopped at the turnoff to my neighborhood. “Who is the next witch on your list?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That needs to be our next priority,” I said, glancing past him. The street was quiet in this quarter. “Once you find out who she is, we’ll have to hide her somewhere safe.”
Wrath pressed his lips together, but finally nodded in agreement. “I’ll send word to my realm tonight. I should have an answer by morning.”
It wasn’t cold, but I rubbed my hands over my arms anyway. My dress was creamy white and sleeveless. Perfect for warm summer nights, but terrible for fighting chills brought on by fear. Wrath tracked the movement, his attention focused on my forearm. Wildflowers twisted and tangled all the way up to my elbow now. I didn’t have to see his arm to know his tattoo was the same. I looked down my street, relieved to see a few children out playing. I didn’t want to be scared of Greed or Envy lurking in the shadows, but I was.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Where should we meet?”
“Don’t worry.” Wrath flashed a wolfish grin. “I’ll find you.”
“You know that’s deeply unsettling, right?”
“Iucundissima somnia.” Sweetest dreams. And then he was gone.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“I was thinking of making cassata for tomorrow’s dessert.”
Mamma turned to me, her expression worn, but hopeful. Somehow I managed to hide the swift emotional punch from registering on my face. The sponge cake with sweet ricotta layers was a favorite of both mine and Vittoria’s. We used to request it each year for our birthday and Mamma never disappointed us. She’d roll out a thin layer of marzipan, covering the whole cake in the sweet paste before decorating it with brightly colored candied fruit. I loved how that slightly chewier upper layer contrasted against the soft deliciousness of the wet cake hidden inside.
I wasn’t sure I could ever eat it again without feeling crushed by a wave of sadness, but refused to dampen my mother’s spirits. When I smi
led, it was genuine.
“That sounds delicious.”
My mother shuffled over to the dry goods cabinet, seemingly exhausted again from her brief spurt of conversation, and pulled out a bowl, filling it with sugar and all the supplies she needed for the cake. Today was a bad day for her. I watched her, then went back to removing the sarde a beccafico from the oven. I inhaled the fragrant scent of stuffed sardines.
Nonna’s recipe called for golden raisins, pine nuts, and breadcrumbs in the stuffing, then she’d drizzle melted sage butter and thyme over it before finishing it off with large bay leaves to separate the fish while it baked. The result was a symphony of flavors that melted in your mouth and stuck to your ribs.
I’d no sooner set the fish on a platter when my father stepped into the kitchen, waving around a folded note. He expertly swiped a piece of stuffing that had fallen out, and I shook my head, but smiled all the same. My father was always very helpful in the kitchen, sampling each new recipe for quality purposes. Or so he kept claiming.
“Salvatore dropped this off for you, Emilia,” he said around a mouthful of food. “Said your friend asked him to deliver it right away.”
Mamma wore a rosary like other humans, and I imagined she’d be kissing it later, uttering novenas if she ever found out who my “friend” really was. I hastily snatched the note before she could. “Grazie, Papà.”
My father pulled a stool over and started loading a plate, drawing my mother’s attention. I used the distraction to hurry into the corridor and read the short message.
Piazza Zisa and Via degli Emiri. Eight in the evening.
I didn’t recognize the careful, neat penmanship but it dripped regal arrogance and made my stomach twist. The address he’d given was Castello della Zisa. La Zisa was a sprawling Moorish palace that mostly sat in ruin now. The king who’d had it built was called Il Malo—“the bad one”—so it was more than fitting the demon prince had taken up temporary residence there.
I refolded the note, shoved it down my bodice, then made my way back into the kitchen. I’d have just enough time to finish dinner service and hurry over to the palace before dark.
I crept into the abandoned castle from the rear garden, and roamed around several desolate yet ornate rooms before finally circling around to the main entrance and finding another note tacked to the front door—the last place I’d expect a secret meeting location to be posted. I stared out across the lawn at the reflecting pool, and shook my head.
Subtlety was an artform lost on the demon, apparently. Though I supposed when he was the biggest, baddest predator around, he had little to fear.
Roof
I inwardly sighed. This palace had been built in such a way that cool air filtered through it like an ice box, but of course a creature from Hell would be happiest in the scorching heat. I was dripping with sweat, and spitting mad by the time my foot hit the last stair.
I marched across the roof, determined to flay the demon alive, and halted.
Wrath lay stretched out on his back, hands laced behind his head, soaking in the last rays of the sun as it hovered above the horizon in the distance. Light gilded his profile and he turned his face toward it, smiling at the warmth. He hadn’t noticed me yet, and part of me was relieved.
His expression was serene, a look I hadn’t seen from him. Though his body was relaxed, an undercurrent of alertness remained that made me believe he could spring up and attack in less than a breath. He was like a serpent, laying in a patch of sun.
Lethal, beautiful. Wholly untouchable.
I wanted to kick him for being so dangerously breathtaking. His head snapped in my direction, his gaze capturing mine. For a minute, I forgot how to breathe.
He slowly took me in. “Did something happen on the way here?”
“No.”
“Then why do you look confused?”
“I thought you couldn’t bear daylight.”
“Why is that?”
I rolled my eyes. As if he didn’t know. “Because the Malvagi turn to ash in the sun. That’s why we always meet at dusk.”
He looked at me oddly. “What else, exactly, have you heard of the Wicked?”
I lifted a shoulder. Everyone knew the legends. Since they concerned him, I doubted he was that clueless. “You’re bloodthirsty demons. You’ve got red flecks in your eyes, your skin is like ice, you’re beautiful, and your kisses are addictive enough to make someone sell their soul for another.”
A bemused smile touched his lips. “It’s nice to know you find me so attractive, but I’m not one of those demons. My eyes aren’t red. And if you’d like to find out if my skin is warmer than ice, that can easily be arranged.”
To further his point, he undid a few buttons on his shirt, exposing a patch of bronzed skin. A light sheen of sweat glistened, as if beckoning. My face heated, having nothing to do with the sun. “I work in a kitchen and can break down a chicken carcass in under three minutes, I imagine doing the same to you wouldn’t be that different.”
“I assure you, there’s no truth to these stories.” His eyes sparked with mischief. “Though I can’t promise my kisses wouldn’t be sinfully good.”
“I thought we were supposed to meet later tonight. Did something happen to change that?”
Wrath stared at me a moment longer and for some reason, I held my breath. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but an inner battle was being waged. Finally, he laid back down, face tipped up at the sun, and closed his eyes. I exhaled.
“No. Nothing of note.”
“Do you know who the next witch is?”
“Not yet.”
I stood there, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t bother, I walked over and glared at him until he looked up grudgingly, shielding his face with a strong hand. “If you don’t have information on the next witch, why did you ask me to come here?”
“I…” He squinted at me. “I’ve secured the building with my magic so, unless you invite something in, it’ll be safe from humans, my brothers, and most supernatural creatures. I wasn’t sure what you’d had planned for the evening, and thought you might like to see where we’d be staying. I’ll be out for a little while, so please look around, make yourself comfortable, and grab your things.”
I stared at him, ignoring the whole “moving in together” scenario. “Where are you going?”
“To meet one of Pride’s messengers.”
“Is he the one who gave you Giulia’s name?”
Wrath nodded. “My associate has been watching him since late last night, and witnessed him passing information this morning to someone wearing a hood. I believe whoever he spoke to is our murderer.”
“Why didn’t your associate follow the hooded figure?”
“He tried. When he closed in, the person crossed into a crowd and disappeared.”
I blew out a breath. Of course. “What’s the plan?”
“I’m supposed to meet Pride’s messenger to retrieve the next name soon. Instead, I’ll interrogate him, and will hopefully discover the identity of the robed figure that way.”
“Or I could just use a truth spell.”
“Too dangerous. Plus, you’ll be grabbing your things. I won’t be gone for long.”
“I see.” Something in my tone made him sit up again, a wary expression on his face. So, he could be a smart demon. “You know I won’t stay when there’s a chance we can find out who killed my sister,” I said. “Either take me with you, or I’ll follow you.”
He studied me for a long minute then sighed. “I will not be pleasant. I can have the meeting, and tell you about it. I promise to not hunt down the murderer without you.”
“Wait… are you suggesting you’ve been pleasant?” I snorted. “I pity your enemies.”
His grin was anything but friendly when he said, “That might be the wisest observation you’ve made yet, witch.”
A clock in the city square chimed the hour. He stood, then ran his golden gaze over my clothes, appraising.
“We leave in forty minutes. Try to wear something less… pedestrian. Better yet, I’ll have something more appropriate sent to your home.”
I glanced at my dress, frowning. It was a modest cotton gown I’d dyed a deep lavender last summer. It didn’t have a corset, which I was very pleased with, but it still had a pretty shape. I liked how it was fitted through the bust and waist and then dreamily flowed down to my ankles. It was hardly pedestrian, and yet… “What if I don’t want to wear your fancy clothing again?”
He didn’t bother responding.
I looked up, ready to snap about his rudeness, but he was gone. I cursed him the entire way home, wondering why I’d gotten stuck with such a clothes-obsessed snob of a demon.
Perhaps Nonna was right about the cost of le arti oscure; being subjected to Wrath certainly felt like a punishment for using the dark arts.
I was so annoyed, it took far too long for me to focus on the most important detail of all that he’d let slip—Wrath knew where I lived.
TWENTY-EIGHT
I looked down at my new, finely made dress and frowned at the dark layers. “Why do villains always wear black?”
“Better to hide the blood with, witch.”
I eyed the demon standing in the alley next to me, thinking his response explained a lot about his personal style. Then I wondered how much blood he planned to spill tonight if he’d dressed us both like living, breathing shadows.
I was almost disturbed the thought didn’t terrify me more.
“Who are we meeting? Human? Demon? Werewolf?”
“Werewolves are like puppies. It’s hellhounds you need to watch out for.” Wrath chuckled at my look of horror. “We’re meeting a mortal who sold his soul. Speaking of, I need my House dagger back before he arrives.”
I gave him a flat stare. Arming a demon didn’t seem very beneficial to me. Then again, he needed me to be his precious anchor. He’d mentioned it before, but had shared a few more details on the walk here. I handed the blade over.
Kingdom of the Wicked Page 18