Kingdom of the Wicked (Kingdom of the Wicked #1)(97)

It was so plain, so simple. And yet, it had cost my sister so much.

I suddenly wanted to burn it.

It was no larger than any other old book, but the power was unlike anything I’d ever felt. The cover was worn in places where it looked like it had been opened and closed a million times.

Like the night I found my sister’s body, there was a silent, insistent tug in my center. This time, it begged me to open the book, to glimpse the spells I felt spilling from it. I slowly reached over, and flipped it open to a place that had been marked with a ribbon.

Familiar black paper with gold roots edged around the sides greeted me. I scanned the page—it was a summoning for the morning star. I shut the book and stepped away.

Someone had summoned the devil. Or wanted to.

I took a few steady breaths, mind racing. This was the mysterious grimoire my sister had torn pages from. Somehow her magic led her to the first book of spells, and then she’d removed spells to summon demons. I knew for a fact she hadn’t snuck this text into our tiny room, I would have felt it the moment it entered our home and so would Nonna, which meant Vittoria must have stashed it away here. But why would she think it’d be safe within the brotherhood’s walls . . . there was a connection, I just had to think.

“At last.”

I jumped back as a hooded figure stepped into the room, and reached for my blessed chalk. This had to be the person the messenger had sold his secrets to. I bet it was Brother Carmine. How ironic that a witch hunter set a trap using magic. The figure tugged the cowl back, and I froze, ready for the witch-hating brother to attack. Instead, Antonio moved more quickly than I’d thought possible and knocked the chalk out of my hands like it might grow talons and hurt me. I watched it shatter on the ground, then snapped into reality. Relief flooded my system.

“Antonio! You’re alive. I thought . . .” I dragged my gaze up and noticed the expression on his face. Concern wasn’t present. It was hatred. My heart pounded as I took a step back. “W-what happened? Did Envy hurt you?”

“An angel of God would never hurt me.” His lips pulled into a smile that was far from the sweet, shy ones I remembered. “Unlike you.”

I could barely breathe as everything fell into place. Envy didn’t hurt him, or hold him captive. Quite the contrary. Antonio had willingly delivered Claudia straight into my enemies’ hands. He’d known she was a witch and . . .

“It’s you. You killed my sister.” My voice trembled. “Why?”

“Is it really that hard to believe? That I, a man of God, would wish to rid the world of evil?”

“You sound just like Carmine.” I curled my hands into fists, needing to feel the prick of my nails to keep from lashing out. “Murdering innocent women isn’t its own act of evil?”

“God’s finest angels are fierce warriors, Emilia. Sometimes in order to accomplish the greatest good, we must first become a blade of justice and carve through our enemies. You wouldn’t understand. It’s not something you’d be capable of doing, witch.”

What little control I’d managed to hang on to, left me.

“You know nothing of what I can do.”

“Maybe not. But if you use magic on me now, you’ll prove me right.” He jerked his chin toward my combined amulets. They were fiercely glowing. “All witches are born evil.”

My temper and hurt raged around. I stepped forward and unleashed the pent-up wrath I’d been clutching onto since my twin’s murder.

“You’re wrong. We’re not born evil. Some of us become that way. Through hate.”

Strands of my hair lifted as if there were suddenly a breeze. A storm was brewing and it wasn’t of this world. The glowing words that surrounded us pulsed faster. Magic singed the air, and incantations I didn’t know swirled through my mind. Maybe the devil’s horns were fueling me, or the first book of spells was feeding me its charms.

Perhaps it was simply my own darkness escaping. I didn’t care.

I held the Horn of Hades and whispered a spell so foul, the words burned as they left my lips. I lifted my arm, then slashed down in an arc. Invisible claws cut Antonio’s robes to ribbons.

This time I spared his flesh.

Fear entered his eyes. He slowly backed away, hands up. As if that would stop me.

“Frightened?” I stepped toward him. “You should be. I’ve only just begun.”

I lifted my arm and he cringed away. His voice quivered. “M-mercy, Emilia. P-please.”

“Now you want mercy?” Pure, white-hot anger burned in my soul. “Tell me, did my sister beg?”

I thought of her chest, the gaping hole where her heart had been. He did that to her. Our friend. I threw my arm back and slashed his chest open. An eye for an eye. Justice. He pressed his fingers to his wounds, saw blood, and stumbled away. It was nothing more than a scratch.

Fury propelled me forward. “Did you offer Vittoria mercy when she pleaded for her life? Or Valentina? How many women pleaded with you to spare them? Where was your mercy then?”

He fell to his knees and began praying. I waited. But God didn’t show up. The goddess of death and fury did. I knelt down, eyes blazing, and forced him to look at me. I wanted him to see my sister’s face, too. Tears slipped down his cheeks. I fought the urge to smash his skull against the floor and watch the life leave those hate-filled eyes.