Kingdom of the Wicked (Kingdom of the Wicked, #1)(14)

After a few more minutes of mindlessly pushing forward down familiar streets, I stood outside our stone house and paused under the trellis covered with plumeria, unable to formulate the words I needed to say. I had no idea how to deliver the news to my family.

In moments they’d all feel like they’d been beaten and broken, too.

From here on out, our lives would never be the same again. I imagined my mother’s scream. My father’s tears. The horror in Nonna’s face, knowing all her preparations to save us from evil had been pointless.

Vittoria was dead.

I must have cried out or made some small noise. A swath of golden light cut through the darkness before fading as quickly. Nonna was at the window, waiting. She’d likely been there since she came home. Worrying and fretting. Her warnings about the devil stirring the seas, and the sky being the color of his blood didn’t seem like silly old superstition now.

The door swung open before I finished climbing the steps carved into the front of our home and reached the knob.

Nonna started shaking her head, her eyes watering, as she grabbed her cornicello. I didn’t have to say anything. The blood staining my hands said enough. “No.” Her bottom lip quivered. I’d never seen such despair and undulated fear in Nonna’s face before. “No. It can’t be.”

The hollowness inside me spread. All her lessons, all of our charms . . . for nothing.

“Vittoria is . . .” I swallowed hard, the action nearly choking me. “She’s . . .”

I stared down at the serpent dagger I still held, but had no memory of taking. I wondered if it was the weapon that had taken my sister’s life. My grip on it tightened.

Nonna took one look at the dagger and wrapped me in her arms, holding me fiercely against her. “What happened, bambina?”

I buried my face in her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of spices and herbs. Hugging Nonna made everything real. The whole goddessless nightmare.

“Your worst fears.”

Flashes of my twin and her missing heart crossed my mind, and whatever thread of strength I’d been clutching to snapped, plunging me into darkness.



The day after we laid my sister to rest, I sat alone in our room, an unopened book in my lap. It was so quiet. I used to cherish peaceful days like this, when my twin was out being adventurous and I was adventuring with a favorite character. A good book was its own brand of magic, one I could safely indulge in without fear of getting caught by those who hunted us. I loved escaping from reality, especially during times of trouble. Stories made everything possible.

My attention moved to the door the same way it had all morning, searching for a sign Vittoria was about to charge through it, her face flushed and her grin wide. All remained still.

Downstairs a spoon clinked against the cast iron cauldron. A moment later herbal scents wafted up. Nonna had been making spell candles nonstop. She lit them for the polizia, helping to guide them in their search. Or so she claimed. I’d seen the juniper berry and belladonna candle she’d made with a dash of salt and a pinch of pepper. It was her own recipe and it wasn’t used for clarity.

I set my book aside and went downstairs, hovering near the edge of the kitchen. Not quite hungry, but feeling empty, hollow. I hadn’t felt like cooking or creating, and couldn’t imagine ever feeling that light and free again. Living in a world without my sister felt dark and wrong.

Nonna glanced up. “Come sit, Emilia. I’ll make you something to eat.”

“That’s all right, Nonna. I can fix something.”

I went to the ice box and almost burst into tears when I saw the pitcher of limoncello wine Vittoria had made for me. No one had touched it.

I quickly shut the door, and perched on the edge of the closest stool.

“Here.” Nonna set a bowl of sweetened ricotta in front of me, her expression kind. “Desserts always go down easy.”

I pushed the creamy concoction around. “Do you think someone found out . . . what we are? Maybe Vittoria joked about the devil or demons to the wrong human.”

“No, bambina. I don’t believe it was a human who attacked her at all. Not with the signs we’ve been receiving. Or the blood debt.”

I’d forgotten all about the mysterious blood debt. It seemed an entire lifetime had passed since Nonna first mentioned it. “You believe the blood debt is responsible for Vittoria’s murder?”

“Mmh. It was part of an ancient bargain struck between La Prima and the devil. Some believe La Prima cursed the Wicked, others believe the devil cursed witches. A warning came one day: ‘When witch blood spills across Sicily, take your daughters and hide. The Malvagi have arrived.’ Now there’s been three witch murders.”

“It doesn’t mean the Wicked killed them. What about witch hunters? Don’t you think that sounds more logical than demon royalty breaking out of Hell? You know as well as I do how much humans fear witches, and how willing they are to commit the very sins they accuse us of. In fact, Antonio said a village not far from here is convinced shape-shifters have been cavorting with a goddess. Maybe someone like that saw Vittoria whisper a charm and killed her.”

“The devil stirred the seas and made the sky bleed. What more will convince you that danger is knocking at our door that has nothing to do with mortals? What use do humans have with witch hearts?”

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the anger building inside me. This wasn’t the time to believe stories passed down from generations ago. Now was the time to consider the facts that made the most sense. Starting with the first victim in Sciacca—more than a week before Emilia’s murder—not a single witch family had come forward with information about the Wicked’s arrival. Until new evidence or proof was uncovered about the demon princes, I’d stick with my theory of a human being responsible.