Kingdom of the Wicked (Kingdom of the Wicked, #1)(15)

“Are we going to speak with the police, Nonna?”

“If they investigate too closely and discover what we are, do you think your fate will be any different than your sister’s?”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to fight with my grandma. I also couldn’t quite figure out a way to tell the police witch hunters might be to blame without casting suspicion on us.

I was so frustrated, I could scream. My twin had been murdered. No one who knew my sister would ever wish her harm. Which meant it had to be a stranger, or someone who’d figured out what she was. According to Nonna, the other two victims were also witches. That wasn’t a mere coincidence—it was a connection. A woman with a little power was terrifying to some.

I curled my hands into fists, focusing on the pain of my nails sinking into my skin. Someone chose to hurt Vittoria. And I wanted to know who. Why.

What had Vittoria been doing in the hours leading up to the attack? She didn’t usually visit the monastery, but I’d seen her there twice in as many days.

It was possible she was meeting that strange dark-haired man there. For what purpose, I wasn’t sure. She could have been secretly involved with him. Or maybe the murderer dragged her there against her will. Maybe she didn’t know him at all and he’d intercepted her while she’d been on her way elsewhere.

I couldn’t recall exactly what time she’d left Sea & Vine. That day had started off like any other—we’d gotten up, dressed, shared a morning meal, and went to work with our family to prep for the busy festival day.

I hadn’t even asked where she was going. I didn’t know she wouldn’t ever return.

Tears threatened, but I held them in. If I could go back in time, I’d do so many things differently. I shoved the heels of my hands into my eyes, and commanded myself to keep it together.

“It’s not easy for any of us, Emilia,” Nonna said. “Let this go. Let the goddesses take their vengeance in their own way. The First Witch won’t allow things to continue like this—trust that she has a plan for the Malvagi, and work on your protection charms. Your family needs you.”

“I can’t sit here while the person who killed her walks free. Please don’t ask me to trust in a witch I’ve never met, or in goddesses I’m not sure really exist. Vittoria deserves justice.”

Nonna cupped my face, her eyes watering. “You must put this to rest for your family. Nothing good will come from knocking on doors best left closed. Find forgiveness and acceptance in your heart, or darkness will seep in and destroy you.”

I excused myself and went back upstairs. I needed to be alone with my thoughts. I dropped onto my bed, haunted with memories of that cursed chamber where I’d found Vittoria.

I’d gone over it again and again in excruciating detail, trying to figure out what brought my sister there. I was missing something vital. Something that might help find Vittoria’s killer.

I closed my eyes and concentrated as hard as I could, pretending I was standing in that room again with her body. I kept thinking about how she was dressed. I had no idea where she’d gotten the white gown. She wasn’t wearing it the last time I saw her. Which begged the question of what she’d been doing that afternoon. Was she secretly about to marry Domenico? Or had she planned something else?

Then there was the mystery of her missing cornicello. Nonna told us to never take off our amulets and apart from that one time when we were eight, we never did. Or at least I never did again. Maybe my sister had, but I couldn’t fathom why. We didn’t have to see or even fully believe in the Wicked to fear them. Nonna’s stories were terrifying enough. Vittoria joked about Nonna’s superstitions, but she was out digging up grave dirt, swiping vials of holy water, and blessing our amulets by the light of a full moon each month right along with me.

I rolled onto my side, contemplating the most troubling questions of all; if she hadn’t taken her protection amulet off, who did and where was it now?

If a witch hunter discovered who she was, it was possible he took it as a prize. Maybe he suspected it was an actual magical object, unlike other human-made amulets. My thoughts turned to that dark-haired stranger again. Dressed in such fine clothes, he certainly wasn’t a member of the holy brotherhood. And he didn’t look like the sort to turn his life over to God. He seemed too defiant for religion. I hadn’t met a witch hunter before, so I couldn’t rule that out. Maybe he was a thief—he’d certainly moved around the shadows with ease.

I cursed myself for not chasing after him when I had the chance. When he fled, he took all of my answers with him. Except things weren’t entirely hopeless. I sat up, heart racing, and yanked open the drawer on my nightstand. Metal glinted in the light. He’d made one giant mistake; he’d dropped his dagger. Surely someone, somewhere would recognize such a unique blade.

My thoughts settled. That was it, then. I had something to focus on aside from falling apart and reliving that night over and over.

I took a few deeps breaths, steeling myself against the next wave of tears and vowed—one way or another—to find the mysterious stranger and discover exactly who he was, what he was doing, and how he knew my sister.

And if he was the person who’d stolen her from me, I’d make him pay with his own life.





Seven

No matter how hard I dug my heels in and tried to halt time, three weeks passed since we’d buried my sister. Three weeks of laying in her bed in our shared room, crying into the sheets that were slowly fading with her lavender and white sage scent.