Kingdom of the Wicked (Kingdom of the Wicked, #1)(96)

“Amen!” they all yelled in unison.

The crowd disbanded toward the city, off to save human souls. I inched around the corner and released a tight breath. Brother Carmine wasn’t talking about the devil breaking the curse, but what he said was a little alarming in its accuracy. For once, human souls really were in danger. My suspicion of him deepened. If a mysterious group of witch hunters had formed, it was very, very likely I’d just located them. I was contemplating whether or not I should follow him when I felt the call of magic coming from within the monastery. It was just like the night I’d found Vittoria’s body.

If not more powerful.

Maybe I was just better at sensing it now. Or perhaps it had something to do with the full set of horns in my possession. I removed my sister’s cornicello from where I’d hidden it in my dress and held it up. Even for a non-human witch it seemed sacrilegious to wear the devil’s horns into a holy space. But there was no way I’d go inside without protection. I slipped her cornicello on along with the one I already wore, feeling a prickle of magic in my veins.

Before I slipped inside, I cast one final look around. All was quiet now. The brotherhood was gone. I crossed the small courtyard and pushed the door open. As I hurried past the mummies in an otherwise empty corridor, I felt . . . something watching.

I turned in place, and scanned the hallway that used to cause my heart to speed and my hands to shake. This time, when my pulse raced, it wasn’t because I was afraid of what I’d find. I wanted someone to try and attack me.

“Show yourself.”

Unlike in the novels Vittoria loved reading, no villain emerged with a dark chuckle to wax poetic over its master’s evil plans. No one emerged at all. I was truly alone. I closed my eyes, grabbed the Horn of Hades, breathed in deeply, and centered myself. When I looked down the seemingly empty corridor of the dead again, I heard faint whispers.

They weren’t of this world.

I shut out everything else except the sound of hushed voices. I followed it, traveling deeper into the catacombs. I noted each turn and new hallway I entered, hoping I’d find my way back out again if I had to run. I’d never been this far into the monastery before; I didn’t even know there were so many labyrinthine corridors that twisted and turned deep, deep into the center of the earth.

As I continued on silently, the hum of voices grew louder. My nerves tingled. Something magical was close. And it was powerful. Part of me wanted to ignore it and run. But too much was at stake. I pressed on, forcing myself to face my fears.

Several minutes later, I stopped in a dank hallway carved of limestone with a lone torch set into a sconce. Light flickered menacingly, like an annoyed cat’s tail. I didn’t need the sign from the goddess to know something dangerous was close by. I couldn’t tell if my stomach twisted in trepidation or anticipation. One way or another, something was about to happen.

A door near the end of the hallway was slightly cracked open in invitation. I took the last few steps and paused beside it. It very well could be a trap, but the whispers had turned frantic now.

I needed to see what was in there. I inched closer, pulse pounding, and pushed the door a bit wider. From the outside, the room looked empty. Looks were often deceiving. Before I entered it, I peered around just to be sure it wasn’t a trap. Dust motes spun in circles. All was quiet. Illusions were deceptively easy magic—they often projected what you expected to find.

I should have known better.





Forty-Seven

The moment I crossed the threshold, I knew I’d made a mistake. It felt as if the air was a band that snapped out and locked me in place. I pushed back toward the door, but it was no use. I’d stay in this room until whoever had set the containment spell decided to set me free.

The whispers I’d been hearing turned to full-on chatter. There were so many voices, so many conversations, I could hardly hear my own thoughts.

“It’s here.”

“She’s arrived.”

“Open the binding.”

“Set her free.”

I covered my ears, and searched for any possible escape or means to break the spell. I wanted the noise to stop. Now. The glamour abruptly dropped away, as if attuned to my desires. My gaze swept around the true version of the room. The walls were covered in Latin. Lines and lines of it—some in larger script, some smaller—filled every inch of the walls from floor to ceiling. Someone had been very busy. I’d never seen magic used like that before.

The letters softly glowed and pulsated like they were part of a living, breathing entity. I wanted to sink to my knees; a spell that powerful wouldn’t be easily broken. But I wouldn’t give up just yet. I searched for signs of an ambush. I was alone, except for a book.

My heartbeat slowed. This had to be the “it” Vittoria described in her diary.

When I set my attention on the book, the voices started again, softer, more enticing. I tentatively dropped my hands from my ears. I could hardly breathe. This was the secret my sister died to keep. I knew it deep down in my bones.

A single shaft of light illuminated the old, leather-bound tome lying closed on a pedestal carved from a solid chunk of obsidian. I’d never seen a gemstone that large before, and cautiously moved forward until I stood over the mysterious book. The voices quieted.

A triple moon symbol molded from pewter adorned the cover, but there was no title to indicate what it contained. It was definitely magical, given how much power emanated from its pages. Soft lavender light surrounded it. It reminded me of the luccicare I saw around humans, and was the same shade of purple as my tattoo. I didn’t know what it meant, but I had a very good idea of what it was—the first book of spells. Impossibly, Vittoria had found La Prima’s grimoire.