Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked, #2) (26)

Vittoria and I were told to listen to her, to obey and follow the rules or suffer the consequences. I’d never wanted to anger Nonna or cause harm.

But Vittoria always pushed the limits, unafraid of the consequences.

Wrath’s sharp comment carved deep, infected me. Like it was designed to do. His weaponry was not limited to steel or bullets or sly grins and heady kisses. His words were just as deadly when aimed and fired at a target. I couldn’t escape the gnawing feeling that maybe he was right.

There were holes in my education I couldn’t ignore.

Some spells came easily as if through body memory. Some I had to learn and almost always forgot. I couldn’t recall where or how I’d discovered the truth spell, only that one day I wanted truth and out came a spell that stole away free will. Nonna had been furious when I told her. Instead of being rewarded for using that level of power, I was punished.

I marched to the end of the shelves and found a plush, oversized chair to sit in. A thought I couldn’t run from followed me there. Maybe Wrath wasn’t referring only to Nonna.

My sister had found the first book of spells, used demon magic to lock her diary, and had brought Greed and the shape-shifters together for reasons I didn’t fully understand, given the fact shape-shifters and demons were natural enemies.

I stared down at my finger, startled to see I still wore the olive branch ring Wrath had given me. I absently twisted the gold band around my finger. I wondered what else Vittoria might have discovered before her death. Was it the full truth of the devil’s curse and the blood debt? Maybe that knowledge, more than anything else, was why she’d really been killed.

Something buried deep in my memory stirred, then floated away. A wisp of smoke I couldn’t grasp. I had the strangest impression that maybe the devil hadn’t been cursed at all.

If that was true… then perhaps the witch murders had nothing to do with his finding a bride, and everything I thought I knew had been fabricated from deception. Nonna. Vittoria. The seven princes of Hell. At least one of them had been lying.

And I was more determined than ever to find out why.





It took a few frustrating hours, but I finally found what I’d been searching for. I pulled a grimoire on beginning magic and plopped into a chair near a darkened corner. I swept my gaze around the space; there were no sounds or indications anyone else was in the library. Not that it would seem odd if a witch was studying magic. Still, I didn’t want anyone to realize how much my education lacked. I cracked the worn leather spine and began reading.

According to the witch who authored this book, our magic was similar to a muscle that needed to be exercised. If ignored too long, it atrophied. She also described it as “Source”: a place within us readily available to draw from, like an endless well in our core.

The wise Spinners of Fate say our power is a gift bestowed from the goddesses and therefore has a tendency to mimic their abilities to some degree. Some bloodlines will notice an affinity for certain spells, especially those using the four elements. It is an indication of which goddess a witch should pray to in order to enhance that magic. The lesser spoken of fifth element, aether, is thought to be the rarest, but that may not be true in this context.

I stopped reading and allowed that information to sink in. And with it another emotion I’d rather not examine closely. Not quite suspicion, nor anger, but something related to both. Nonna had never explained where our power came from or how it worked. It was possible my grandmother didn’t exactly know, but I couldn’t quite believe that.

This was also the first time I’d ever heard of the Spinners of Fate and praying to one goddess. We’d always been taught to pray to them all. I searched my memory for any altars Nonna made for any one goddess and could think of none. Perhaps our magic wasn’t closely aligned with any of the elements.

I leafed through the grimoire, searching for more information on the Spinners of Fate, but there were no further mentions. I flipped back to the beginning, concentrating on Source.

Anger at Nonna and my own lack of questioning our education distracted me.

“Focus.”

Skeptical of my abilities, I closed my eyes, cleared my thoughts, and tried to sense that inner source of power. At first there wasn’t anything unusual, then the world quickly faded around me. It grew darker in my mind. I knew nothing, was nothing. I became nothing.

It was almost a void inside me, yawning open into endless darkness. I had the strangest impression that it had been waiting for me to tap into it, and once I acknowledged its existence, I was immediately drawn in. Now I felt everything. I tunneled down, down, down into my very center, near my wildly beating heart, and paused. My magic slumbered here. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I did. I brought my consciousness around the magic, trying to get a better sense of it. Something ancient and powerful and spitting mad cracked an eye, furious at being awoken.

I withdrew from that place with a gasp.

“Holy goddess above… what was that?”

I flipped through the pages of the grimoire, but there was no mention of a power like the one I’d just experienced. It certainly didn’t fit into earth, air, fire, water, or aether. It was massive, all-knowing, powerful in a way that worried me. Its rage burned with an intensity that obliterated reason. If I could summon that force at will… I could destroy this realm.

Not that I wanted to do that. I only wanted vengeance against my twin’s murderer. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, ready to try again.