No matter how hard I dug my heels in and tried to halt time, three weeks passed since weโd 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.
On good days I came downstairs and sat before the fire in our kitchen, staring into the flames. I imagined myself burning. Not like our ancestors at the stake. An ember of anger was slowly igniting within me, reducing the person I used to be to ash.
At times my simmering rage was the only indication I was still alive.
After dinner service tonight, Nonna kept casting wary glances my way, muttering charms of good health and well-being while scouring our family grimoire. She didnโt understand the hatred I was being consumed with. Didnโt see how I longed for revenge.
Vengeance was now a part of me, as real and necessary as my heart or my lungs. During the day I was a dutiful daughter, but once night fell, I scoured the streets, spurred on by a singular need to set right a terrible wrong. I hadnโt found anyone who knew the mysterious stranger or recognized his deadly blade, and I wondered if they just didnโtย wantย to admit anything for fear of retribution. Each day that passed fueled my growing wrath.
That dark-haired man had answers I needed. And I was losing what little patience I had. Iโd started praying to the goddess of death and fury, making all sorts of promises if sheโd help me find him.
So far, the goddess couldnโt be bothered.
โBuonasera,ย Nonna.โ I set my satchel of knives on the kitchen counter in our home and dropped onto a stool. My parents insisted I spend a few hours in the restaurant each day. We could only afford to close Sea & Vine for a week to mourn Vittoria. Then, whether any of us liked it or not, life resumed. My mother still cried as often as I did and my father wasnโt doing much better. But they pretended to be strong for me. If they could try, the least I could do was trudge into the restaurant and slice some vegetables before collapsing back into my grief.
โEmilia, hand me the beeswax and dried petals.โ
I found a few squares of wax and a tiny bundle of dried flowers on the sideboard. Nonna was making spell candles, and judging from the colorsโwhite, gold, and pale purpleโshe was working a few different charms. Some for clairvoyance, some for luck, and some for peace.
None of us had had much peace this month. Theย poliziaย tied my sisterโs murder to the two other girls. Apparently they also had their hearts ripped out, but there were no suspects or leads. They swore it wasnโt for a lack of effort on their part. But after the initial meetings, they stopped coming by our home and restaurant. They stopped asking questions. Young women died. Life resumed. Such was the way of the world, at least according to men.
No one cared that Vittoria had been slaughtered like an animal. Some more-vicious gossips even hinted that she must have deserved it. Sheโd somehow asked for it by being too bold, or confident, or ungodly. If sheโd only been a little quieter, or more subservient, she might have been spared. As if anyone deserved to be murdered.
My family almost seemed relieved when talk shifted to new scandals. They wanted to mourn and fade into the shadows again, hoping to escape scrutiny from neighbors and police.
Nosy vendors from the marketplace came to our restaurant, ate at our tables, hoping for news, but my family was too practiced with secret-keeping to give anything away.
โClaudia stopped by,โ Nonna said, breaking into my endless worries. โAgain.โ
I sighed. I imagined my friend was desperate if she braved speaking with Nonna. Because Claudiaโs family practiced the dark arts, and because we were not supposed to associate with other witches for safety reasons, our lifelong friendship was a source of tension for each of our families. It was a rotten thing to do, but Iโd been avoiding her, not ready to share our tears and grief just yet. โIโll visit her soon.โ
โMmh.โ
I watched the cauldron Nonna hung over the fire in our kitchen, breathing in the herbal mixture. I used to love when she infused her own oils. Now I could hardly sit through the process without thinking of my sister, and the times sheโd beg Nonna to make special soap or cream.
Vittoria loved crafting perfume as much as I adored blending ingredients into sauces. She used to sit where I was, head bent over secret potions, tinkering until she got the scent right. A bit of floral notes, a touch of citrus, and she always included an undertone of something spicy to balance it out. Sheโd whoop with delight and make us all wear her latest creation until we were sick of it. One fall, she made everything out of blood orange, cinnamon, and pomegranate and I swore Iโd never so much asย lookย at any of them again. The memories were too muchย .ย .ย .
I pushed away from the island and kissed my grandmother. โGood night.โ
Nonna inhaled deeply, like she wanted to impart some wisdom or comfort, but gave me a sad smile instead. โBuona notte,ย bambina. Sleep well.โ
I climbed the stairs, dreading the silent empty room that was once filled with so much joy and laughter. For a second, I considered torturing myself with watching Nonna make spell candles again, but grief weighted my eyelids and tugged at my heart.
I slipped out of my muslin dress and into a thin nightgown, trying not to remember that Vittoria had the same one. Except where my ribbons were ice blue, hers were pale pink. The air was thick with summer heat, promising another restless night of tossing and turning.
I padded barefoot across the floor and pushed the window up.
I stared out across the rooftops, wondering if Vittoriaโs murderer was out there now, stalking another girl. Nearby, I swore a wolf howled. A singular, mournful note hung in the air, sending a shudder down my spine.
In my haste to get into bed, I knocked over a glass of water. Liquid ran over a spot Iโd forgotten about. It was a place in the floorboards where Vittoria hid things. Little trinkets like dried flowers, notes from the latest boy who loved her, her diary, and perfume sheโd made.
I rushed across the room, dropped to my knees, and almost broke my fingernails as I pried the board up. Inside were all the objects I remembered.
Plus a gambling chip with a crowned frog on one side, and two thick sheets of black parchment tied with matching string. I blotted them on my nightgown, hoping I hadnโt ruined this precious piece of my twin. My hands trembled as I unrolled them. Gold roots edged the border, the ink shiny against the darkness of the oversized page. They were spells torn from a grimoire Iโd never seen. I scanned the script, but couldnโt quite identify what it was used for. It listed herbs and specific colored candles and instructions in Latin. I pushed the sheets aside and pulled her diary into my lap.
I was willing to bet my own soul that this was the key to unlocking what sheโd been doingโand who sheโd mistakenly trustedโin the days and weeks leading up to her death.
I ran my fingers across the scarred leather. Holding her diary made me ache with memories. At night sheโd write in it constantly, recording everything from each of my strange dreams, to Claudiaโs scrying sessions, notes about her perfumes, spells and charms, and recipes for new drinks. I had no doubt she also told this diary each secret sheโd been keeping from me.
All I had to do was crack the spine, and Iโd discover everything I needed to know.
I hesitated. These were her private thoughts, and I didnโt want to commit one more violation when sheโd already suffered so much. I sat quietly, considering what she would urge me to do. I easily heard her voice in my head, telling me to stop thinking about the fall and to just jump. Vittoria took risks. She made hard choices, especially if it meant helping her family.
In order to find out who killed her, I needed to follow in her footsteps, even if it made me uncomfortable. I inhaled deeply, and opened the diary.
Or I would have, if the pages werenโt stuck together.
I pulled a little harder, not wanting to destroy it, but worried the water had somehow damaged it. The book didnโt budge. I yanked it with all of my strength. It didnโt even bend. I scooted over to the wall, placed my feet on the lip of the back cover and my fingers along the front and tried prying it, andย .ย .ย .ย nothing. A dark suspicion took shape.
I whispered a spell of unveiling, and tossed a pinch of salt over my shoulder for luck with deciphering the enchantment. Faint spiderwebbing in a violet-blue hue rose around the diary like a tangle of thorny vines. My sister had spelled it shut using magic Iโd never seen before.
Which meant sheโd knownย exactlyย how dangerous her secrets had been.